Книга - The Ghosts Of Cragera Bay

The Ghosts Of Cragera Bay
Dawn Brown


Ocean views, rolling acres and a legacy of ritualistic murderAmerican Declan Meyers suddenly owns a crumbling Welsh estate with a deadly history. It's a bequest from the father he never knew–the man his mother ran from for years. But while Stonecliff could be the answer to Declan's money problems, he'll never be able to sell it with a parapsychologist poking around, fuelling ghostly rumors.Dr. Carly Evans is determined to investigate the paranormal energy that radiates from Stonecliff like a fever. Even Declan can't deny having seen…things. Glowing red eyes. Charred corpses. The evil cannot be ignored.The uneasy truce between ghost hunter and heir flares into an irresistible attraction. Declan and Carly's night of passion leaves them totally vulnerable. Not just to each other, but to dark forces obsessed with an ancient rite of bloodshed.







Ocean views, rolling acres and a legacy of ritualistic murder

American Declan Meyers suddenly owns a crumbling Welsh estate with a deadly history. It’s a bequest from the father he never knew—the man his mother ran from for years. But while Stonecliff could be the answer to Declan’s money problems, he’ll never be able to sell it with a parapsychologist poking around, fuelling ghostly rumors.

Dr. Carly Evans is determined to investigate the paranormal energy that radiates from Stonecliff like a fever. Even Declan can’t deny having seen…things. Glowing red eyes. Charred corpses. The evil cannot be ignored.

The uneasy truce between ghost hunter and heir flares into an irresistible attraction. Declan and Carly’s night of passion leaves them totally vulnerable. Not just to each other, but to dark forces obsessed with an ancient rite of bloodshed.


The Ghosts of Cragera Bay

Dawn Brown






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Prologue (#u87b0ae45-53a2-5fd0-bc77-e2aea5c5265a)

Chapter One (#u9aa62072-f6d2-58ae-90c6-3283c7e7eb59)

Chapter Two (#u6ff0fd29-f3ef-5147-8c8d-62e9839b901b)

Chapter Three (#u16db421f-99fa-5798-b019-88106e412876)

Chapter Four (#u57449779-1450-5fc1-a14a-8ce1a2012775)

Chapter Five (#u6e4eaea8-9a2f-54b2-82ee-1c328ac9b223)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


For Dave


Prologue

Rain fell in sheets like a veil from the night sky as Declan pulled into the parking lot behind the three-story building where he lived. A dull throb curved across his forehead from one temple to the other, squeezing his head like it was caught in a vise.

Shit, it had been a long day. He’d spent the bulk of it tracking down a woman’s daughter whom she’d given up for adoption nearly forty years ago, only to discover the girl had died in a car wreck at fifteen. He dreaded the conversation waiting for him tomorrow morning.

Of course, the cherry on his shit-sundae of a day had to be going to his stepfather’s to deal with his younger brother’s latest escapade. This time Josh had totaled his car, which he’d been driving without insurance. No surprise, since he couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. At least no one had been hurt.

Allen, Declan’s stepfather—Josh’s father—had looked worn-out, as if he’d aged ten years in just a few months. Ever since Declan’s mother had died four months ago. Allen was still grieving. Hell, they all were. None of them needed Josh’s crap. He was nearly twenty-two years old. Too old to be pulling this kind of shit.

With Josh living under his roof, Allen was exhausted and worried sick about what he’d get into next. Declan had thought about having his brother come live with him to give Allen a break, but Josh had already fucked up Declan’s life, and he was still scrambling to put the pieces back together. Besides, he wasn’t home enough to make sure Josh didn’t get into more trouble. Allen, at least, was retired.

But Declan still had to clean up this latest mess—even if he didn’t have a clue where to start. A part of him wondered if he shouldn’t this time, if he should just leave his brother to deal with the consequences on his own. And he might have. After Josh nearly destroyed the private investigation business Declan had worked so hard to build, he hadn’t been feeling terribly sympathetic toward his brother. But he had Allen and his younger sister Katie to think about. They couldn’t handle losing their son and brother so soon after losing their wife and mother.

“Tomorrow,” Declan muttered. He’d deal with it all tomorrow. For now, he was dead on his feet and half-starved. A cold beer, leftover pizza and mindless hours flaked out in front of the TV sounded perfect.

He pushed open his car door, grabbed his computer bag from the backseat then dashed across the parking lot and along the side of the building to the front door. The overhang protected him from the downpour, but in the short distance between his car and the building, rain had soaked the front of his jeans and his hair.

He shoved back the dripping tresses—he needed a haircut badly—and dug through the front flap of his computer bag for his key card to the security door.

His fingers closed around thin plastic just as a strange prickle crawled over his skin. He tensed and turned to peer out into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything past the pouring rain, but an invisible weight pressed between his shoulders as if he were being watched.

Stupid. He was tired from a long day—and those dreams that had him up through the night sure as hell hadn’t helped. Black water. Fire. Glowing red eyes. He shivered.

Beer. Pizza. Bed.

He turned back to the door as a tall man with white hair and a pale face materialized from the shadows like a ghost. Declan’s heart lodged in his throat. He jerked backward nearly stumbling over his own feet.

“What the hell?

“Declan Meyers?” the man asked. He had an English accent and Declan recognized his voice immediately. “I’m Hugh Warlow.”

“I know who you are,” Declan snapped. His face burned. He must have looked like a complete asshole nearly falling over himself like that. He was keyed up, overtired and he sure as hell hadn’t expected this man to turn up at his door. “There are laws against stalking, you know?”

“If you think I enjoy traipsing halfway around the world to wait for you in a bloody downpour—” the man slapped at his long, black coat as if trying to wipe away the wet “—you’re mistaken.”

Declan cocked a brow. “Not enjoying the Seattle weather?”

Warlow scowled, his light blue gaze narrowing. “Had you not been so stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to make this trip at all.”

“You didn’t need to make this trip. Showing up out of nowhere isn’t going to change my mind.”

When they come for you, don’t go. They’ll devour you. A chill danced along his spine.

“Your father needs to see you,” Hugh Warlow told him.

“I saw my father twenty minutes ago.”

“That man is not your father.” Ice dripped from the man’s tone. A faint smile pulled at his lips, but didn’t touch his chilly blue eyes.

“He is, actually. The man you’re talking about gave up his parental rights.” The first nine years of his life, he and his mother had lived like fugitives: new cities, new names. Then he turned ten and everything changed. His father gave up any claim he might have had on Declan, and they finally settled in one place. “My mother had something on him, didn’t she?”

Warlow’s smile broadened, making him appear smug. “Your father isn’t well. He needs to see you before he dies. Even as we speak, it could be too late.”

“I know, you said so when you called.” The phone calls had started a few weeks after his mother’s funeral, and Declan would be lying if he said a part of him hadn’t been curious. His father had always been something of an enigma to him, a boogeyman he’d been too terrified to discuss with his mother or anyone else—as if just speaking about the man might summon him like a demon and send them on the run again. Whatever the man wanted now, however, he could go to hell. Declan was thirty-two, a legal adult for quite some time. His father could have contacted him anytime over the past twenty-two years, but hadn’t. That he’d waited until Declan’s mother had died was likely no coincidence. What had she known that had kept him away?

He didn’t care. He had enough on his plate with the family that mattered to him and no interest in inviting more drama into his life. He’d politely declined the invitation to go to Wales, then ignored the phone calls altogether. Still, he’d never have guessed the man would turn up at his door.

They’ll devour you.

“Your father needs you.” Warlow slipped his hand into his pocket and stepped closer.

Declan’s heart rate kicked up a notch. Apprehension wound around him like an invisible snake. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m not going to Wales.”

“Then what bloody good are you?” the man growled, smile vanishing, his features turning menacing. He took another step closer and started to draw his hand from his pocket.

He has something. A gun. A knife. Declan backed away into the door.

Fast footfalls splashing on the pavement drew the attention of both men. A woman jogged toward them, gripping an umbrella with one hand, her security card in the other. She smiled brightly, moving under the overhang with them and closing her umbrella.

“It’s terrible out here, isn’t she?” she said cheerily. She had short black hair and a pretty smile. Declan had seen her before. She lived on the second floor.

“Are you going in?” she asked him. Maybe she’d noticed he was still holding his own card, or maybe because he was blocking the door.

“Yeah,” he said, and glanced at Warlow. The fierce menace had left his face. He’d backed away so the woman could get by, a benign smile lifting his mouth.

What the hell had just happened? He didn’t know and he didn’t plan to wait around to find out. He grabbed up his computer bag, swiped his card and held the door for the woman, then followed her in pulling the door closed behind him.

When he looked back, Warlow had gone.


Chapter One

Wind swept cold off the sea and icy spray stung Carly’s face and hands like tiny needles. Despite the brilliant October sun glittering off deep blue waves, the dark water looked fathomless, empty. She drew her jacket tighter around her middle and stifled the shiver creeping up her back, focusing her attention on the man standing at the end of the rock jetty.

She smirked. Bathed in late afternoon sun, his shoulders hunched against the wet wind and his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, he could have stepped off the pages of some Victorian romance novel. The tortured hero, brooding and lost, returning to his cursed past.

He must have known something of the terrible legacy he’d stumbled into by now—if he didn’t before coming to Cragera Bay. Maybe he’d seen the shadows, heard the voices, smelled the dead. Maybe that’s why he’d changed his mind and agreed to speak to her.

She pushed back hair that had come loose from her ponytail and whipped wildly in the relentless wind, then started down the jetty. Waves slapped at the sides of the pier, spray soaking the hem of her trousers. Her heeled boots on the uneven stone turned her gait clumsy. Twice she nearly went over on her ankle and toppled forward.

Maybe the man hadn’t changed his mind at all. Maybe his plan was to let her fall over the side and be washed out to sea.

He couldn’t have guessed she’d wear such inappropriate footwear, but when she’d chosen her clothes this morning, she hadn’t considered traipsing across a deserted beach or over a stone jetty. She’d dressed to appear professional, capable and serious. Someone Declan Meyers could trust.

“Mr. Meyers,” she called over the surf splashing against the rocks. He stiffened and glanced over his shoulder. Dark eyes narrowed and glinted like black glass. Again the image of the brooding hero—Heathcliff and Mr. Rochester rolled into one. Windswept black hair framed the sharp angles and smooth planes of his face. High, carved cheekbones, pointed chin and lips pressed into a flat line.

“I’m Dr. Carly Evans. We spoke on the phone,” she said, coming to stand beside him.

She held out her hand, which he glanced at briefly before meeting her gaze—keeping his own hands jammed in his coat pockets. “Let’s go in.”

He shifted around her and started down the jetty, leaving Carly gaping at his back. Bloody prat.

She drew in a deep breath, swallowed down a few choice epitaphs and followed the man. He wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. Certainty trickled over her like a soft spring rain.

The hell he wasn’t. She hadn’t come all this way for nothing, hadn’t come this close to seeing The Devil’s Eye only to be turned away now.

Meyers reached the end of the jetty, descended the short set of stone steps and would have continued across the beach without bothering to look back.

“Mr. Meyers,” she called out, determined that he stop and wait for her.

He faced her, a single black brow arching.

“I appreciate you agreeing to see me. I understand your hesitance given recent events. You’re no doubt suspicious, but I can assure you, I’ve known your sister Brynn’s fiancé for years.”

He snorted. “I’ve never met my sister Brynn, so an association with her fiancé means about as much to me as if you told me you’ve known that guy for years.” He nodded to an old man trudging through the sand in heavy rubber boots, fishing rod slung over his shoulder.

“I understand, but—” Her heel caught between the uneven stones, ankle turning out. She tumbled forward, arms pinwheeling as the jagged steps rose up to meet her.

Big hands clasped her shoulders, stopping her from hitting the ground face-first. She lifted her gaze and met Meyers’s nearly black eyes. His mouth twisted in a smirk, and heat crept into her face. This wasn’t how she’d wanted their first meeting to go, her falling into his arms like some klutzy damsel in distress.

She drew a deep breath, and eased back from his grasp. Sharp pain zinged up her leg from her throbbing ankle, but she bit her lip to hold back the whimper and forced a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Meyers. I wasn’t looking where I was walking.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, frowning.

She wasn’t. Her ankle ached miserably. Already her boot felt too tight—a sure indication of swelling. She fought the urge to kick his ankle then ask if he was okay. Instead, she held her forced smile in place. “I’m fine. Perhaps we could find somewhere to speak. There’s a café just up the road.”

He shrugged and grasped her elbow, helping her down the stairs to the sand. Shrill pain licked into her calf with every step, but she held her face stiff against the urge to wince and tried not to limp—the latter less successfully.

His frown deepened. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

And if I’m not, it’s your bloody fault. She bit back on the words, fighting to play nice. She needed his permission to access his property, after all.

Though, maybe she should use this little mishap to her advantage and guilt him into giving her what she wanted. If he hadn’t dragged her out here in the first place, she wouldn’t be hobbling across the beach now.

Once on the boardwalk, they followed a short alley to Cragera Bay’s main street. Most of the shops and restaurants that had lined the narrow cobblestone road were closed and boarded up. The village felt empty, abandoned. With hers and Meyers’s footfalls the only sound besides the wind and distant rush of the surf, she could almost imagine they were the last two people on Earth.

He pulled open the door to the café, letting her enter first. An older woman behind the counter set down her paperback novel and pushed her pink-framed reading glasses atop her head so the lenses sank into short, silver curls. Big eyes barely glanced at Carly before they fell on Meyers and widened.

Carly could guess what was going through the older woman’s mind. She’d no doubt recognized him, heir to Stonecliff. Arthur James’s long lost son.

“What can I get you both?” the woman asked.

Meyers ordered a coffee and Carly a cup of tea. They took their drinks to the table near the window overlooking the street and farthest from the counter. For all the good it did, the woman sat back on her stool and picked up her novel, but continued to watch them over the top of the pages, forgetting her glasses still atop her head altogether.

To be fair, she and Meyers were the woman’s only customers. There wasn’t much else for her to focus on.

How long until this café went the way of so many of the other businesses in the village? Months? Weeks? Days? Cragera Bay was diminishing as if it were slowly folding into itself until it disappeared completely. The discovery of a trio of murderers hunting in the area for more than two decades, killing countless men and women, seemed to have chased away tourists and locals alike.

“I appreciate you agreeing to meet me, Mr. Meyers,” Carly said, shifting in her seat to keep from putting any weight on her bad ankle. You jerk!

He flashed an insincere smile. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Why don’t I begin by telling you a little about my research and how The Devil’s Eye factors in?”

Meyers held up his hand, silencing her. “I’m not interested. I didn’t agree to meet you to hear about your research, and you’re not getting anywhere near my property.”

She stiffened. “Why did you invite me here?”

“Because I want you to stop.”

He’d dragged her out here and nearly broken her ankle for this? “I beg your pardon.”

“Stop asking people about Stonecliff and ghosts and murders and evil entities and God knows what else.”

“You know about the murders?” she asked.

“Of course, I do,” he said, as if she’d asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

“Just about the men found in The Devil’s Eye, or the other murders, too?”

He frowned, his expression turning shuttered. He didn’t know what she was talking about. “Ruth Bigsby, your father’s nurse, murdered two people, tried to kill one of your sisters and frame the other.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she pushed on before he could. “That means Stonecliff had four people killing on the property, one acting completely independent of the others. Don’t you find that odd?”

“Of course, but I doubt very much it’s the result of ghosts.”

The cynical derision in his tone fed her gathering temper. She clenched her jaw and mentally counted to one thousand. “I don’t think ghosts did it, either. I do believe there is a possibility that a high level geomagnetic energy may be a large factor in the phenomena reported on your property.”

Meyers rolled his eyes and took a swig from his coffee. “See that right there, that’s what you need to stop.”

“Mr. Meyers, if you would just let me bring in a team to investigate—”

He snorted. “That’s never going to happen. Not alone. Not with a team. Not in a box. Not with a fox.”

“I see you’re a fan of the classics.”

“I need to sell that house. What I don’t need is some new-age flake asking questions about ghosts and murder cults and magic energy.”

She wrapped her hands tightly around her teacup, half-surprised the thin china didn’t shatter in her grip. Narrow-minded ignoramuses really shouldn’t be able to get under her skin after so many years working in a field few people took seriously, but they did. He did.

“Mr. Meyers, several reliable witnesses experienced phenomena inside your home, at the bog, your own sisters among them.”

He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly as if struggling with his own battle for control. “These women, my sisters, are strangers. I don’t care what they experienced, and if they think sending you to slow down my chances of unloading the estate will get them anything—”

Laughter bubbled up her throat before she could stop it. “Believe me, your sisters want no part of Stonecliff.”

“Lucky for them, no part is what they got.”

She blinked at his animosity. He hadn’t even met these women.

“It’s not my intention to hinder the sale of Stonecliff,” she told him.

“Maybe not, but that’s the result.”

“You don’t think the dead men they hauled out of the bog might be the reason that you’re not having to beat off a long line of potential buyers? How many bodies have they found now? At least twelve, but I thought there’d been three more since the arrests.” She squinted as if struggling to remember.

“Pieces of three,” he admitted, grudgingly. “Look, the murders are hard enough to get past, but you running around claiming the place is haunted makes everything harder.”

“I’m not claiming anything. Are you telling me you haven’t experienced anything unusual at Stonecliff? No voices? No strange smells? No shadows with red eyes?”

“No such thing.” His gaze held hers. His expression remained inscrutable, but the muscle at his jaw flicked.

He’d seen something at Stonecliff, even if he didn’t want to believe it himself.

“You can’t stop me from asking questions.”

“No, I can’t, but I’m asking you to. Think about it this way—the sooner I sell the place, the sooner you can hassle some other poor sucker into letting you onto the property to hunt for ghosts.”

She really was beginning to dislike the man. The throb in her ankle flared as if to drive home that point. “That’s not what I’m doing. I can help you.”

“I doubt it,” he said, shaking his head. He pushed back his chair, legs scraping the tile floor and stood.

“Wait,” she called when he started to turn away. He faced her, his expression impatient. “Your sister, Eleri, asked me to tell you to be careful of Hugh Warlow and not to trust him.”

Meyers chuckled humorlessly. “He said the same thing about her.”

* * *

Declan left the café shaking his head. He’d given it his best shot, but he didn’t believe for a second he’d seen the last of Carly Evans. Gauging the glint in the woman’s stormy gray eyes, she’d be back.

So not what he needed.

He sighed, shoved his windblown hair back from his face and started for his car. Despite all attempts to appear nonchalant, meeting with the woman had unnerved him. He’d expected Carly Evans, parapsychologist, to be different—pale skin and dressed in black, rings glittering on every finger or maybe some time-displaced hippie—rather than the very attractive woman in tweed pants and a white blouse beneath her blazer. His imagined version would have been much easier to dismiss.

Tall, slender, caramel-colored hair pulled back from the soft lines of her face, she’d been more attractive than he’d expected, too. Not that it mattered. She could have been a Victoria’s Secret model and he still wouldn’t let her hunt for ghosts on his land.

His land. The idea that Stonecliff was his still caught him like a kick to the gut. That he was here, in this place he’d sworn he’d never come to, was surreal. It was amazing what greed could make him do. Not greed. Desperation.

Once he reached the battered Land Rover he’d left parked in the lot near the water, he climbed in behind the wheel. There was only one other car, a silver Ford Focus. Probably Carly’s.

“Shit,” he whispered, through his teeth. She’d twisted her ankle pretty good on the jetty, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it. He should drive back to the café and offer her a ride to her car.

He was in no hurry to spend more time with the woman. Her questions had left him cold—especially the ones about shadows and red eyes—and he didn’t want her to confuse an act of common decency as a chance to change his mind. But he wasn’t enough of a prick to leave her to limp all the way to her car.

He drove back to the café, following the route he’d walked. There was no sign of Carly on the empty sidewalks. When he reached the restaurant, he pulled up to the curb, hopped out and stuck his head in the door.

The woman behind the counter set down her book and looked at him above her pink-framed glasses, eyebrows lifting. “Is there something I can help you with, love?”

He glanced at the table where he and Carly had been sitting. Empty now, their cups cleared away, there was no evidence they’d been there at all.

Unease settled over him. “The woman I was with, did she say where she was going?”

“Not to me. If I see her again, should I tell her you were looking for her?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Was she limping when she left?”

The woman’s thin brows knitted together. “I didn’t notice.”

Maybe Carly’s ankle was better. If she’d hobbled out of the café, surely the woman would have noticed. Though, maybe not, depending on how engrossed she was in her book.

“Thanks, anyway,” he muttered, and stepped back outside. The sun had dipped behind the buildings, casting long shadows over the narrow road. He glanced up and down the empty sidewalk. No sign of Carly.

Again that tickle of apprehension.

For God’s sake, she was a grown woman. She’d survived so far without any help from him. No doubt she would continue to—twisted ankle or not. Still, that she’d just vanished in the past fifteen minutes gnawed at him.

He might not have given it another thought anywhere else, but here, in Cragera Bay, someone disappearing was reason to worry.


Chapter Two

“Stella Bahl called while you were out.”

Declan stiffened at the mention of his real estate agent, especially by Hugh Warlow. A flicker of guilt lit inside him.

“Did she leave a message?” Declan asked, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs in Stonecliff’s front hall.

Warlow plucked up the coat and folded it over his arm. “Just for you to ring her when you get in.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Declan slid his hands into his jeans’ pockets. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to people waiting on him the way the butler and housekeeper had since he’d arrived. “I can take it up to my room when I go.”

“Of course,” Warlow said, smiling, but he didn’t relinquish Declan’s jacket. “I’ve gathered all the records of updates and renovations to Stonecliff and left them for you on the desk.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll call Stella back, then.” Maybe she already had someone interested in buying this dump. Declan crossed the hall to the study.

“I’d assumed you’d gone to see Ms. Bahl just now,” Warlow said, following him into the room.

The butler was fishing for information, not that Declan blamed him. Warlow had worked in this house for more years than Declan had been alive, and when Declan sold the estate there was a good chance that Hugh Warlow would be out of a job and a place to live.

Declan would pay him a severance, of course. He’d even put in a good word with whoever bought this heap for Warlow and Mrs. Voyle both. But it did little to ease the feeling that he was somehow letting the butler down.

He thought back to when he’d first met the man in front of his building in Seattle two months ago, that weird exchange that had left him creeped out for days later. The Hugh Warlow he’d dealt with since the man had met him at the airport in Manchester was a completely different person than the one he’d met back in August.

Declan chalked up the strange encounter to exhaustion and overall discomfort at having anything to do with his father on his end, and to the stress of Warlow’s employer passing while, according to the butler, Declan’s grasping sisters tried to get their hands on anything that hadn’t been nailed down on his.

Since coming to the Isle of Anglesey in northern Wales, Declan didn’t know what he would have done without the other man’s help. He’d had no idea what went into managing an estate this size, or dealing with the investment properties his father had owned and left to him. Warlow had been a patient teacher. He’d taken Declan around the estate, showing him the grounds and filling him in on its dark history—or at least most of it.

When Declan returned to Seattle at the end of the week, Warlow would continue to manage the property until he found a buyer.

“I went to the village to meet with Carly Evans.”

The butler lifted his straight brows. “The ghost lady?”

Declan’s jaw tensed. Was there anyone in Cragera Bay who hadn’t heard of this woman? “I thought if I made it clear that there was no way in hell I would let her onto the estate or anywhere near The Devil’s Eye, she might go away.”

Images of empty cobblestone streets, no sign of Carly Evans anywhere popped into his head. He wished he’d chosen his words differently.

Warlow chuckled. “Are you sure that was for the best? What’s that old saying? There’s no such thing as bad publicity?”

“I don’t think that applies when trying to unload a property where fifteen people were murdered.”

The humor vanished from Warlow’s face, and again Declan wished he’d stopped to think before opening his mouth.

“Your father had hoped you would take his place at Stonecliff. He wouldn’t want you to sell it like this.”

The words then he should have left it to someone else danced on the tip of his tongue, but he bit back on them. He didn’t know why his father had left him Stonecliff. He’d never met the man. His mother had left Arthur James when she was pregnant, moved a continent away and spent the first nine years of Declan’s life moving from state to state and changing her name. That had stopped when she’d met and married Allen, his stepfather, though Declan still wasn’t sure why. All he knew was his mother married Allen and Meyers had been Declan’s last name ever since.

When he’d received a call last month informing him of his inheritance, he’d been secretly thrilled. Not by his father’s death, of course. He still wasn’t certain how he felt that he’d never met him, and now he never would. But inheriting an estate in Wales—he’d seen dollar signs and the chance to finally dig his way out of the hole his brother had landed him in.

That, of course, was before he’d seen the crumbling stone house that looked like something from a horror movie. Before he’d learned of the murders, the bodies and the cloud of bad luck that hovered over the entire village.

Before he’d spotted glowing red eyes watching him from the shadows.

A chill washed over him, but he did his best to ignore it.

“My life is back in Seattle,” Declan said. He had his family, his business, and he wouldn’t have stayed at Stonecliff if someone paid him to.

Warlow nodded. “I understand, but I think your father hoped you’d feel a sense of duty and accept your legacy to this land, to the village.”

From what he’d seen of the boarded-up shops and restaurants, there wasn’t much of the village left. Another strike against the house when he tried to sell it.

A faint smothering wrapped around him. Warlow meant well, but all his talk of duty and legacy left Declan ready to bolt.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”

“Of course.” A wide smile lifted the man’s mouth, but never reached his chilly blue eyes. “I’ll leave you to make your call.”

Once the butler had gone, Declan sank into the large leather chair behind the desk and let out a sigh. He shouldn’t feel guilty about not wanting Stonecliff. He really hadn’t needed to come here at all. He could have had the lawyer arrange the sale, but he’d been curious about this house that had sent his mother running and also about his father, despite his every effort not to be. A part of him couldn’t shake the sensation that he was somehow betraying his mother’s memory by coming here.

What did it matter? In less than a week he would be home.

Declan lifted the phone and returned Stella’s call, agreeing to see her the following day. When he hung up, he leaned back in the chair and glanced at the dark screen of his father’s computer. He toyed again with packing the ancient beast away and setting up his own laptop in its place. Declan had tried to keep up with his PI firm’s clients over the past weeks while he was here. He specialized in background checks and tracking down missing people. He had a knack for finding people who didn’t want to be found—maybe a result of spending his formative years trying to stay hidden. Working at the large, ornately carved desk would certainly be more comfortable than the small writing table in his room, but the idea made his chest tighten.

Setting up a workspace felt like commitment, like accepting his place here the way Warlow wanted him to. No thanks. He could go on checking his email and making calls from his room for the days he had left.

Declan stood, left the study and meandered into the kitchen. He’d fix himself something to eat, head up to his room and check those emails—doing his best to avoid thinking about unloading this house and Carly Evans.

As much as he hated to admit it, the woman had flitted at the peripheral of his mind’s eye since he left her in the café. He might not particularly like her, and he certainly didn’t think much of her work, but he hated to think something had happened to her.

Why would it? Sure, people had vanished from Cragera Bay, and apparently wound up dead in the bog on his property, but that couldn’t happen now. All three suspects were dead. The first, before police could take him into custody, and according to rumor, by his sister Eleri’s hand—though the rumors regarding that particular sister were extensive. The other man had apparently succumbed in hospital to injuries he’d suffered—also rumored to have been caused by Eleri. His sister must be a veritable Amazon. The only one of the three to have seen the inside of a jail cell—and the only woman—had taken her own life a few weeks after her arrest.

So, twisted ankle or not, Carly Evans had no reason not to be safe and sound in her hotel room.

Yet all his rationalizations couldn’t ease the cold knots squeezing his insides.

He could call her, set his mind at ease. And say what? Just checking in? He wanted to discourage her, convince her she didn’t have a hope at getting to The Devil’s Eye. Calling her to see she got back to her hotel okay wouldn’t exactly drive home that particular message.

In the kitchen, the housekeeper was pulling on her coat, finished for the day. Iola Voyle stopped moving with only one arm through the sleeve when she spotted him. “I wrapped your dinner and left it in the refrigerator for you since you weren’t here when I served.”

The faint recrimination in her voice made his mouth twitch. The woman did not like to have her schedules interfered with. When he’d first arrived, he’d instructed the woman not to cook for him. It was ridiculous for her to prepare an entire meal just for him, when he could cook for himself just as easily. But she’d pursed her thin lips the way she did whenever something displeased her, informing him that she also cooked for Hugh Warlow, so Declan had relented. But he still wasn’t comfortable with the situation.

He pulled open the fridge door. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

She nodded, her gaze shifting uneasily about the room. “Has there been any interest in the estate?”

Maybe she’d heard that Stella had called, or like Warlow assumed he’d gone to the village to meet with her earlier. He closed the fridge and turned to the women. Her narrow face was pale and combined with her dull, brown hair tied in a severe knot at the base of her skull made her sharp, thin features more prominent somehow. She’d pulled her coat all the way on and held the lapels closed with white-knuckled fists.

Of course, she’d be anxious. Her job was on the line.

“Nothing yet,” he told her, shooting her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “If there is, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

The anxiety tightening her features didn’t ease. She glanced at the door. “You shouldn’t stay too long. Even if the estate doesn’t sell right away, you should go home.”

That was the plan. Still, Mrs. Voyle’s words caught him by surprise. He’d been easy to get along with, making few demands on the woman. Why would she be so eager to see him leave?

He forced a rueful grin. “Am I that hard to work for?”

“It’s not that,” she said, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper and stepping toward him. “There’s something wrong with this place, and the sooner you’re away from it the better.”

The soft urgency of her words combined with Carly Evans’s questions sent a chill scuttling down his spine. It was all bullshit, of course.

How had Carly known about the red eyes?

“More than one thing’s wrong with this place,” Declan said, playing dumb. “But nothing a good contractor can’t fix.”

Mrs. Voyle stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Good night, Mr. Meyers.”

“Declan,” he called after her, as she hurried out the back door in the utility room.

He sighed and turned back to the fridge. His appetite had shriveled and Mrs. Voyle’s plate wasn’t very appealing.

A dry scraping filled the quiet. Declan frowned, straightened and let the fridge door swing closed. What was that?

The sound came again, frantic scratching like an animal inside the walls. Mice, perfect. Now he’d have to set traps and put out poison. He followed the sound toward the utility room. Whatever was in those walls had to be bigger than a mouse. Rats? He shuddered. God, he hoped not. He’d have to hire someone to fumigate the place—

He stopped inside the utility room. The scratching continued loud, relentless and not inside the walls, but outside the door.

His pulse kicked up. What the hell was that? Some kind of wild animal trying to get in? Maybe Mrs. Voyle had fallen and couldn’t stand to open the door. No, he’d heard her car pull away from the house.

What did that leave? Raccoons? Probably not in Wales. A fox, maybe.

He snatched up a broom leaning against the wall, then peered out the window mounted in the door. From this vantage he couldn’t see anything outside, but the scraping continued.

Positioning the broom to keep a critter from darting inside, Declan reached for the doorknob. Before he could grip the brass, the door swung inward with a gust of icy air that smelled faintly of campfire.

Nothing. There was nothing there to scratch, or open the door.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, turning the sky twilight-blue and leaving the courtyard between Stonecliff and the coach house shadowy, the woods beyond dark.

Goose bumps studded his skin. A shiver crawled up his back. He felt like someone was watching him. He scanned the edge of trees. Two small, red eyes peered out from the black.

* * *

“I need you to come up tomorrow and bring me everything on that list I emailed you.” Carly pinned her phone between her chin and her shoulder, freeing up her hands so she could adjust the icepack slipping off her ankle.

She lay stretched out on the double bed in her room at the inn, nearly swallowed by billowy pale blue satin ruffles and a seemingly endless number of frilly throw pillows.

“Just like that?” Andy sputtered. “What if I had plans? I can’t just drop everything I’m doing and bugger off to Wales. I have a life.”

Carly snorted, inspecting the damage to her ankle. Sprained, most likely. The swelling had gone down for the most part, and the steady ache had faded since the ibuprofen had kicked in. “Your life is the same as mine—work, work and more work. That’s how you like it.”

“Aye, maybe,” he agreed, with a soft chuckle. “Have you finally talked the lord of the manor into letting us investigate?”

She might have if he hadn’t been so aggravating and she hadn’t lost her temper.

“We’re talking,” she said, carefully. It was true, in a way. They had spoken today, after all, and he had his head firmly inserted up his ass if he thought she’d let the subject drop just because he’s said so.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Andy asked, flatly. He was an excellent paranormal investigator. She’d worked with him on several cases in the past. Professional, smart, patient and without academic affiliations, making him far more likely to go along with her plan.

“It’s not a done deal yet,” she admitted.

“Then why do you want me…? No.” The humor vanished from his tone. “Bloody hell, it’s that sort of shit that gives us a bad name. You should know better.”

“I’m not suggesting we conduct a full investigation without his permission. I think we should visit this Devil’s Eye and do a little preliminary work. Then we’ll at least know if it’s even worth persuading Meyers to let us do more.”

“Are you hearing yourself? What do you expect us to do? Sneak onto the property in the dead of night and hope we’re not arrested for trespassing?”

“Of course not. It’s a big estate. No one will even know we’ve been there. Just a quick walk around, take some readings. In and out, a half hour at the most.”

“I can’t believe what you’re suggesting. If I’m caught, it could damage my reputation as an investigator. But you could lose your job at the university, everything you’ve ever published called into question. You’d have no credibility left. What the hell is it about this place that you’d risk all that?”

Her position with the university was tenuous as it was. Between a lack of funding and a department head she didn’t exactly see eye to eye with, she needed something big to save her, anyway.

“I think I’ve found evil,” she told him.

He snorted. “Well, that makes me want to drop everything and rush right there.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I’m right, this bog, The Devil’s Eye, gives off enough geometric energy that it is not only producing paranormal phenomena, it’s drawing evil to it.”

“That’s a pretty farfetched theory.”

“Just come. If there’s something there we’ll find it, then we present Meyers with our evidence.”

“If we find anything.”

“Right.”

“Then we’ll investigate if Meyers believes us?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s an awful lot of ifs for such a long trip, Carly.”

“You’re driving up from Cardiff not the moon. It’s not even five hours.”

He snorted loudly. “It’ll be five hours too long if Meyers doesn’t let us on his land.”

She thought of the man sitting across from her in the café with his unruly black hair, one straight brow cocked and a smirk twisting his lips. To think he believed he could just order her to stop her investigation, blame her for his stupid house not selling and call her a new age flake. Irritation prickled her skin. She’d get her way on principal alone.

“He’ll let us investigate. I can be very persuasive—which is how I know you’ll be up here first thing tomorrow morning.”

Andy let out a long sigh. “Fine, you win, but you better get us permission at the end of all this.”

“I will,” she promised. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she could be persuasive. And if persuasion didn’t work, she wasn’t above playing dirty.


Chapter Three

Declan woke slowly. Warm sunlight seeped between the gap in the drapes and fell on his face. He squinted and burrowed into the pillow. The relentless rush of the sea beating the shore at the base of the cliff filled his ears, muffled through the closed window, but still audible, making it impossible to pretend he was at home in his own bed instead of this dreary house he’d never unload.

He sighed, opened his eyes and shoved back the blankets. Maybe today he’d have good news. Maybe the real estate agent would arrive with some eccentric crazy willing to buy this dump above market value. He could head back to Seattle a rich man. Enough money to clean up the mess Josh had made of his business.

Just thinking about everything his younger brother had done sent a fresh wave of fury rolling through him. Josh had always been a fuck up. Maybe it was classic middle child syndrome. Though, Declan was so much older than Josh and his sister Katie he felt more like a third parent than a brother—especially since his mother had passed away.

Josh, who had barely squeaked through high school and washed out of college, hadn’t been able to hold down a job so Declan had hired him. Taking on his brother had been an expense he could barely manage. He and his partner Jayne were just keeping their firm going, but his mother had been sick by then, and Declan had wanted one less thing for her and Allen to have to worry about.

He’d put Josh in charge of background checks for their corporate clients. After all, how badly could his brother screw that up? He should have known better. Josh had taken payouts from some of the people he was supposed to be investigating and falsified information. Not only had his brother damaged Declan and Jayne’s credibility, he’d left them vulnerable to criminal charges.

Declan had fired Josh, paid back the clients Josh had scammed and miraculously kept them from pressing charges against all of them—Josh included. Though, Declan had been so furious at his younger brother, he didn’t think he’d have given a shit if the cops had carted his brother off to prison. Only Allen and Katie had Declan scrambling to protect Josh. They couldn’t have dealt with that, too, not after losing his mother.

This house was supposed to be the shovel to help him dig out of his mess. Instead, it was burying him deeper.

He stood, crossed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Once the water heated, he stepped into the ancient iron tub beneath the weak spray. The hot water dribbled over his skin in a sad piss trickle.

Lousy water pressure—one more thing that needed fixing.

As he washed, a faint smoky scent tickled his nose. He frowned. What was that? The smell thickened, charred, burned. Was there a fire? Was Stonecliff burning down while he showered? Except for the potential danger to his person the idea wasn’t all that terrible. Maybe the place was insured.

The smell worsened, taking on a nearly putrid odor like burning garbage.

He shut off the taps, pushed back the shower curtain and climbed out. The stink filled the room so strongly he could taste it. God, maybe the house was burning down, after all.

He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, then froze, his heart lodging in his throat. In the fogged mirror a steam-smeared blur stood next to his own reflection as if there were someone beside him. He wiped the glass clean and the air sucked from his lungs.

A grotesque figure stood next to him in the reflection. A woman, maybe, burned unrecognizable. Stringy, dark hair fell past her shoulder on one side. The hair on the other side had been burned away. Flaked, blackened skin with oozing red flesh visible between the cracks covered her face and neck. Wide lidless eyes stared out from the glass. Her boney hand reached out for him.

Declan jumped back and swung around. The vanity’s sharp corner jabbed his hip, but he barely noticed. There was no one behind him. He was alone in the small bathroom.

But the smell lingered.

“Screw this,” he muttered. He jerked open the door and rushed out of the room, careful to avoid glancing at the mirror.

In his bedroom, he dropped the towel and dragged on a T-shirt and jeans, the latter sticking to his still damp skin.

There had to be an explanation. Yet his overwrought brain couldn’t seem to come up with one. He couldn’t blame what he’d seen on a dream like he had with the red-eyed shadow man; he’d been wide-awake.

Maybe he was losing his mind.

Cautiously, he approached the bathroom. The steam had dissipated. Tiny beads of moisture dribbling down the mirror all that remained. No sign of the burned woman. Not in the room, not in the mirror.

The pine scent of his soap hung in the damp air, mingling with something else, something burned.

* * *

By the time Stella Bahl arrived, Declan was on his second cup of coffee, his hair had mostly dried and he was almost feeling normal again. He’d even managed to talk himself into believing the burned woman he’d seen in his bathroom was merely a stress-induced hallucination, the result of not sleeping or eating properly—or the beginnings of schizophrenia.

Stella looked like most real estate agents he’d dealt with. Probably about his own age, he would have been hard pressed to say for sure. Impeccable makeup, cloud of sable hair falling past her shoulders without a strand out of place and a stylish gray suit over a red blouse gave off a mature attractiveness that left her age difficult to guess.

“Mr. Meyers.” She held out her hand to him, which he took. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. What a spectacular home. I’m sure we’ll find just the right buyer in no time.”

He doubted it. Not unless the Addams Family was in the market looking for creepier accommodations than their current residence. “I hope so.”

She flashed a brilliant smile. “I’m from Cragera Bay, you know, but have never had the opportunity to see inside Stonecliff before. This is a real thrill for me.”

You should get out more.

“I was at school with your sister, Eleri,” Stella told him. “But I was a few years ahead of her. Terrible thing she went through.”

Declan raked his hand through his hair. He didn’t like to think too much about Eleri and Brynn. Only one sister had turned up when she’d heard their father was dying, to see what she could get. The other had left the man to die alone after he’d protected her for years from the police, making him a virtual pariah in the village.

But wasn’t he just as bad, taking this property from a man he hadn’t wanted to know in life? Guilt twisted in his gut. He wished he’d asked his mother about his father before it was too late. Maybe then he wouldn’t be dealing with all these conflicting emotions now.

“About the house,” he prodded.

Stella’s face reddened. “Yes, of course. Is there somewhere we can sit down? I’d like to discuss some potential strategies, then you can show me around.”

“Sure.”

Declan led her into the study, sat behind the heavy wood desk while she settled on one of the chairs opposite him.

“As you can imagine, finding comparable houses to a property like Stonecliff is difficult. Still, a property this size, and on the water, makes it fairly desirable.”

Declan perked up a little. It was the best news he’d had since he’d arrived. “Really?”

She nodded and tilted her head, eyes squinting a little. “Unfortunately, the estate’s history will have a large impact on the price.”

“I have no issue listing under market value.” Hell, if he didn’t need the money at all he’d give the thing away, donate it to some worthy cause.

She flashed a brilliant smile. “We’ll discuss price after I’ve had a chance to look at the house. Can you tell me the state of the electrical, plumbing, if there’s been reconstruction work done and when?”

“I have that information here.” He pushed the stack of paper Warlow had put together for him across the desk.

“Perfect.” Stella slipped the pages into a folder and took a spiral notebook from her bag. “You currently have staff?”

“A butler and a housekeeper. They’ll remain here to run the house when I go back to the States at the end of the week.” At least until the money ran out and he had nothing left to pay them with.

She made a note in her book. “Good, having someone here to keep the house in good condition will help to sell quickly. Now, there is a second dwelling on the property that I’m not sure you’re aware of, Morehead Lodge.” She tapped her pen on her notepad. “I know the house has been let in the past. I’d like to suggest severing the property and selling it separately.”

According to Hugh, Stonecliff had been a much larger estate, stretching down the coast and even onto the opposite side of the road. Over the years Arthur James had parceled off the property to live on the proceeds. Even this past summer, his father had sold off tenanted properties he’d owned in Beaumaris, and the money from those sales was keeping Stonecliff running now—and there wasn’t much left, maybe enough to keep the lights on until Christmas if they were careful.

“Even priced under market value Stonecliff could take some time to find the right buyer. The estate is isolated, large and old. You are already dealing with a limited market. Trying to find someone who isn’t put off by what’s happened here…”

“What if I razed the house, filled in the bog with concrete?” He wasn’t sure either suggestion was feasible, but he was open to any possibility.

Stella chuckled. “I don’t think it will come to that. Let’s have a look at all this then.”

He took her from room to room. Except for the ones used daily—the study, parlor, kitchen and his bedroom—the others were dark, covered in a layer of dust and smelled musty.

“These rooms need a good tidy,” Stella said, making a note in her book.

Declan glanced around the bedroom and nodded. Even the covers on the bed looked faded and dusty. “The house is too big for Mrs. Voyle to keep all the rooms clean.”

“I understand,” Stella said, with a sympathetic smile. “There used to be three girls who came from the village and cleaned. One was murdered here last spring, and the other two stopped coming.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, shaking his head. No one in their right mind would buy this house. Hell, even if he did try to give it away, who would take it? He turned to the window. A thin layer of grime covered the glass in a brownish-yellow film. Outside, golden sun spilled over the forest, turning the pockets of remaining fall foliage into brilliant bursts of orange and red. Most of the leaves had given up their hold on the tangled branches, and from where he stood he could see the black water of The Devil’s Eye.

“Since the arrests, those girls might be willing to resume their positions, especially given the state of the village. There isn’t much work to choose from just now,” Stella said.

“That would help.” But what would he pay them with? Good thoughts?

Movement at the edge of the bog caught his eye. Someone was down there. Declan squinted to try to see who, but he was certain he already knew.

“I have to go,” he said, turning back to Stella.

She blinked and sputtered, “But I’ve paperwork, and—”

“I’m sorry. Leave the paperwork with me and I’ll drop it by your office later today,” Declan said, ushering the woman back downstairs to the front door. “I’m really sorry about this. I just remembered another appointment.”

Not true, but he wasn’t about to admit he had to chase away some crazy woman hunting ghosts at The Devil’s Eye.

* * *

“My God, Carly, I’ve never seen numbers like these.”

Carly nipped at her bottom lip to keep from smirking. Standing at the edge of the bog, she stared down at her rippling reflection in the black water and somehow managed to keep from telling Andy she’d told him so.

As she’d predicted, the geomagnetic field readings were practically off the charts. Excitement welled inside her when she considered the possibilities. As well as setting up geomagnetic meters at opposite ends of the bog, she and Andy had set up voice recorders and she’d snapped a few pictures of the area.

Both Brynn and Eleri James had claimed to have seen shadow people in the woods, and Reece Conway had been bombarded with voices once he managed to get past the gate. To be fair, Reece was sensitive, a natural medium. The odds of Carly hearing anything he could were low. But Brynn and Eleri were about as sensitive as the rock Carly was digging out of the mud with the toe of her boot.

She’d asked Reece to come with her. Having worked with him back when she was an undergrad and he was a teenager assisting his uncle—also a natural medium—she knew he was good, better than any medium she’d worked with since.

Reece had turned down her invitation to return to Stonecliff. Not only had he given up using his gift to go build boats in Holyhead on the opposite side of the Isle. Of Anglesey, but he was also engaged to Brynn, who never wanted to set foot on the estate again.

How could someone have a gift like his and not use it, not explore it or take the time to understand it? Such a waste.

“Carly?” Andy’s sharp tone jerked her from her reverie. She turned to see him standing behind her, a frown etched into his boyish features. “I asked you if you believed the source of the energy was coming from the bog? Maybe there’s a fault zone running beneath it.”

She jerked a shoulder. “It’s possible, but I’m more interested in what that energy is producing.”

“The shadow people?”

“Voices, footsteps, strange noises. Both sisters had physical experiences. One was pushed down the stairs, the other trapped in a stairwell by a door with no lock. So the question is—does all that activity stem from this place, The Devil’s Eye? Is the energy given off by the bog producing paranormal phenomena, or is it a source of hallucinations?”

She turned back to the dark water. The afternoon sun reflected off the black surface like a white pupil in a black iris. A shiver slithered up her spine.

“I thought you believed the energy was evil.”

“Energy is energy,” she murmured, then turned to face him. Andy looked up from his hunched position next to one of the geomagnetic meters. “But what if evil acts could manipulate that energy and draw more evil to it? Some believe shadow people are manifestations of evil.”

Andy snorted and shook his head. “You’re not trying to claim the energy here influenced those people who killed all those men, that The Devil’s Eye made them do it.”

“No, but what if it drew them here?”

“All three were local—the pub owner and his wife and the village doctor. They’d lived here all their lives and their families before them.”

Carly sighed and left the water’s edge, walking toward Andy. “But why here? They could have murdered people anywhere in Cragera Bay, or anywhere on the island for that matter. Why The Devil’s Eye? And don’t forget that nurse who murdered two people this past spring, completely unrelated to the bodies in the bog.”

“If your theory’s correct, and The Devil’s Eye is attracting murderers, then I suppose we’re lucky to still be alive. We could have been killed in the short distance between here and the car.”

Andy laughed at his own joke, and Carly rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I brought you in on this.”

“Because no one else would have been crazy enough to come. Still,” Andy said, with a shrug. “I think you might be onto something here.”

Andy, after all, wanted the same thing as her: for his work with the paranormal to be taken seriously. While Carly had her own issues in academia, her work considered little more than a pseudoscience, Andy was still a builder by day, paranormal investigator by night. His own work viewed as an amusing hobby by some, a crackpot waste of time with no scientific merit by others.

Carly pushed the envelope, walked a very thin line between right and wrong to get what she wanted—and in the case of The Devil’s Eye she was well over that line—but Andy was willing to do all that with her because if her work could be taken seriously, then so would his.

She grinned and folded her arms over her chest. “Was there any doubt?”

He snorted. “Should we start tidying this lot up? Before his lordship realizes we’re here.”

“I suppose,” she murmured, nipping at her bottom lip again. She just hoped they’d gathered enough to convince Meyers to give them access to the property.

“If we did manage to catch something while we were here,” Andy said, setting the voice recorder back in its case, “do you think Meyers will change his mind?”

He must have been reading her mind. Carly opened her mouth to answer, but a man’s voice cut her off.

“No, he won’t change his mind.”

Carly whirled around. Declan Meyers stood in the opening between the bog and the path that led deeper into the woods toward Stonecliff. His gaze burned like black coal, sharp-angled features twisted into a furious scowl.

“He might, however, have you arrested for trespassing.”


Chapter Four

Crap! Carly’s pulse fluttered in her throat, her mind spinning in a thousand different directions trying to decide the best way to defuse the situation. She opted for pretending nothing was wrong.

She smiled as if she were delighted to see him. “Mr. Meyers, what a surprise. We’re just about finished here.”

He threw his hands up with furious incredulity. “Are you deranged or just stupid? I told you yesterday to stay the fuck away from Stonecliff.”

“You did,” she agreed, nodding slowly. Should she go ahead and show him the numbers they’d recorded, explain the implications? His black eyes blazed, nostrils flaring. Maybe this wasn’t the best time. “If we could just discuss this reasonably.”

He rolled his eyes and started up the path. “I’m calling the cops.”

Andy stiffened beside her, and Carly’s heart thudded in her chest. If they were arrested for trespassing, everything they were hoping to accomplish would be tainted. And she would never get the chance to thoroughly investigate the location.

She needed damage control.

“You won’t,” Carly called, scurrying after him. Her ankle was still stiff from her near fall yesterday, but she didn’t let it slow her down. “You can’t afford the attention.”

Declan stopped, forcing Carly to come to an abrupt halt. The rubber tread of her boots skidded on the carpet of dead leaves. He whipped around and faced her, a scowl etched into his hardened features, fury radiating from his tense frame. He opened his mouth as if to really let her have it, but instead snapped it shut and stormed off down the path again.

Crap, would he call her bluff and call the police, anyway? She glanced back at Andy. “Tidy this lot up and head back to the inn. I’ll deal with Meyers.”

Andy rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Haven’t you had enough for one day?”

“I have to stop him from complaining to the police.”

Carly darted down the path, away from the bog, running as quickly as her slight limp would allow to catch up with Meyers. She spotted him as he passed through the stone posts. A rusted iron gate—which must have fallen from the pillars at some point—leaned against one of them.

He didn’t slow his long, purposeful strides. She picked up her pace. “Mr. Meyers!”

“What?” He swung around, forcing Carly into another skidding halt. His eyes glinted like black glass. His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides as if he were fighting to keep from throttling her.

Nerves skittered up her spine. How much influence did The Devil’s Eye have on its residents? She swallowed hard and gave herself a mental shake. She was letting the estate’s history fuel her imagination.

“If you would just hear me out,” she said, pleased her voice remained steady.

“What for? You’ve already made yourself perfectly clear. You plan to trespass and do whatever the hell you want because you think you have me over a barrel. Unfortunately for you, you miscalculated. I had the real estate agent with me when I spotted you, and I had to talk fast to get her out of here so I could deal with you.”

Deal with her? “If you would just listen—”

“While you think I won’t go to the cops because I don’t want the attention, odds are it’s only a matter of time before someone sees you here. The real estate agent. A potential buyer. Either way, having you here is going to attract unwanted attention, so I might as well get the satisfaction of seeing the cops haul you out of here.”

Damn it. She needed him to hear her. “What if there’s a way we can both get what we want?”

Meyers lifted a skeptical brow. “I don’t see how that’s possible. I want you to go away and you won’t.”

“Right then, not get what we want so much, but come to a compromise.”

He his mouth curled in a humorless smile and he let out a soft chuckle. “See, I don’t need to compromise. I call the cops, they take you out of here and hopefully write you a nice hefty fine.”

“They probably will, and everyone in the village will hear about it. But that’s all the police will do. I could still come back.” Actually, involving the police would implode her career, so besides a personal interest she would have no reason to return, but why let him know he’d already called her bluff?

“For God’s sake,” he ground out, shaking his head. “Is there something mentally wrong with you? Do I have to get a restraining order to keep you out of here?”

She nipped her lip and took a cautious step toward him. “I have a solution to both our problems.”

He looked up at the sky, before leveling his dark gaze with hers once more. “No doubt your solution will benefit you more than me.”

He turned away and stormed down the path once more. Carly scrambled after him.

“Look, deep down you couldn’t care less whether I investigate on your property or not.” He shot her a furious scowl that shriveled her insides, but she pressed on. “What matters to you, is people finding out about it. I could conduct my investigation quietly. No one would have to know, and I would keep my findings quiet until the estate sold.”

“The fact that you’re in Cragera Bay is enough to have people talking,” he ground out, without sparing her a glance. His long strides ate up the ground, forcing her to have to jog to keep up.

“I understand. I’ll arrange my investigation quickly, and when it’s done, you’ll never see me again.”

His scowl softened to a frown, but he didn’t slow his pace. “What a deal. I guess I missed the part where your offer benefits me.”

“It’s the part where I go away, never to bother you again. No more trying to sneak onto your land. No more questioning the locals about their experiences at Stonecliff. I go away and no one will ever know I investigated Stonecliff or The Devil’s Eye, until you are no longer the proud owner.”

The trees thinned, hard sunlight seeping between the branches and dappling the forest floor as the path opened onto a gravel courtyard between the coach house and Stonecliff.

Carly’s step faltered under the looming stone, dark windows and peaked roofline. A shiver scurried down her spine. She’d been to haunted places before, seen things she couldn’t explain, yet none had ever filled her with the same cold dread curdling her insides.

“Something else, isn’t it?” Meyers’s voice jerked her from her reverie. She’d almost forgotten he was there. Those lovely shaped lips curled into a sneer. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back and forth on the edge of his trainers. “Who wouldn’t want to buy such a quaint property on the coast—especially when one takes into consideration the murders, suicides and accidental deaths?”

She couldn’t imagine spending one night here on her own, never mind weeks. She was letting her imagination run wild again. After all, the high GMFs she’d recorded could be the source of her unease. But so far from the bog itself?

“In the short time I was at The Devil’s Eye, I recorded unusually high levels of geomagnetic energy. Surges in GMFs can be a result of a number of natural occurrences like fault zones or deposits of magnetic minerals.”

“Is there a short version of this lecture? I really don’t have time to take a class.”

She shot him a less than amused glare. “Fine. GMFs are often linked to typical haunt activity like apparitions and poltergeist activity. However, strong GMFs can affect the physical body, as well, from a mild sense of unease to hallucinations, and there is nothing paranormal about the site at all.”

Though witnesses claiming to share similar experiences suggested otherwise.

“And that’s what you’re investigating?”

She shrugged. “More or less.”

No point in sharing her “evil deeds, evil energy” theory just yet.

“How soon would you get this investigation under way?”

A tiny flicker of hope flared inside her. “I could have a test group down here in two—”

“No groups. Just you and the guy I found you with.”

Was he out of his mind? “I need a test group to record their reactions. That’s the investigation.”

He shrugged, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. “Record your own reaction. You bringing a group in will take away from the anonymity you promised, such as it is. That’s my best offer. Take it, or I can get a restraining order.”

She needed the group, otherwise what was the point? Still, she wasn’t prepared to walk away just yet. Not when she’d finally got a foot in the door. Maybe if she produced results, he’d come around.

“Fine,” she ground out, then jabbed a finger at him. “But I want your participation. You can be my test subject by sharing your experiences on the property.”

His smirk dimmed. “I haven’t had any.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

She folded her arms over her chest and shot him her own smug smile. “Then what will it hurt for you to sit at the bog with us and tell us what you’re not experiencing?”

He didn’t have an answer.

* * *

By the time Carly returned to the inn, the sky had darkened and the air turned cold. Her breath formed thin puffs of vapor as she left her car next to Andy’s van and hurried to the gray pebbledash two-story overlooking the sea. In the dark, she couldn’t see the water, but the slap of waves against wet sand filled her ears.

Inside, soft light fell over white walls and rose-colored carpets. The dining room off the hall was dark, the few round tables in the room empty. She and Andy were the only guests, and had told Mrs. Leonard, the owner, they wouldn’t be eating here tonight.

There was no sign of the woman now, nor her son or daughter-in law who helped her to manage the place. Maybe they had already retired to their apartment at the back of the building.

Carly mounted the stairs and made her way to Andy’s room instead of her own. A flutter of apprehension tickled low inside her. She wasn’t sure how Andy would react to the agreement she’d made with Meyers. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it herself.

He’d certainly kneecapped her investigation by refusing to allow for a test group, but his participation opened doors she hadn’t considered previously.

Carly had recorded several claims of a shadow man at Stonecliff, who showed an interest in Meyers’s sisters, Brynn and Eleri. It would be interesting to see if he too could draw out the phenomena, or if his presence increased activity compared to her and Andy on their own.

Outside Andy’s room, she knocked on his door.

“It’s open,” he called out.

Carly pushed open the door and stepped inside. His room was nearly identical to hers in size and function, but instead of blue frills and satin his were peach. Andy was stretched out on his bed, propped up on pillows and watching the telly perched on the long dresser opposite him.

“You’re back?” he said with a snort. “I’ve been waiting for a visit from the police, or a call to fetch you from the station.”

Carly pushed the door closed and shot him a wry smile. “Oh, ye of little faith. Mr. Meyers and I had a very reasonable conversation, and he’s agreed to let us investigate.”

He sat up. “Bullshit.”

“There are some caveats,” she dropped onto the corner of his bed.

Andy snorted. “Here it comes.”

“Anonymity is important, and he will not agree to a test group.”

“Then what good is access to The Devil’s Eye?”

“He’s agreed to act as a test subject for us.” She tensed, waiting for his response.

Andy rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t strike me as the most open-minded sort.”

“He’s skeptical,” Carly admitted, with a shrug. “But sometimes that’s better than someone who thinks every noise, every feeling is paranormal. And if he witnesses activity for himself, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“If you think that’s all it will take.” Andy swung his feet to the floor and stood. “I might have something, then.”

“You found something?” A thin thrill shot through her.

He crossed the room to the equipment stacked against the wall near the door and grinned. “More than one something, actually, but this is the most impressive.” He brought out one of the recorders and set it on top of the dresser. “I already cued it up for you.”

He pressed play. A soft weeping filled the quiet room, low and possibly male, mingling with her voice and Andy’s in a discussion about readings, completely oblivious to the sobs.

“It sounds like someone crying. Could we have picked up—”

Andy held up his hand. “Just wait.”

Then a woman’s voice, a clear-as-crystal whisper through the speakers.

Goose bumps studded her skin.

Andy hit stop. “Do you think that will change his mind?”

She nodded slowly. “It might.”


Chapter Five

Swirling gray mist wrapped around Declan, icy and damp against his skin. The fog blotted out his surroundings except for the still, black waters stretched out before him. A shudder rippled through him. The urge to run tightened his calf muscles, yet he remained frozen, rooted to the ground at the water’s edge.

They’ll devour you.

His mother’s words spoken to him on her deathbed, the last thing she would ever say to him, whispered inside his mind, but not in his mother’s voice. He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice.

A faint odor of charred wood smoke teased at his nose and everything inside him squeezed tight.

Not her, he thought, heart slamming against his chest. Not again.

The water before him rippled and frothed. Something was moving beneath the surface, coming for him. His hands felt wet and sticky, and when he looked down they were streaked with blood.

His breath came fast and hard; he wanted to back away from the churning waters. Instead, his feet slid toward the edge of the bank. A man’s pale, slack face emerged from the roiling waters. His gaze locked on dead, staring eyes. His eyes. His face.

They’ll devour you.

Declan woke with a jolt. His eyes flew open and fixed on the unfamiliar ceiling. Where was he? A confused vertigo gripped his mind before memory swept over him like a wave. Stonecliff.

He closed his eyes and let out the breath he’d been holding, sagging against the mattress. A stupid dream. Was it any wonder, after his bizarre conversation with Carly?

A part of him still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to let her come back or to take part in her craziness, but maybe she’d offer him some explanation for the things he’d seen.

He reached for his phone on the night table to check the time. Nearly five-thirty. He doubted he’d be falling back to sleep.

Throwing back the covers, he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. Cool air chilled his bare legs and chest. He grabbed up his jeans from yesterday and dragged them over his boxers, then pulled on a sweater. Damp, drafty air still wrapped around him. He crossed the room to the fireplace and tossed a log on the smoldering coals—all that was left of last night’s fire.

He’d left the light on in the en suite, its soft glow spilling into the shadowy room, and the lamp between the two chairs facing the hearth—all in an attempt to chase away the shadow man. He shook his head in mild disgust. He hadn’t slept with a light on since he was kid too young to have started school.

He dropped into the chair at the small writing table next to the window. He had a few hours before the rest of the house woke—before Carly Evans showed up banging at his door—he might as well get a little work done, make some effort at running his business.

Once again, he considered how much easier and more comfortable he would be set up in the study, and once again a thick smothering gripped him.

Declan opened his laptop and waited for the system to boot up. His thoughts drifted to Carly once more. They’d been doing that a lot since yesterday. She was attractive—he would have had to be dead not to notice—with all that golden brown hair falling past her shoulders, serious gray eyes and a single dimple grooving one cheek when she smiled. She was different than he’d expected, more grounded despite the strangeness of her work.

Her turning up at The Devil’s Eye like that still pissed him off when he thought about it for too long, but he was intrigued by her. He wished he’d met her under different circumstances.

What if she was right about The Devil’s Eye and its high magnetic field? Would that explain the shadow man, the burned woman? Maybe even what had sent his mother running?

He thought about what Hugh Warlow had said when he asked about his parents’ marriage. The man claimed he didn’t know the specifics of why his parents separated, but he said, “Women don’t do well at Stonecliff. Your father had three wives and none of them were happy here. Perhaps it’s the isolation, but the weaker sex tends to unravel the longer they stay.”

At the time, Declan thought the man had merely been glossing over the real reason his mother left, but now…

His mother had been the most rational person he’d ever known—she would have gouged Warlow’s eyes out for that “weaker sex” remark. Did he really believe some mystical energy from The Devil’s Eye had driven her away?

Fifteen bodies had been pulled from that bog. Maybe she’d run from something flesh and blood.

What did it matter now, anyway? Both his parents were dead, and their secrets with them.

He scrolled through his email, the connection to his real life in Seattle, the normalcy, comforting. He read his personal email first. There was only one from his sister Katie. She asked him about his trip, told him about being back at school—she was in her second year of university—and at the end asked him to call her father. She was worried about him and Josh. A faint sinking feeling settled over him. What had Josh done now? As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

He typed a quick reply, keeping things light and amusing, promising to call Allen and reminding her that he would be back in a few days.

After, he went through his work emails. He did a couple of background checks for one of their corporate companies. He left the skip traces for Jayne. It would be easier for her to manage them locally.

He tapped his finger on the polished desktop. He’d rather be doing the skip traces. Tracking people down was what he was good at. All that time living in hiding had given him a certain insight when it came to finding people who wanted to stay lost.

The sky outside his window began to lighten as much as the heavy gray clouds would allow. A steady drizzle soaked the ground, tiny raindrops zigzagging down the glass. The forest stretched out before him, all bony branches and patches of dying leaves.

He wished Warlow had put him in a room that overlooked the sea instead of the forest. Whenever he was near the window, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched from the trees.

A shiver crept up his spine, and he forced his attention back to his computer screen. He was being stupid. Even if there was someone out there in the woods, they wouldn’t be able to see him. He was just letting this place spook him.

A loud bang from somewhere deep in the house made him jump, his heart lodging in his throat.

“Stupid,” he muttered, willing his pulse to resume a normal rate. Someone had probably slammed a door. Maybe Mrs. Voyle had arrived. He stood and craned his neck to get a look at the driveway. Her car wasn’t in the courtyard. It had to be Warlow.

Even as he listed rationalizations in his head, Declan stood and crossed to the bedroom door. He pulled it open a few inches and peered out through the gap. The narrow hall stretched out on either side of him dim and shadowy, the wall sconces dark. Silence wrapped around him, eerie and strangely unnatural as if the house were holding its breath.

A shrill laugh from a child pierced the quiet and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end.

* * *

“I bet he’s changed his mind,” Andy said, a smirk curling his mouth.

Knots tangled Carly’s insides. She would have loved to tell Andy that he was wrong, that he didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but she was afraid he was right.

“It’s a large house. No one can hear me, probably.” She knocked again—louder this time.

Beside her, Andy sighed and turned absently, taking in the scenery behind them. “Place sure as hell looks haunted.”

He had a point. Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, a relentless drizzle pelting the tin roof over the overhang. Most of the remaining leaves had been swept from the trees, leaving the woods a tangle of dark, bony branches. The sea, the color of slate and dotted with foamy whitecaps, rushed against the shore. A mix of sea brine and wet earth filled the chilly air.

While she didn’t look forward to sitting out in the rain next to The Devil’s Eye, she didn’t want to give Declan a chance to change his mind about participating—provided Andy was wrong and Declan hadn’t changed his mind already. She sighed. At least her ankle was better today.

The door opened and a tall man in a tidy gray pinstripe suit filled the opening. His hair was white and cut short. Sky-blue eyes bore into her.

“Can I help you?” he asked, deep voice cool.

“I’m Dr. Carly Evans, this is Andy Quinn. Mr. Meyers is expecting us.”

The man chuckled. “The ghost woman.”

“I suppose,” she said, irritation prickling her skin.

“I believe Mr. Meyers expressed that he was not interested in you. I’ll tell him you were here.” The man began closing the door. Carly stepped forward and pressed her hand to the wood, stopping him.

Anger flashed across the man’s hard features, but Carly held her ground. “He’s expecting us. We have an arrangement.”

His gaze narrowed, but he stepped aside.

“Come in, but wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll fetch Mr. Meyers.” He started up the wide wooden staircase.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Andy muttered, once he was gone.

“He probably forgot to tell anyone we were coming.”

“I hope you’re right.”

So did she. With a deep breath she took in the wide foyer. The chandelier overhead cast a warm glow over the patterned tile floor and worn furnishings, but a shiver prickled her skin. There was something false about the room, as though the house were trying to lull her into believing it were benign—just a house like any other.

Carly pushed her damp hair back from her face. Maybe she was letting her imagination get the better of her again.

“Sorry,” Declan said, coming down the stairs.

God, he looked good. Low-slung jeans hung from narrow hips and a worn black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. Messy dark hair and black stubble covering the smooth planes of his face added to his overall tousled look.

A thin flutter tickled low inside her, but she did her best to squash it. In truth, she’d been looking forward to seeing him again, which didn’t make sense. The man was a serious hindrance to her work.





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