Thump, thump, thump.
Elizabeth lifted her chin and turned toward the sound, narrowing her eyes. She’d risked a lot, barely escaping an attack, to discover the source of the horrid song, and the Lord knew she should follow her would-be rapist to camp and the safety of her tent, but lust for adventure ran in her veins. Henry Dodge did not raise a coward.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
She crawled out of the bushes and rose to her feet, dusting off her rear and knees. After one glance back toward camp, Elizabeth walked in the opposite direction. Up high, where the vegetation thinned, she didn’t need the lantern, but, goodness, she could use a bigger gun. Even the shadows began to take on an ominous appearance, creeping in and stalking her like a hungry predator.
Go to where she’d be protected, but likely bored? Or forward into possible excitement—and danger? Safety or adventure? Adventure. She clutched the derringer tightly and continued up the side of the mountain.
An hour so later, the mist dropped to kiss her cheeks. Dew clung to her lashes, and a cloud of steam exited her mouth with every breath. Across the slope, the vapor danced, whirling around as she disturbed the air.
Of course, she’d gone into this without really thinking about what she’d do once she arrived. The music had stopped halfway up the mountain. Since there were two options—go up or go down—she’d just continued on to the top. Now if she couldn’t find the camp again, all she could do was sit and wait for the sun to rise, wait for her father to wake and realize she’d taken off. Brilliant move. Now what?
It would have been better to have taken her father’s repeating rifle than the derringer. Not that she would’ve have known how to use it, but the Winchester would bring with it a sense of security she sorely lacked at the moment.
Ahead, the outline of ancient buildings stood sentinel over the mountain top. Her stomach twisted, and the hair on her neck rose. She froze in her tracks, unable to do anything but stare. Her gaze swept over the moonlit horizon, taking it all in.
The buildings seemed to grow, looming like giants before her. The whole place oozed malevolence. The scene shouted danger, and the hair on her arms rose in response to the unspoken warning, Go back.
If not for her fierce need to be independent, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She couldn’t return to camp now, though. Everyone would be awake when she got there. Her father would have her packed and on the train before she could so much as say one word. This was her only chance to discover what had created the music, to explore unhindered and uncover ancient secrets.
The villagers’ murmurs came back to her, and she shook off the chill that crept up her spine as she recalled all they’d said. Evil spirits. Curses. “Curses don’t exist. Nothing more than superstition,” she muttered.
But was it? Could she truly deny the eerie music that had drawn her to this place? Suddenly she didn’t feel so clever, but rather like a sailor about to be lured to his death by a Siren. Leave. Take your life and run.
A red glow bloomed before her, igniting the mist with a crimson hue. Elizabeth blinked and rubbed her eyes. Maybe light from something else nearby? But no, the darkness still hugged the landscape. If there were a torch or lantern, it would glow a warm golden light, not the color of blood. Not the color of death.
She retreated. The red light advanced. A slide to the side, and it copied her, mirroring her movement. A step to the other side. The haze moved with her. Elizabeth turned and the apparition swirled around her before racing away and back toward where it had come from.
She spun around. “You want me to follow?”
If misty red light could nod, it did, taking on the appearance of a giant head making an affirmative gesture. She swallowed, fighting the urge to haul her rear down the mountain and to the safety of the tent.
“Up there?” Elizabeth pointed to the top of the path where the strange music originated. Please don’t answer yes.
The fog swirled around, losing its human-like shape, and bobbed up and down again.
“Well, I’m just going to head back to….” She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder and whipped around to make a run for it.
The fog zipped around her and exploded into a brilliant ball of light, stopping her in her tracks.
“Oh!” Elizabeth gasped. “You are not going to let me pass, are you?”
It pulsed, seeming to grow bigger, almost angry.
She bit her lip. She didn’t take much stock in ghost stories, but the haze could only be something from the beyond. Besides, she simply couldn’t come up with another explanation. The music had begun playing again, growing louder as she followed it, so it seemed whatever the spook’s agenda was, it brought her closer to her goal of uncovering the source of the song.
“Fine. I’ll follow.” She resumed walking, and the red cloud moved two steps ahead of her as though impatient. The lyrics became recognizable words, but not any clearer in meaning. Elizabeth soon caught herself humming along with the horrid song. Somewhat because of her nervousness, somewhat because it distracted her from the fact that she was following a blood-red cloud.
But there were some things one couldn’t be distracted from.
“Oh, hell.” She came to a screeching stop at an open area surrounded by ruins. Possibly a plaza.
Ahead, a dark hole opened in the earth, swallowing jungle and any moonlight that illuminated the area around it. Elizabeth stared at the entrance to who only knew what. Black like a starless night, devouring any celestial illumination that made its way down the steps, it yawned, hungry to swallow anyone unfortunate enough to enter. She had no clue what she’d find in the depths of the mountain. She worried her bottom lip again, staring into the hole and tightening her grip on the derringer.
The fog whirled around as though demanding she follow.
“I’m not going down there. I draw the line at dark and scary holes in the ground. Forget it.”
The scarlet mist rushed past her and shot down the stone stairs through a dark archway and into blackness. Bursting out like a geyser seconds later when she didn’t follow, it cocooned her, whirling around faster and faster, urging her forward.
Elizabeth sucked in a breath, balled her fists, closed her lids, and steeled her nerves. “All right. I get it. But I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”
The music stopped.
Crack.
A branch snapped behind her. A jack rabbit thumped away in her chest, its feet beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs. Her lungs refused to inflate, no matter how hard she panted. Slow down. Breathe.
Snap.
More movement from something large behind her. The hair on her nape rose. On second thought, maybe not a bad idea to hide.
She scrambled for the dark doorway, following the red fog down a narrow passage. The music started up again, louder this time, echoing in the stone corridor.
Painted carvings of warriors holding up large knives, clubs, and decapitated heads covered the walls. Blood and sacrifice seemed to be the central theme.
Elizabeth paused a moment to brush her hand along the design, catching thousands of years’ worth of grime on her fingertips. Her stomach tightened further, and the rabbit became a touch more frantic. What am I doing?
Left. Right. Another right turn then a left. She glanced back, uncertain which way she’d come. As she followed the mist floating ahead of her, its glow began to fade. She picked up the pace, doing her best to keep up. She would be lucky to find her way out, but more unfortunate if she lost the one source of light she had in the ruins.
The tunnels were dark, too dark without a lantern, and she had been foolish to enter without one. The thought had never occurred to her until she’d traveled too far into the maze and realized she had no choice but to trust the ghost.
She stopped at an intersection and placed a hand over her heart. Could this be what happened to Alexander’s brother? Had ghosts tricked him into the ruins?
“Ghosts don’t exist,” she mumbled.
/> As if to contradict her, the haze stopped and formed the shape of a man, pointing at the corridor straight ahead.
“Okay, maybe they do. So you want me to go in there?”
The man-shape gestured more urgently, thrusting his finger at the opening.
“Fine, but let me tell you, I think this is an awful idea. How do I know you don’t mean to leave me here to rot?”
The ghost started to fade and, with him, her light. A lump lodged in her throat. “I didn’t mean it. Don’t leave me.”
As he disappeared, she noticed a golden glow ahead, warm and not bloody red. Surely that had to be a positive sign. The music started up again, this time a thumping sound with an upbeat piano and possible guitar, but unlike any she’d heard before. Hard to tell with the odd mixture, but better than the screeching in the previous song.
“Hello!” Elizabeth called out. “Is someone there?”
The music stopped. “Yes! Thank God. Can you help me? I’m trapped.”
She started cautiously down the hall, not sure if her mind played tricks. “Who’s there?”
“Will. William Davidson.”
“Alexander’s brother.”
“I’m an only child.”
Elizabeth couldn’t blame him for not claiming his bastard brother. “Your wife has been terribly worried about you, doctor.”
“You must have mistaken me for someone else, miss. I’m an FBI agent, not a doctor, and I’m not married. But I still need help. Please don’t go away.”
Elizabeth entered a room—empty except for an altar holding a black skull with a golden halo around it. She tiptoed toward it. “Where are you?”
“In here,” the skull said, “but whatever you do, if you see a crystal skull, don’t—”
Elizabeth reached out and grasped the skull in her hands. Electrical jolts raced up her arms, freezing her ability to draw a breath.
“—touch it.”
Thanks for the warning.
A man stood before her, his features hidden in the shadows. The altar had vanished. The skull was non-existent. But him…. He was very real and began to walk toward her.
“Don’t panic, miss. I’m not some serial killer or maniac. I know this is weird.”
Elizabeth screamed. A velvet curtain slid across her field of view, and her lungs refused to work while her heart slammed double-time against her ribs. Killer?
He touched her shoulder. “Miss? Are you okay?”
She slumped to the floor, the darkness consuming her.
Chapter Four
“I told you not to touch it. Now we’re both stuck here.” Someone patted her cheek. His hand covered the whole side of her face. Large. Roughened from hard work, but clean. The smell of soap lingered on his skin. “Wake up. We need to talk.” He hooked his arm under her shoulders and sat her up. “Are you okay?”
Smells of spice and the deep woods floated up. Nothing feminine about it. He smells delightful. What scent did he wear? Better that than the foul salts normally shoved under her nose.
No! I passed out. Elizabeth’s lids fluttered open. Green eyes stared at her, determined, passionate, the kind belonging to a man who got what he wanted. Her gaze drifted across his face, following the line of his jaw, tracing the features of a warrior, a man carved out of the fight, chiseled from meeting challenges head on. He exuded confidence and power.
Oh. Her heart thumped double-time, and her belly fluttered. Descriptions she’d heard of Doctor Davidson had not done him justice. Damn—married. Lady Fortune truly did not smile on her. “William Davidson?”
“Yes.”
“Doctor William Davidson?”
“I’m not a doctor. What’s your name?” He gave her a funny look as if he thought he recognized her and then realized he was wrong. “Have we met?”
She shook her head. No, she’d never forget that face. But there was that feeling, like déjà vu, and from his reaction, she wasn’t the only one with it.
His brows drew together in confusion for a brief second. “Strange, you look like someone…. But that’s impossible.”
Elizabeth blatantly ogled him back. Served him right for being so bold.
What a strange getup he wore. Good lord. She’d never seen a hat like the one on his head. It had a giant B on the front above a duckbill-like brim. She scanned his chest and the colorful shirt with the same B embellishing the area over his heart. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers over the design to discover a fabric softer than anything she’d felt besides silk. The design wasn’t embroidered on. Painted?
Continuing her visual exploration, she let her gaze drop to where he kneeled. He wore a young boy’s breeches. Khaki-colored pants ended right above his knee, instead of mid-calf, more like they’d been chopped off and hemmed short. Far too short. He either needed a new tailor, or his wife needed sewing lessons. Or…. Heat raced across her face, and she switched her topic of study to the floor next to him. Undergarments?
“Miss? Do you know your name? Did you hit your head when you fainted?”
“Elizabeth Dodge. What happened to your clothes, Doctor?” More heat assaulted her cheeks.
“My clothes?” He pulled the pins from her hair, releasing her tresses from the tight bun. Strong fingers probed along her scalp. “I told you I’m not a doctor. Did you say Elizabeth Dodge? Are you a descendant of—”
Elizabeth knocked his hand away and sat up. “Sir, your actions are a bit familiar. I’m not your wife.”
“Okay….” He sat on his heels. “Just searching for an injury. You’ve obviously knocked yourself silly.”
“I assure you, I’m in firm control of all my faculties.” Liar.
“Yeah, I can see that. You’re talking like some chick from one of those Jane Austin flicks.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. “You’ve read Jane Austin?” Most men she knew didn’t bother to read fiction, especially romantic tales. This man…. Every time he opened his mouth, he surprised her.
“Hell, no. But my ex forced me to sit through several of the movies. Talk about painful.”
She frowned. Movies? What language did this man speak? “You can’t possibly be Doctor William Davidson.”
“For the last time, I’m not a doctor.”
“Well, that much is obvious. And you’re certainly no gentleman, either.”
“Whoa, wait one moment, lady. I’ve done nothing to bring about that accusation.”
“Besides pawing me?”
“Pawing?” Will snagged her shoulders and leaned in. His warm breath dusted her lips, and Elizabeth shivered. “If I pawed you, you would know it, sweetheart.”
Please do. No! It was a sin to covet another woman’s husband. Right now, if her line of thought continued on the same path, she’d surely go to hell. She gathered her wits and raised a brow. “Like you are now?”
“That’s not pawing.” He grinned and slid an arm around her, pulling her tight to his chest.
A most unintentional slutty sound rolled off her lips. It didn’t sound in the least bit like she was objecting as a good girl should. Apparently, he didn’t think so either. Fire leapt in his eyes at the sound.
He held her gaze. “This is pawing,” he growled, a sexy sound that went straight to her womanly bits—forbidden territory. Simply delicious and, oh, so wrong.
“What is—”
He locked on in a kiss that sucked the very air from her lungs. He tasted like mint, heaven, and every forbidden thing her female relatives and friends had warned her about. She grabbed the front of his shirt, holding on for dear life.
He lowered her, sliding on top, cradling her head in his hand and resting on his elbows, keeping his full weight off her. The lower part of his torso rested on her, and she became all too aware of another part of his anatomy, a part that should not be pressing against the juncture of her thighs.
He’s married.
Elizabeth let go of his shirt and pounded her fist into his chest, but his mouth kept taking, his tongue coaxing her to op
en to him. She sighed and took more, opening her hand and smacking him half-heartedly with her palm. She should slap him. She should break the kiss and scream, do anything but continue. Yes, men took mistresses, but she could not, would not, be the other woman. One of his hands squeezed her derriere, taking her deeper into bliss.
Lord, the fires of hell would certainly be toasty.
As quick as the kiss happened, it stopped, and he released her. He rolled off and jumped to his feet, leaving her a spineless lump in the middle of the floor. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He shoved his hand in his hair and raked the thick waves. “I don’t normally behave in that manner.” He began to pace like a caged animal. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I’m so sorry.”
Scare? She blinked, clearing the fog from her brain. No, he shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t say she regretted it. Sitting up and doing her best to regain some semblance of composure, Elizabeth caught her breath. She opened her mouth to chastise him but realized that would be a lie. Why bother? She’d really liked it. “Well, then. I guess you’ve clarified the issue of what pawing is.”
“I should certainly hope so.” He burst into laughter and shook his head. “Since I feel like an ass for doing that, why don’t we start over and pretend it didn’t happen. Okay?”
He wanted her to forget it? No way could she. That had to be a once-in-a-lifetime kiss. She frowned as he reached down to her, offering his hand.
“I’m Agent William Davidson III of the FBI. I’m here on vacation, investigating the disappearance of my great-grandfather, Doctor William Davidson, who vanished down here around 1905. And you are…?”
“Elizabeth Dodge. What’s the FBI?” She slid her palm into his and let him pull her to her feet.
“The Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
He said it like she should know what it was. Perhaps one of those new American organizations, springing up all over the place? “Must be new, then.”
“No, been around a while. We’re pretty well known. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us.”
“I haven’t. What exactly do you do?”
The Willfully Wedded Virgin (Beyond Fairytales) Page 4
