The memory spun away, and Elizabeth felt gooseflesh prickle on the back of her neck, as if she’d inadvertently remembered something forbidden.
“Elizabeth?”
Cullen’s voice roused her from the past. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking. What did you say?”
“What happened to this Rathfastar character?”
She shrugged. “He just disappeared. For a while, I think there were whispers among their colleagues that Manning might have done him in, but then someone saw Rathfastar in Europe. In Brussels, I believe. Then later it was learned that he’d been in a terrible car accident and wasn’t expected to live.”
“Did he?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know. After the rumors died down, I never heard his name mentioned again.” Certainly not at home.
“I still say all this sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie.”
“Well, it’s not,” she assured him. “Gene therapy and genetic engineering are here. So is cloning. The human race is going to have to find a way to deal with the moral and ethical dilemmas that will inevitably follow.”
Cullen shot her a glance. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon stick with the murder.”
THE GUARD at the gate hurried over to the car and peered in the window. Cullen rolled down the glass, and the man shone his light inside the car.
“Dr. Douglas? That you?”
“Good evening, George.”
The guard flicked off the flashlight and glanced from Elizabeth to Cullen, frowning. “Out kind of late in this weather, aren’t you?”
“I’m in good company, George. You remember Detective Ryan.”
“Sure do.” George’s gaze was disapproving. “Are you here on official business?”
“Just dropping Dr. Douglas off at her place.” An edge of impatience crept into Cullen’s voice. “How about opening those gates for us?”
George wasn’t one for being told how to do his job. He hesitated, and for a moment, Elizabeth thought he might actually refuse. He was only thirty-five or so, but a rounding middle and a balding pate gave him an older appearance. He’d been around for as long as Elizabeth could remember, and he took his job very seriously.
“You take care, Dr. Douglas,” he finally said. He went back to the guardhouse and pressed the control so that the heavy, iron gates slid open.
Cullen stepped on the gas and the car shot through the opening before the gates had fully extended. “That guy’s kind of protective of you, isn’t he?”
“George? He’s always been that way.”
“How long has he worked here?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Forever, it seems.”
“Know anything about his background?”
“Not really, but I’m sure he has an employee file in the administration office. But for heaven’s sakes, Cullen, you can’t really suspect George. He’s harmless.”
“Is he?”
Was he? How much did Elizabeth really know about George Wiley? How much did she know about anyone at Heathrow? Or anyone in town for that matter?
But George? He’d always been so nice to her. Always looked out for her.
Elizabeth remembered once when he’d caught her and Kat climbing the tree branches on the southwest side of the campus to scale the wall after curfew. He’d read them the riot act, but he hadn’t written them up, for which Elizabeth had been grateful. But Kat had scoffed at the gesture. “He’s just trying to impress you. I think he has a little crush on you,” she’d teased. After that night, Kat had dubbed him the Gate Nazi. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planted a few hidden cameras in the dorms.”
“Kat! George wouldn’t do that. He’s a nice man.”
“Oh, grow up, Elizabeth. You’re so naive. Everybody knows the man’s a perv.”
Elizabeth hated to think that her perception of someone could be that far off base.
Cullen pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. When he came around to open her door, he even went so far as to put out a hand to her. Elizabeth took it, feeling the warmth of his flesh against hers. Feeling all tingly with anticipation.
She’d hadn’t left a light on in the house, but there was a security light at the edge of her tiny yard and another one in the tiny green directly across from her house. She could see Cullen’s features only faintly as he walked her to her door.
Elizabeth leaned against the frame, suddenly shy. “It’s a cold night. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”
He hesitated. “I’d better be going.”
He leaned down suddenly, and for one breathless moment, Elizabeth thought he was going to kiss her. Everything stilled inside her as she waited. As she wanted.
But instead, he lifted a hand to gently brush against her cheek. “You’ve still got a bruise. I noticed it the other day.”
“I got it at the funeral home.” Elizabeth unconsciously lifted her hand to the spot, and their fingers brushed, entangled. She closed her eyes briefly at the contact.
He leaned in, planting his other hand on the doorframe above her head. “I shouldn’t do this.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “Do what?”
“Kiss you.”
“Oh.” She swallowed again and barely had time to draw a breath before Cullen’s lips brushed against hers. Softly. Curiously. Cautiously.
He lifted his head. “Are you going to slap my face?”
Hardly.
She shook her head.
For the longest moment, their gazes held. Then he kissed her again, and this time there was nothing curious or cautious about the action. His mouth pressed against hers, moving slowly back and forth until Elizabeth’s lips parted eagerly, and she heard herself sigh.
She’d dreamed about this moment so often she hardly dared to believe it was real. But it was. It was! Cullen Ryan was kissing her so passionately she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe properly. And it was everything she’d thought it would be and more.
All these years, when Elizabeth had held herself aloof from passion, she’d pretended that she wasn’t saving herself for the right man so much as the right moment. The time for love simply hadn’t presented itself. But now, with Cullen’s lips on hers, with his fingers threading through her hair, shaking loose the prim bun at her nape, Elizabeth knew she’d been deluding herself.
She hadn’t been saving herself for the right moment. She’d been saving herself for Cullen. Only Cullen.
He pulled away, his eyes dark and mysterious in the filtered light. “You shouldn’t be doing this with a guy like me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Cullen—”
“There’s a lot about my past I’m not proud of, Elizabeth.”
“Regret isn’t unique to you,” she murmured.
He lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “What have you got to regret?” When she didn’t answer, his expression sobered. “I’m not looking for a serious involvement right now. With anyone.”
Her heart sank a bit. “Who says I am?”
He studied her for a moment. “Then what do you want from me, Elizabeth?”
“I…just want you to kiss me again.”
He looked surprised. Then he laughed a little. “I can do that.”
And he did. He kissed her over and over, until everything faded from Elizabeth’s mind except the heat of his mouth on hers. Until her knees grew weak and she felt all quivery inside. Until her desire for Cullen almost overwhelmed her.
She’d never experienced this before. Never been kissed this way. Never wanted to go that final step as badly as she wanted to now.
Cullen drew away, looking a bit dazed himself. “Wow. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Am I?”
He laughed again. “Damn right. I wasn’t expecting this from you, Elizabeth.”
“What? That I know how to kiss?”
�
�That you’d want to, I guess.”
“I’m not a prude.”
“I’m beginning to get that message.” He trailed a finger along her jawline, and Elizabeth shivered. “It’s cold out. I should let you go in.”
She wasn’t the least bit cold. “You could come in, too,” she suggested shyly.
“No,” Cullen said firmly. “I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s not rush this, okay? One step at a time.” He kissed her again, and then he was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Everything changed after that night.
Before Cullen had kissed her, Elizabeth had thought they were cultivating an important relationship. He’d taken a big step in coming to ask for her help, and she’d believed it to be an encouraging sign that after all this time, he was finally realizing she’d grown up. He was finally seeing her in a new light.
But after that night, his whole attitude toward her changed. To put it simply, he started avoiding her.
Part of it, she decided, was his very real belief that he wasn’t the right man for her. But she also suspected he was scared of caring for someone because of the way he’d been brought up.
Elizabeth knew what it was like to feel abandoned. To be so hurt and lonely you felt as though you didn’t have a soul in the world who cared about you. Eventually, you grew defensive. You erected a wall around your heart. You tried in every way you knew how to make yourself invincible to hurt and disappointment.
She knew all about that.
But she was willing to take the risk. She was tired of being lonely. She wanted someone to love and to love her in return. She wanted a home and family. She wanted Cullen.
It didn’t matter to her that they were young and that statistics worked against them. What mattered to her was that they would have each other.
But, Cullen, of course, didn’t see it that way. He saw their burgeoning feelings as some kind of trap.
Oh, he’d called her the next day as he’d promised, but even then, the conversation had been strictly business, with no reference whatsoever to what had happened between them the night before. And his tone had been stilted and reluctant. Elizabeth had known at once that he was pulling away. As the weeks went by, it became even more obvious.
But in spite of his aloofness, Elizabeth remained active on the case. She’d received a copy of the autopsy report, and she’d pored over the pages time and again, searching for something that she and Cullen might have missed. She studied the crime-scene photos and the witness interviews, and during the week of spring break, when the campus was all but deserted and she had some free time on her hands, she made a chart, listing all the suspects, their possible motives and their whereabouts, if known, on the night she’d discovered Bethany’s body.
She went over that list now in her mind. First was Geoffrey Pierce, not because she believed him to be the chief suspect, but because his actions that night had inspired a certain unease. He hadn’t seemed the least bit shocked or disturbed to see the body of a young woman hanging in his brother’s solarium. And he had a scientific background, which spoke, not only to the test tube she and Cullen had found in the cooler room at the mortuary, but to the procedure that had been performed on Bethany.
Next came Lucian LeCroix because, whether Elizabeth wanted to believe it or not, Cullen was right. No one in Moriah’s Landing really knew much about him. Elizabeth suspected that Cullen, given his initial dislike of the man, had made a few calls to some of his old buddies in the Boston Police Department, trying to dig up whatever he could on Lucian, but if he’d heard anything suspicious, he hadn’t seen fit to share.
She put Ned Krauter, the undertaker, on the list for obvious reasons. And because he was creepy. He talked to dead people. Not a motive that would hold up in court, to be sure, but Elizabeth wasn’t willing to leave any stone unturned.
Beside Paul Fortier’s name, she drew a tiny star, signifying a very strong suspect. He’d known Bethany, and though they’d found no evidence so far indicating a personal relationship between the two, Elizabeth didn’t discount the possibility. Plus, Fortier had acted as if he had something to hide that day in the lab, not to mention the blood he’d been working with, and the tear in his lab coat, which seemed suspicious. Without any physical evidence or eyewitness testimony linking him to the murder—in other words, without probable cause—neither the blood nor his records could be confiscated so they remained in the dark as to the nature of his experiments. But even if the blood had been Bethany’s, he would have long since disposed of it.
As an afterthought, Elizabeth included Leland Manning’s name on the list. Manning was a long shot, but like Ned Krauter, there was something about him that unnerved her. And again, his scientific background came into play, not to mention his bizarre theory about witches. Had someone drained Bethany’s body of blood for experimental purposes? For some dark sacrifice? Or simply for sick pleasure?
“Checkmate!”
The delighted voice jolted Elizabeth out of her reverie. She glanced down to see that her four-year-old brother, Brandon, had thoroughly trounced her at chess.
She frowned. “That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s not. I won!” he cried gleefully. “I won! I won! I won!”
“All right,” she admonished. “It’s not nice to gloat.”
“Sorry,” he said, chastised, but his eyes gleamed with pleasure, and Elizabeth couldn’t help smiling. He was adorable, with his glossy black hair and light blue eyes, so striking against his dark coloring. Not only was his IQ several points higher than hers had been at his age, but he’d gotten all the looks in the family as well.
“Can we play again? I bet you’ll win this time.” All the charm as well.
Elizabeth reached over and mussed his hair. “Afraid not. It’s way past your bedtime. If you’re not under the covers in two minutes, Annie will come up here and have both our hides,” she said, referring to Brandon’s nanny.
He heaved a sigh. “Okay. But will you read me a story?”
“Why, you little con artist,” Elizabeth accused him, tucking him in. “I gave you a choice between a story and chess, and you chose chess. And besides, you’re perfectly capable of reading a story on your own.”
“I know.” Those beautiful eyes, framed with long, sooty lashes, stared up at her solemnly. “But I love the way you read, ’Lizbeth. It makes me have the nicest dreams.”
How could she resist that? “Well, okay.” She walked over to the bookcase to select a title. “But just for a few minutes. And then it’s lights out. No arguments.”
He signed a cross on his chest. “I promise.”
Elizabeth made a production of searching through his books. “What’ll it be tonight?” As if she had to ask.
“Indiana Jones!” he shrieked.
She cut him a glance. “Don’t you ever get tired of hearing about all those dark, creepy places crawling with spiders and snakes and goodness knows what.” She faked a shudder.
He laughed, a little-boy sound that belied his often-serious disposition. “I like dark, creepy places. I’m going to be an archeologist when I grow up.”
Don’t let Mother and Father hear you say that. Elizabeth smiled encouragingly. “You can be anything you want when you grow up. You just have to follow your own dreams. Not someone else’s. Okay?”
He nodded, anxious for her to begin the story. On impulse, she leaned over and kissed his cheek.
He rubbed the spot with his fingertips. “Why’d you do that?”
“Because I wanted to. And in case you fall asleep before we finish the story.”
“Good idea. But don’t worry. I won’t fall asleep,” he assured her.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. She was barely into the second page when he began to nod off. She tucked him in, kissed him again, and then turned off his light before tiptoeing from his room.
Downstairs, she noticed a light underneath her mother’s office door, and wonde
red if both her parents had come in while she’d been upstairs with Brandon. If so, they hadn’t seen fit to come up and say good-night to their young son, but that was no surprise. Bedtime stories and good-night hugs were part of the nanny’s duties.
Elizabeth wondered, as she’d wondered a thousand times before, why her parents had had children only to delegate their care to strangers. But she knew the answer only too well. Marion and Edward Douglas were both brilliant; their offspring would do amazing things for humankind. But Elizabeth hadn’t exactly been willing to mold herself to their expectations. She suspected that was why they’d decided to have Brandon so late in life.
Hesitating, she walked over and knocked on her mother’s door.
Silence, and then an impatient, “Yes?”
“Mother, it’s Elizabeth. May I come in for a minute?”
“Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”
Elizabeth opened the door and stepped into her mother’s office. Even at her age, she felt a bit intimidated. This room had been a forbidden place to her as a child, as had her father’s study, which was located in the back of the house. She could probably count on both hands the number of times she’d been allowed inside this office, and now, as she gazed around, she realized she hadn’t missed a thing. The word sterile came to mind. Nothing on the walls, on the desk, or in the bookcases to give away even one little hint of her mother’s personality. It was all about her work.
Marion Douglas was seated behind her desk, and in the glow of her computer screen, she looked hardly more than twenty herself, certainly not old enough to have a grown daughter. In her mid-forties, she was still a beautiful woman, with hair a little darker than Elizabeth’s and eyes more green than hazel. But there was still a strong resemblance between them, and it struck Elizabeth again how odd it was that they could look so much alike and be so different.
Brandon, on the other hand, didn’t resemble Marion or Edward. He had his own unique looks, his own special personality, and Elizabeth thought it was a pity that her parents didn’t seem to appreciate just how wonderful their son truly was. He was not only a genius, but a sweet, good-natured child. A blessing.
Secret Sanctuary Page 13
