Authors: Cheryl Gorman
Somewhere,
a clock chimed the hour. The sound echoed eerily in the silence of midnight.
She had decided to start her search in Devlin’s office and go from there, even
though she wasn’t much of a detective. Perhaps there were phone records or
guest receipts that might give her a clue as to Miranda’s whereabouts.
Miranda
had an abundance of wanderlust, so it wasn’t unusual for her to go running off
at a moment’s notice. But even during her adventures, she always managed to
keep in touch.
Abby
swept the flashlight’s beam over the top of the large desk. No drawers in which
to hide things. Papers were stacked neatly over the surface, and a fax machine
sat on one corner.
Creak. Bump.
A
spurt of panic kicked her heartbeat into a rapid tattoo. The breath seized in
her lungs. She halted in her tracks, switched off her flashlight, and listened.
Please, God, don’t let Devlin catch me snooping.
Rain
and wind beat against the windows and the castle walls. Lightning flashed. She
whipped her head toward the nearest window and saw a man’s dark silhouette
through the glass. A scream slid from her gut into her throat, and she covered
her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. Lightning flickered and popped
again, but through the window, only rain met her vision.
Abby
inhaled and exhaled several calming breaths. After a moment, her heartbeat
settled and her pulse slowed to a more normal rhythm. Devlin was right --
being here in this castle affected her imagination. Who would be outside in
such a storm? No one in their right mind, that’s for sure. There were some
trees growing close to the window. She must have seen their shadow, that’s all.
She
clicked on her flashlight once more and rifled through the papers on the desk.
She found nothing to reveal the slightest detail about her sister, only a lot
of correspondence between Devlin and a company called Morgan Research and
Development.
Was
the company a family business, or did Devlin own it outright? What was the real
reason he gave Otis a home? They’d grown up in separate parts of the country,
with completely different backgrounds. He could hire anyone to cook for him and
help with the upkeep of the castle. Why Otis in particular? The man was indeed
an enigma.
A
picture of Devlin sat on the corner of his desk. He stood next to a man a
little younger than he. They appeared to be standing on a butte of some sort.
She
shifted the flashlight’s beam to the wall on her left. Climbing equipment hung
from hooks, along with a series of pictures of Devlin and this other man
scaling the side of a rock face. Devlin smiled at her from the picture. He
appeared so different with a grin on his face, as though he and his companion
had just shared a joke. She tried to imagine Devlin telling a joke and
couldn’t.
The
shadows she’d seen in his eyes were gone. He actually looked ... happy and
much more approachable. Her heart turned over in response to seeing a different
side of him. Instinctively, she reached out and smoothed her fingertips over
his face.
What are you hiding?
Outside,
the wind moaned. Abby shivered against the chill in the air, despite her cotton
sweats and matching pullover. She drew her attention away from the picture,
turned from the desk, and scanned the spines of books on the shelves of a large
oak bookcase.
They
were shelved in alphabetical order. Abby smiled. She was a teacher who kept her
classroom neat, but even she didn’t shelve books alphabetically. Most of the
titles consisted of thick, weighty tomes on chemistry, drug development, and
drug interactions. On one of the lower shelves, she saw a large black book and
pulled it from the shelf. It appeared to be a scrapbook of some sort. She sat
down at Devlin’s desk, directed her flashlight onto the book, and opened to the
first page. A newspaper clipping from the
Wolf Island Gazette
glared
back at her in the bright shaft of light.
“Local
Girl Attacked.” The date on the paper read
January 1993
, a little over
twelve years ago.
Intrigued,
Abby read on.
Wolf Island village suffered a severe shock when the
body of local shopkeeper Alice Howard, 23, was found by a local man Friday
night on the side of the road leading to Morgan’s Keep. Authorities say it
appears she was abducted while walking to the castle. Howard’s death reflects
similarities to another rape/murder committed on the island many years ago. The
Maine State Police are currently investigating, but have made no arrests. In a
strange twist, the attack was predicted by Catherine Good Townsend, the victim’s
aunt and a direct descendant of Sarah Good, one of the accused and convicted
witches in the Salem witch trials of 1692.
Trepidation
danced through her veins. She recalled Miranda’s words once more.
I believe
he’s connected somehow to the murder of Alice Howard.
Her breath shuddered
through her lungs. She’d heard about murderers keeping trophies to remind them
of their victims ... She flicked her gaze to the photograph on the wall
and illuminated Devlin’s smiling face with her flashlight.
Was
he involved with Alice Howard’s murder? Abby shook her head. She didn’t want to
let herself believe it. If she did, she would run from this castle as fast and
hard as she could ... and Miranda was still missing. She had to find her.
She
pushed her suspicions to the back of her mind and focused on the article. Alice
Howard had been employed in a shop called The Chiming Lady, owned by Emily Good
Howard, the victim’s mother. Alice had been strangled with a set of chimes tied
around her neck.
There
was a picture of the young woman in question. She was beautiful and, according
to the paper, Abby’s age when she died. How horrible. Gently, Abby touched the
photo. What a tragedy to lose someone so young. Ms. Townsend’s prediction and
Alice’s murder had to be a coincidence. She certainly didn’t believe in psychic
predictions.
Thunder
rumbled, and rain pounded harder against the windowpanes. She moved her chair
in front of Devlin’s computer.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
She
drilled the importance of telling the truth and always being honest into her
students. But what choice did she have? Another creak sounded from the hallway.
She glanced toward the door, but heard nothing more. She exhaled and then
touched the mouse. The main menu appeared. As luck would have it, he had not
shut down his computer, making it easy for her to access some of his files.
This is wrong. I should find another way. But how?
She
shoved her guilt to the pit of her stomach and decided to begin her search with
Devlin’s personal files. She scanned the list of names in his address book
first and found a listing for Jeremiah Dawson Tate. She thought about the new
man in Miranda’s life -- his initials were J.D. Were they one and the
same? Making a mental note to try and get in touch with him tomorrow, she
printed a copy of his address and phone number.
Next
she checked his calendar, starting with January, and saw monthly listings of
guests who were planning to stay at the castle. She found Miranda’s name and
her length of stay listed under the month of July. According to the original
dates, she was supposed to stay a whole week. But Devlin had said he only
allowed visitors for one weekend a month -- three days. Why would he
agree to let Miranda stay for a week?
She
noticed he’d given Miranda a sizeable cut in the normal fee. Why? Abby closed
the address book program and clicked on his Internet service provider logo. He
had stored his password. She brought up his e-mail and scanned the first few
messages before one caught her eye. Subject header: J. No return address. She
clicked and began to read.
*
* * *
Devlin
pumped his legs and arms faster, harder. His muscles protested the extra
effort, but he only grimaced against the pain and kept running on the
treadmill. He gloried in the rush of heat through his veins. The breath heaved
from his lungs and stung the back of his throat. He drove himself harder. Then
harder still.
The
shame that incessantly gnawed away at him lessened, and his uneasy spirit
settled. At least for now.
He’d
survived one more day.
After
his workout, he wiped his face with the towel slung casually around his neck
and headed toward the downstairs to his office to catch up on some work. He’d
reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward his office when he noticed
that the door stood ajar. A blue light flickered through the door’s opening.
Otis never went in there alone, and if he ever did, he would certainly turn on
a light.
A
jolt of adrenaline kicked his heart into his throat. He was in the castle!
Finally, a chance to stop him.
Devlin
padded softly down the hallway, not wanting to alert the person of his
approach. Upon reaching the office entrance, he slowly pushed the door open.
Abby’s head popped up over the top of his computer monitor.
“You
little spy! What the hell are you doing?” Devlin ground out the words, not
bothering to suppress his anger.
The
bright blue light from the computer illuminated the startled expression on her
heart-shaped face. Devlin sucked in a deep breath and felt his galloping pulse
settle. Relief swamped him at not finding the intruder he expected in the
castle, but at the same time, fury at discovering Abby in his office made him
see red.
She
reached for the mouse and clicked as he flipped the light switch. The sudden
glow from the brass desk lamp filled the study with soft, ambient light. He
walked to his desk and flicked his gaze to the computer screen, which displayed
the main menu, then back to her face. “I asked you a question.”
Nervously,
she played with the drawstring on her pullover and stood up. “I had some
trouble connecting to the Internet from my room, so I thought I’d give your
computer a try.” She carefully averted her gaze. “I just wanted to check my
e-mail. I signed in as a guest, and I’ll pay you for the time I spent online.”
She
tried to step around him, but he simply shifted to the side, blocking her. Her
gaze shot to his, and her pretty, violet eyes widened slightly. “If you’ll
excuse me, I’d like to go to the kitchen and make some tea.”
“In
a minute.” Her enticing scent wafted past his nose. She smelled like something
impossibly warm and soft. It soothed him somehow, a comforting deep inside,
deep down where his demons hid, ready to pounce on him in a quiet moment. They
shrank into the darkness, and something eased inside him.
How
was that possible? No woman had ever touched him that way -- in his soul.
He
turned and looked at the correspondence he’d left on his desk. Damn it, she’d
been rifling through it. All of his business papers, including bills and
reservation invoices, were always kept in pristine order.
Now
they lay in a disordered pile. Some of them had even fallen on the floor. One
of her sneaker-clad feet crunched an invoice beneath its heel. The ease that
had soothed him a moment before morphed back into anger at seeing his personal
papers treated in such a cavalier way.
With
irritation driving him, he leaned over, grabbed her ankle, and lifted her foot
from the paper.
“Oh,
I’m -- I’m sorry.”
Devlin
rose and laid the paper on the desktop. “Save your apology.”
His
gaze swung to a single sheet of paper in the printer’s tray. Abby followed his
line of sight. Her light pink tongue slicked over her top lip, thinner than her
full bottom one. His gut tightened with desire. Obviously too much time had
passed without him being with a woman.
She
made a grab for the paper, but he managed to snatch it from her fingers. He
glanced at the sheet. “You want to explain this? I thought you were checking
e-mail.” He attempted to control his annoyance, but failed.
She
tilted her chin, an action that was becoming all too familiar to him. “I
was -- I mean, I did -- but I saw a file marked
Wolf Island Guest
Brochure
and thought it might give me a head start on putting together some
of the information for the website.”
She
lifted a hand and brushed the brown pixie bangs out of her eyes. Reddish gold
streaked her straight, shoulder-length hair. “I saw the address book and
thought I might work up a group e-mail to send to some of the guests who have
been here before and had an e-mail address -- to inform them that the new
website would be up and running soon.” She finished her explanation on a
breathless note.
“No
website. You won’t have time. The first ferry leaves at nine. You’ll be on it.”
She
continued to rub the drawstring between her thumb and forefinger, her gaze
pinned to his. How would those feminine fingers feel caressing his skin? Sure
and confident, or shy and tentative? Through the opening in her pullover, he
saw the edge of a white tank top and admired the hint of shadow between her
breasts -- breasts that would fit perfectly in his hands.
“Maybe
we could make a deal.” She brought his attention back to her face and away from
his libidinous thoughts.