Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  * * *

  It was hard to believe that such a big house could have so little actual living space, Cara thought, as she wandered around, looking for a place where she could just curl up and die.

  Liam had been right about dinner. It was a disaster. It turned out that none of the guys she’d assigned to this week’s kitchen crew could cook for shit – which meant unless she pretty much took over for them, and cooked all the meals herself, no one would have anything decent to eat until next Sunday.

  She was lucky Gregg had opted to skip dinner tonight, or she knew she’d catch a shitload of grief. Liam had stayed away, as well. Which left her alone with the crazies.

  The guys who had made it to dinner grumbled and groaned through the meal and then, once the dishes were cleared away, they’d all disappeared, fading away into their own rooms. Probably hoping to take advantage of the quiet, and the fact that Gregg had cancelled tonight’s meetings, to maybe get some sleep.

  Leaving Cara with no one to talk to, nowhere to go.

  She didn’t mind the alone part, so much. She’d listened to enough complaints for one evening. But she had the whole downstairs to herself now, and it was creeping her out.

  She’d never really noticed how cold the house was before, cold and empty. Spring was late this year, and the damp that had crept inside last December had never really left. There was nothing in the big, bare rooms to hold the heat. She’d never noticed the lack of comfortable chairs or couches before, either. She never had to. She’d always had someplace else to be. But now...

  She was pretty sure Gregg wouldn’t leave her with nowhere to go, even if he and Lauren did hit it off and he didn’t take her back. She was pretty sure he’d set her up with some kind of room, somewhere. Wouldn’t he?

  But it wouldn’t be the same. She’d be nobody special then. Just one of the guys... except, of course, not.

  And wouldn’t that be fun, too?

  She couldn’t help shivering as she thought about that. Shit, the only reason the guys didn’t hit on her now was because none of them dared go up against Gregg. What would happen if she wasn’t with him anymore?

  And what if she was wrong about the room? What if he couldn’t be bothered finding one for her? He’d been quick enough to pass her off to Liam today. Oh, God, what if Liam was right, and she was wrong about that, as well?

  What if tomorrow Gregg decided to assign her to someone else?

  Liam. Damn it, this was his fault. If he was so smart, if he cared as much as he claimed to and wanted her as much as he seemed to, then why couldn’t he see what was happening, how much she needed his help. How much she needed him.

  She’d so much rather be with him then with one of the others. He had to know that, right? Apparently, she’d been pretty obvious, even Gregg had seen it. But, clearly that wasn’t good enough for him. Which could only mean one thing. He didn’t think she was good enough for him.

  A crystal Twinkie. That’s what he’d called her. She still wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but whatever he meant, he was wrong. And if it was the last thing she ever did, she’d show him just how wrong he was about her.

  Filled with a new sense of determination, Cara shouldered her backpack, turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen. Since she had nowhere to sleep tonight, she might as well make use of the time. She’d make herself a pot of coffee, crack out the books and study ‘til dawn.

  “I’ll show him who’s shallow,” she muttered, angrily wiping her eyes and gulping back a sob. She was not going to cry. Not over Liam, not over anyone. He’d only call it self pity, anyway. But she’d show him, all right. She’d show them all. And then she’d leave their sorry asses in the dust.

  The phone was ringing as she entered the kitchen and she snatched it up impatiently. “Yeah, what?” she barked into the receiver, totally not caring that it wasn’t the way Gregg had taught her to answer the phone. Gregg wasn’t around to hear her, now was he?

  There was a startled silence, and then, “I’m trying to reach Liam McKnight,” a man’s voice spoke with quiet urgency. “Is he there?”

  Liam? Yeah, he was here, all right. But running up to his room to get him was about the last thing Cara wanted to do, especially not with tears still leaking down her face. “Why? You wanna leave a message?”

  There was another silence, briefer this time, but just as heavy. “No, actually, I’d like to speak to him. Is there another number where I can reach him?”

  Jeez, some guys just couldn’t take a hint, could they? She ground her teeth in annoyance as she dropped her backpack onto the table. “Nope. This is it.” Take it or leave it, asshole.

  Once again, a frustrated silence hummed through the phone lines. Whoever was on the other end, he sounded vaguely and uncomfortably familiar; like someone she’d met, but hadn’t liked. Cara would swear she could almost feel him willing her to get Liam. Not happening, dude.

  “Can you take a message for him then? It’s important.”

  Important? “Yeah, I’m sure,” she muttered as she dug a notebook and a pen out of her backpack. Everybody always thought their shit was sooo fucking important, but, usually, it was only important to them. “Okay, what’s the message?”

  “Just tell him to call Nick,” the voice replied impatiently. “Tell him it’s important. He needs to get back to me as soon as he can. Tell him... look, just tell him I heard some news today about a mutual friend, okay? You got that? News that he really needs to hear.”

  “Okay. Got it,” Cara said, as she scribbled away. “Anything else you want me to tell him, Nick?”

  “No.” The man’s voice had grown quiet again. “Who am I speaking to?”

  Huh? His question caught her by surprise, as did his tone. It was cold and suspicious. Like a cop. And if there was one thing Cara had learned about cops, it was that you never wanted to give them anything they might be able to use against you. Like your name. Or your age. Or your correct address. Or, hell, anything that had to do with the truth. “Crystal,” she told him, and she smiled as she did. She hoped he’d repeat it to Liam. She hoped Liam would get the point and feel like crap. “They call me Crystal.”

  * * *

  Nick was seething with frustration when he hung up the phone. He couldn’t reach Lauren, and Liam was suddenly MIA – not at the mansion, not answering his cellphone. Jesus, where the fuck was everyone tonight?

  At least he knew where Liam’s stepfather was. Dead. Same as he’d been for the last several months – although it had taken a while for the body to be found. And identifying the poor sonofabitch after all that time had been a special joy, too. Or so Nick was assured by the ME who’d returned his call.

  That was bad news, but even worse was the other tidbit of info he’d received; a clear cut connection between Phelps and Gregg Gilchrist. The two of them had known each other in prison. For a while, they’d even shared a cell.

  Which pretty much guaranteed that there was only one Gregg in this equation, not two; and cast Phelp’s death, which had first appeared to be a suicide, in a very different light.

  “Fuck,” Nick muttered as he picked up the phone again, and dialed Chay Johnson’s number.

  Chay better watch his back out there in the woods. Nick doubted Gregg would scruple to carve up people instead of animals, not if he thought he could get away with it.

  The last thing Nick wanted was another mysterious death or suspicious suicide to investigate. The last thing he needed was more blood on his hands.

  Predictably, Chay wasn’t available, either. Nick hung up the phone and turned back toward his living room when a new thought struck him. Shit. He was going to have to tell Sinead about this too.

  It would worry her to learn Gilchrist was back in town and Nick suspected his friend didn’t need anything more to worry about, at the moment, but he had no choice. Forewarned was forearmed, after all, and Sinead was too vulnerable to be left in the dark about this. Just because Gregg hadn’t bothered her yet, it didn’t mean he would
n’t if he got the chance.

  But before Nick had taken more than a single step, the phone rang again. He turned and snatched it up, hopeful that it might be Liam returning his call. “Yeah?”

  “N-N-N-Nick?” The voice on the other end was not the one he’d been expecting to hear. And, despite all their differences, it was not one he’d ever wanted to hear sound like this; all quiver and tears, lit by a terror that shot through the phone like a bolt of lightning.

  Crap. Adrenaline blasted his system. “Lauren? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  “H-help. M-me. P-p-please,” Lauren whispered, and each word sounded like it was being wrenched from her throat.

  “I will,” Nick said, struggling to keep his own voice calm. But, his hands were shaking as he unlocked the drawer where he kept his gun. “Where are you? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Ch-churrrr... ch,” she stammered, then swallowed audibly and tried again. “Church.”

  “Church?” The word caught him by surprise. For just an instant, the memory of the two of them, standing side by side in the nave of the church where they’d been married, watching as their daughter was baptized, rose in Nick’s mind, setting off an explosion of protective rage, even as her real meaning sank in. “You mean TLV?”

  “Mmm-mm,” she murmured vaguely, seemingly in assent. “I... mm…yes.”

  “Okay, well, you just hold on. Can you get somewhere safe? I’m gonna call this in and I’ll be right–”

  “NO!” The terror was back in her voice, even sharper than before. “Don’t call anyone, Nick, please. Please don’t call. And, and don’t come here.”

  “What? Lauren, I–”

  “I… I mean it. I… I can get away. I w-won’t be here. I don’t want to stay here anymore. I… just... meet me outside? On the road, okay? Please? Please, Nick?”

  “Okay, take it easy, I–”

  “Hurry,” she whispered, cutting him off, her words almost lost beneath the sob that broke from her. “Oh, God, Nick, hurry. Hu–”

  Abruptly, the phone went dead. Too abruptly. For an instant, Nick stood still, shocked into immobility. Then more adrenaline kicked in, fueled by rage, fed by terror. He dropped the phone on the counter, not even caring where it landed, and streaked for the door.

  * * *

  “Very nice,” Gregg murmured, chuckling softly as he leaned over Lauren’s shoulder to retrieve the phone from her lap. He checked to make sure she had actually disconnected it, before dropping it back into place. “Very, very nice.”

  She shuddered uncontrollably as his hands kneaded her shoulders, as he bent to kiss her head, and then leaned further, to caress her breasts.

  “Are you ready for your reward now?” he inquired gently, his mouth against her ear. “Are you ready for me to make the pain go away again?”

  She sobbed, fighting back tears, even as she nodded. Gregg smiled, admiring the way she sat in the leather chair, all folded in upon herself as though she wanted to implode; at the way she kept her eyes shut tight, as though the very sight of him was painful.

  He gave her one, last, playful squeeze and then straightened; moving slowly and deliberately as he reached for the tray that held his supplies. He shook out a couple of capsules, and handed them to her, along with a small cup of water; and watched as she swallowed. Then he unwrapped one of the raspberry flavored ‘lollipops’ he’d been using on her, as well.

  He wanted her to sleep, and forget. He wanted her doped up ‘til morning. He wanted her confused and disoriented – like he’d had her all week.

  “Open your mouth,” he instructed, smiling as she reluctantly complied. “That’s a good girl,” he crooned as he rubbed the candy-flavored drug around the inside of her mouth. “Don’t swallow yet. Just close your eyes. It’s time to go night-night now. Time for those lovely dreams to begin again.”

  “Noooo,” Lauren moaned in a frightened little voice, batting uselessly at his hand as she struggled to open her eyes again, as she fought to remain conscious. “No dreams.”

  “Yessssss,” Gregg chuckled in reply. “Sweet, lovely dreams, for a sweet, lovely girl. Night-night, Lauren. Night-night.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  I should have known. Liam bit back a groan when he opened the kitchen door only to find Cara was there before him. Damn it, he should have figured he’d find her here. He should have stifled the hunger pains he’d been feeling and stayed in his room. Or, even better, he should have snagged something to eat earlier in the day, like on his way up from the basement.

  “Hey,” he said, tossing the word off casually, as he crossed the room, intent on reaching the refrigerator, extracting a snack and escaping again – without another scene.

  She made no reply. But even though she remained silent; even though he cast no more than that one, initial glance in her direction, he was acutely aware of her sitting at the table, head propped on her hands, surrounded by her books. If he didn’t know better, he’d have assumed she was simply absorbed in her reading and hadn’t heard him. But the empathic bond between them – something he’d been aware of from the start, something he’d actively fostered to help him withstand Gregg’s psychic aggression – had been heightened over the past couple of weeks, as his feelings for her grew stronger; and further sensitized by their encounter in his room tonight. Right now, her inner agitation was communicating itself to him all too clearly, and in no uncertain terms. She was pissed, all right, but good.

  He supposed he should be grateful for her anger; it would keep her at a distance, and he needed that. But he also needed her cooperation to get him through all the never-ending meetings Gregg was forever scheduling.

  “So, is there anything else to eat?” he asked, when the silence began to weigh on him. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Besides what’s in here, I mean?” The refrigerator was filled with leftovers from dinner, but despite the grumbling of his stomach, he wasn’t quite that hungry. Cara shook her head.

  “Well, then, I hope you don’t mind if I make myself a sandwich?”

  This time she shrugged, but still made no answer.

  So, she was giving him the silent treatment. He wondered how long she planned to keep it up. He crossed back to the table, rested his hands on the back of the chair opposite hers, leaned in and peered at her. “Okay, Wendy, what’s the deal? How long are you gonna stay mad at me?”

  Cara sighed in exasperation. “I’m not mad at you, okay? And stop calling me that. I don’t want to be Wendy. Wendy’s lame. If I have to be anyone, I want to be Tinkerbell.”

  Liam blinked in surprise, a little disappointed that she was rejecting his fantasy. What was wrong with Wendy, anyway? She was sweet and innocent. And dependable. Someone you could count on to be there when you needed her. And unlike Peter, unlike Tinkerbell, when the time came for Wendy to grow up, she did. “Why d’you wanna be Tink for?”

  “Cause she didn’t take shit from anyone,” Cara said, shrugging as she added, “she did what she wanted. Plus, she could fly.”

  Liam smiled at that. “Okay, fine. Tinkerbell it is. So, do you mind?”

  “Mind what?” she mumbled, idly rifling the pages of her book.

  “If I get myself a sandwich. I know it’s after dinner, and all, but, I’m kinda hungry.”

  She glanced up at him quickly, and then away again. “No. I don’t mind. Do what you want. And if Gregg finds out and gets mad about it, you’re on your own this time. You don’t give a shit about me, so why should I care what you do?”

  Ouch. Liam shook his head. Yep, she was majorly pissed this time. And bringing her around was going to be harder than he thought. He studied her for a moment and then asked, “So, how ‘bout you?”

  Cara frowned, but didn’t answer.

  “Earth to Cara. Come in Cara.”

  She blew out an angry breath. “How about me, what?” she asked, staring hard at her book.

  “A sandwich. Do you want one? I could make you one, if you do.”

  She
shrugged again. “Whatever.”

  Liam reached across the table and tugged on one shiny curl. “Hey. That’s not much of an answer. Come on, yes or no? Are you hungry, or not?”

  Cara swatted at his hand. “Yes. Okay? Now, will you quit bugging me?”

  No, not quite. “What kind?” Liam persisted. “Tuna? PB&J? Grilled cheese?”

  “I don’t care,” she muttered, shading her eyes with her hands and doing her best to ignore him.

  Liam sighed and gave up, but only for the moment. “Right. Peanut butter, it is,” he said as he straightened up and turned back to the fridge.

  When the sandwiches were made, he carried the two plates over to the table and slid one in front of her. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly. But, she didn’t look up – not at him, not at the sandwich – and she made no move to eat it.

  He sat opposite her. And as he worked his way through the first half of his sandwich, he watched her. She was still staring at the same page. Her eyes kept moving, tracking left and right all the way down the page, but when she’d get to the bottom, she’d return to the top and start over again.

  “Are you having trouble with that?” he asked. “Anything I can help you with?”

  She shrugged. “No. I don’t want any help. I’m just tired.”

  Well, he’d buy that, he was exhausted, himself. “Maybe you’ve done enough for today, then. Maybe you should just go to bed.”

  Cara snorted and muttered something he couldn’t hear.

  He leaned in closer. “What’s that, Sunshine? I didn’t hear you.”

  Suddenly, Cara snapped. She slammed both hands down on the table, looked up at him, and glared. “What are you, deaf? I said, I can’t go to bed.”

  He stared at her as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I told you that before, didn’t I? Gregg’s with Lauren again.”

  “Yeah, but–”

  “She’s spending the night with him. Don’t you listen when people talk to you?”