The Witch of Stonecliff (18 page)

They were two people caught in a lousy situation enjoying each other. That was reality and she needed to accept it. A good place to start would be getting out of his bed, dressing and going home. And she would, as soon as she worked up the energy to open her eyes—let alone sit up.

The mattress dipped beside her and Kyle slid between the sheets, pulling the covers over them both. She opened her mouth to tell him she should go, but all that came out was an unintelligible mumble.

“Shh,” Kyle murmured. He pulled her against him, so her back was cradled against his chest, his long frame wrapped around her. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck just beneath her ear, and she fell into oblivion.

* * *

“Do you really believe he’ll tell you anything this time?”

Kyle looked over at Eleri, but her gaze remained fixed on Mel Barber’s farmhouse through the windscreen, her expression difficult to read.

“He will,” Kyle told her, flatly. He wouldn’t leave until the man told him everything he knew about the people who had taken him.

When Kyle had woken that morning with Eleri’s body fit perfectly to his, need reignited inside him. He’d wanted to run his hand over her small curves, taste her skin and wake her so he could get inside her again.

Until his gaze had fallen on her bruised neck.

Cold reality had blown through him like a frigid wind. She could have been killed and it would have been his fault. He’d been so bloody focused on getting his answers, justice, he’d never stopped to consider what his actions meant for Eleri.

Not so different from when he’d been writing his articles about The Witch of Stonecliff.

Not him, Jack.

But he was Jack and Jack was him.

He wanted to believe that the self-serving bastard he’d been was gone, dead and buried, bled out beside The Devil’s Eye. But he was using Eleri again, just like Jack had done. Only instead of furthering his career, he’d dragged her into a scheme that could get them both killed.

That was fine for him. He’d made his choice. He couldn’t go on the way he had, looking over his shoulder. He needed to know what had happened to him, who had tried to kill him, and if he died trying, so be it.

It wasn’t fair of him to drag Eleri into his mess.

“The Devil’s Eye is through those woods.” She pointed to a cluster of trees at the far end of Barber’s fields. Long grass swayed and bowed with the wind like green waves.

He nodded.

She faced him, expression incredulous. “You ran all that way with your throat cut?”

Tingling crawled along his neck and he nodded again. “I did.”

Fear and adrenalin had kept his feet moving, the pain at bay. Maybe lingering traces of GHB had kept him dull-minded enough he hadn’t grasped the damage done to him.

He tugged Eleri’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

“Maybe it’s better if you talk to Barber alone,” Eleri said, eyeing the little cottage. “Look what happened with Grady.”

Not a chance
. Kyle shook his head. “Grady’s a drunk and a nutter.”

“You said yourself, he thinks I’m one of the people who tried to kill you. He might be afraid to talk if I’m there.”

“I’ll see that he talks,” he said, with more conviction than he felt. After all, he didn’t plan on shoving bamboo reeds under Barber’s fingernails or anything. He was hoping a good dose of guilt would be enough.

“But—”

“Two nights ago someone tried to choke you in your bed.” Kyle took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “I’m not leaving you alone, so no point in arguing.”

He gave her hand a gentle tug and she reluctantly allowed him to pull her toward the house.

“I still think you’re making a mistake.”

“Duly noted.”

Wind whispered through the long grass in the fields and carried the soft bleating of Barber’s sheep dotting the hills. But aside from the wind and sheep, the farm was oddly silent. Kyle followed a narrow stone walk to the cottage’s front door and knocked. No answer. He tried again.

“Maybe he’s not here,” Eleri said.

“His truck is.” He nodded to the rusted heap parked in front of the barn. It was the same one Barber had driven him to the hospital in.

He tried the door and the heavy wood swung wide. Unease crawled up his back like tiny, frigid insects.

“What are you doing?” Eleri hissed.

“Looking for Barber. Come on.” Kyle took Eleri’s hand, and she followed him inside.

Unlike Grady’s cottage—which had him considering updating his tetanus—Barber’s was neat, tidy and smelled of lemon. The furniture was well worn, but homey and clean.

Eleri moved to the framed photos on the fireplace mantle. “This must be his wife.”

“I didn’t even know he was married.” Kyle came up behind her and looked at the woman with steel gray curls hugging her head, a demure smile pulling at her round cheeks.

“She died,” Eleri said, thoughtfully. “About ten years ago. Cancer, I think.”

Kyle straightened and called out, “Barber.”

Silence except for the ticking clock next to the picture of Barber’s dead wife.

“I don’t think he’s here,” Eleri said, softly.

“His front door was open and his truck’s out front.” Kyle wandered into the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway.

A single plate sat on the table, a pot and casserole dish on the stove.

“His dinner?” Eleri asked, from beside him.

“From how many nights ago?” A layer of white fuzz dusted the remains of congealed beef stew.

“Something’s off,” she whispered.

Kyle nodded. Had they found a moldy plate of food in Grady’s cottage, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but here, where things were so neat and orderly…

He searched the remainder of the cottage, but found no sign of the man in the bathroom or bedrooms. Nothing appeared disturbed or strange, except for the rotting food in his kitchen.

“There must be an explanation,” Eleri said, arms wrapped around her middle. “Maybe an emergency, and he had to rush out.”

“Without his truck?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Someone could have picked him up.”

He wanted to believe her, to believe that the man was fine, that something horrible hadn’t happened to him. Yet he couldn’t shake the dread gnawing at his insides with jagged teeth.

“Let’s check the barn.”

They left the house and crossed the dirt drive. Cold wind whipped across the fields, fat gray clouds sweeping across blue sky and dappling the pasture with shadow and light.

With Eleri’s hand gripped in his, Kyle lead her around the side of the rickety barn. Both wood doors stood open. Inside, the barn was dark, the low light from outside brightening the floorboards nearest the door.

“There has to be a light.” He released Eleri’s hand and felt along the beam behind the door for a switch. His fingers slid over a smooth plastic plate and he pressed the switch. Two bare bulbs mounted to the wide beam overhead flickered to life and cast hard, white light over the squat body dangling from the highest beam.

Kyle’s blood turned icy. A quick gasp slipped from Eleri’s lips before she pressed both hands to her mouth as if to hold back her scream.

The hanging man turned slightly on the rope, pinning Kyle with sightless bulging eyes. Barber’s round, purple face—pink foam dried around his protruding lips—was barely recognizable.

III

“Courier brought a package for you.”

At the sound of a voice in the otherwise silent room, Kyle’s heart jumped into his throat. He started, the back of his hand knocking over his cup of tea that had long ago gone cold. Brown liquid splashed across the antique oak desk and Kyle yanked away his laptop. Why he worried, he didn’t know.

He’d set his computer up on the old desk by the window in the den—the same one he and his brother and sisters had all done their homework at when they were children—under the guise of getting back to work, back to normal. Not for the magazine, of course. He’d never write for them again, but maybe some freelance work, or that novel he’d always told himself he’d write. But nothing had come to him, and he spent hour after hour playing spider solitaire.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, coming to stand next to him. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

Kyle hated the regret in his brother’s voice almost as much as the soothing tone Tom—and the rest of his family—used whenever he spoke to him now. Like he was a nervous wreck on the verge of a breakdown. Though, the cold tea creeping across the desk would imply they were right.

“No worries,” he said, trying not to wince. His new voice, low and raspy, still sounded strange, like someone else speaking for him. He set his computer on the floor, then snatched his hoodie from the back of his chair and mopped up the mess. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

“There’s a package for you.” Tom held out the plastic UPS bag.

“Thanks.” He took the package, heart thudding. Who would send him something? Immediately his head filled with images of dark robes, flickering flames, blood. His skin turned clammy.

It could be from anyone. A co-worker. A friend. Why did anything out of the monotonous routine of his day put him in a cold sweat?

It had been months, nearly a year. He should be over this. He should be better. His throat was better, or as good as it would ever get. Why couldn’t the rest of him catch up?

He fingered the plastic. Despite the excessive wrapping, there was only a small box inside.
Small enough to hold an ear, teeth, a finger or two
.

He shuddered

“Are you all right?” Tom asked.

“Fine. I need scissors.” Kyle yanked open the desk drawer, avoiding his brother’s gaze. With his head bent, digging through the mess of miscellaneous odds and ends, he could feel Tom studying him. The same way the rest of his family did—like he was some strange creature they’d never encountered and weren’t sure what to do with.

Kyle wanted them to stop, and knew they would if he could just go back to behaving the way he used to. And he tried, he really did, but he couldn’t quite play the role of himself anymore. He was like some awkward B actor in a movie of the week.

He pulled out the scissors, slit the plastic packaging and dumped a small square box on the desk.

“Were you expecting anything?”

Kyle shook his head, pulse flicking fast at his throat. A part of him wished Tom would go away and stop asking questions, but another part of him was relieved to have his brother with him in case it was from
them
. The conflicting emotions weren’t new. Most times he wished his family would leave him alone, but when they did, panic gripped his chest and squeezed.

Gingerly, Kyle lifted the lid from the box. A ring, white gold with a square cut diamond, lay in a bed of folded white tissue.

He released the breath he’d been holding, relief turning his muscles soft. He sank into the chair and picked up the box.

“Who’s that from? Is there a note?”

He didn’t need one. “It’s from Leigh.”

“Is that the ring you gave her?” Tom asked.

Kyle nodded.

Tom whistled softly. “That must have set you back a few quid. Sorry, though. When did you two call it off?”

“We didn’t.”

Tom’s eyes widened and darkened all at once, a glower settling over his granite features. “She’s ending things, and this is how she tells you? No phone call? No note?”

Kyle almost laughed at the furious incredulity in his brother’s voice. In truth, Tom was far more bothered than Kyle, but then Kyle couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything besides frustration…and fear.

He shrugged and covered the box with the lid once more. “She wants me to call her, beg her not to go. She’s always had a flair for the dramatic. I could fix this if I wanted to.”

Tom’s face softened, brows pulling together. “And you don’t want to?”

Kyle shrugged again. Leigh might believe she was calling his bluff, forcing him to return to London and pick up life where he’d left off, but she didn’t understand the man who’d given her that ring, who’d lived that life, was no more. He was dead, and Kyle was all that was left.

Exhaustion swept over him. His legs ached from standing for so long. Tom blocked his path to the desk chair, so Kyle shuffled to the worn settee before the dark telly. He flopped onto the sagging cushions, glanced at the antique cuckoo clock on the far wall. Nearly two-thirty. He could sleep a few hours before dinner. Make up for the hours he lost when he’d woken up at three, drenched in sweat, nightmare images swirling inside his brain.

“When’s the last time you spoke to her?” Tom asked, dropping onto the chair opposite him.

Why couldn’t Tom just leave him alone? What the hell did his brother care about Leigh calling off their engagement, anyway? He hadn’t liked her. No one in his family had. She hadn’t liked them either.

“Last week, I think.” Had he spoken to her then? He might have, or maybe the week before. He couldn’t say for sure. He might have spoken to her last week, two weeks ago or six. Every day ran into another the same as the one before.

“And you haven’t seen her again since the hospital?”

“No.” And that had been nine months ago. Ten? What difference did it make? She wanted it over, and Kyle didn’t care. Everyone was happy. He stretched out across the settee, propping his head on a lumpy throw pillow. Maybe if he closed his eyes, Tom would take the hint and leave.

Instead, his brother stretched out his leg and gave Kyle’s couch a shove with his foot, forcing Kyle to open his eyes.

“What in the hell is going on with you?” Tom snapped.

For the first time in months, anger flared inside Kyle. He sat up and glared at his brother. “What do you think?”

“I wish I knew.” Tom threw up his hand, his voice rising in frustration. “I wish I had a clue what was going on inside your head. Make no mistake, I’m no fan of Leigh’s, but you were going to marry that girl. You loved her that much, and now you can’t even be bothered to ring her?”

Tom didn’t understand, he was happily married to the same girl he’d fallen for in school. He assumed everyone lived that way. He didn’t get that for Jack—and Leigh, too—it was all about how it looked and what they brought to each other. Their relationship had been more arrangement than romance.