Книга - The Witch Of Stonecliff

The Witch Of Stonecliff
Dawn Brown


Shadowy forces gather an unholy harvestMalicious whispers have long swirled around Stonecliff, Eleri James's family estate–especially the eerie bog called The Devil's Eye. But the bodies recently discovered on the property are no rumor. Twelve men pulled from the ooze, their throats slit, their flesh corrupted. Suspicion has perched on Eleri's shoulder with the croak of a single syllable: witch. Now her only hope of evading prison is a man who could destroy her, body and soul.Kyle Peirs is a survivor. Two years ago, he awoke in the inky night on the shore of The Devil's Eye, bleeding from his throat and barely alive. He's returned to Stonecliff to learn the truth about his ordeal and lay his own demons to rest. He never expected to find an ally–and a lover–in the woman he branded a killer.Unless Kyle and Eleri can penetrate the evil surrounding The Devil's Eye, they, too, will fall to the reaping….







Shadowy forces gather an unholy harvest

Malicious whispers have long swirled around Stonecliff, Eleri James’s family estate—especially the eerie bog called The Devil’s Eye. But the bodies recently discovered on the property are no rumor. Twelve men pulled from the ooze, their throats slit, their flesh corrupted. Suspicion has perched on Eleri’s shoulder with the croak of a single syllable: witch. Now her only hope of evading prison is a man who could destroy her, body and soul.

Kyle Peirs is a survivor. Two years ago, he awoke in the inky night on the shore of The Devil’s Eye, bleeding from his throat and barely alive. He’s returned to Stonecliff to learn the truth about his ordeal and lay his own demons to rest. He never expected to find an ally—and a lover—in the woman he branded a killer.

Unless Kyle and Eleri can penetrate the evil surrounding The Devil’s Eye, they, too, will fall to the reaping….


The Witch of Stonecliff

Dawn Brown










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


For Mom and Dad. Thank you for everything.


Table of Contents

I (#uf7dacea8-9754-5912-8019-6cea969a1691)

Chapter One (#u203665c3-33b2-50cf-85ec-90251260d003)

Chapter Two (#u05b855cc-75fb-5930-8034-1f9933fa1b23)

Chapter Three (#u335c9d71-cf4d-5e95-b2b8-b5bdcda471f1)

Chapter Four (#u98b80089-a223-5fd1-92a2-43c7539c839d)

Chapter Five (#u016f03bd-cba8-5ab3-b478-3d876f0f0148)

II (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

III (#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)

IV (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


I

Red agony burned across his throat—his first coherent thought as he emerged from unconsciousness.

And someone was touching his hand.

Fear spiked inside him. Memories, fuzzy and terrifying, played out behind his closed eyes.

Fingers tangled in his hair.

Blade pressed to his neck.

Hot blood dribbling down his bare chest.

They’d come for him, to finish what they’d started, and he was too weak to fight.

He tried to shift back, to disentangle his fingers from the big hand holding on to him. The grip tightened. A groan crept up his torn throat, but no sound came and a fresh wave of heat burned across his neck.

The hand grasping his fingers squeezed. “It’s alright, son. You’re safe.”

His father’s rough voice penetrated the mind-numbing panic. He opened his eyes, meeting his father’s light blue gaze. Relief rolled over him and warm moisture sprang to his eyes.

He never thought he’d see his father again.

He blinked away the tears and shifted his gaze while he struggled for control. He was in a hospital room, the walls pale yellow, bits of furniture cheap and utilitarian. Through the window, the sky was dark. How much time had passed since he’d woken next to the bog? Hours? Days? Weeks?

He met his father’s worried gaze and opened his mouth to speak, but the sound lodged in his burning throat. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing the agony to ease.

“Jack?” Fear laced his dad’s voice. “I’ll have a nurse bring you something for the pain.”

Sweat soaked his skin and he forced his eyes open. He wanted to nod his thanks, but he was afraid even the slightest movement would worsen the fire engulfing his neck.

“Bloody hell,” his father muttered, pressing the call button next to his bed repeatedly. “It’ll be faster if I fetch someone.”

Slippery fear swelled inside him, and he tightened his grasp on his father’s hand. He didn’t want to be alone. Not now. Maybe not ever. What if they were waiting?

Nodding, his father slowly lowered himself back into the chair next to the bed. “I’m here, Jack. Not going anywhere.”

His father spoke in the same even tones he used for the animals that came to him injured, frightened and broken. At one time, it would have driven him mad to hear his father speak to him like one of his strays, but right then he hung on every word. Christ, was that who he was now? Injured? Frightened? Broken?

“The nurse will come in a moment.” His father dropped his gaze to their joined hands, thumb gently stroking the back of his. “The police were here earlier. Now that you’re awake, they’ll want to speak to you.”

Panic squeezed his chest and for the first time the damage blazing his throat seemed like a blessing. He tried to lift his free hand to gesture to his neck, but the IV in the crook of his arm and tangle of thin tubes connected to the machines beside him made his movements stiff and awkward.

His father lifted his gaze and frowned. “Lie still. I know you can’t speak, but maybe you could write something down while the details are still fresh, before you forget anything.”

A perverse part of him wanted to laugh. He closed his eyes instead. As if he could ever forget the things that had been done to him. Even now, the memories pressed against his skull—blood soaked and riddled with fear and pain.

“You’ve been through a lot, but you must tell them what you remember so they find whoever did this to you.” Dad’s calm voice took on a slight edge.

He opened his eyes. His father’s face was sallow, haggard. Guilt twisted low in his gut. He’d been a terrible son. Funny how clearly he saw that now.

Maybe because he was dead.

It may not have looked that way to anyone else, but the man who’d gone into those woods hadn’t come out.

When the police came, he would write down everything he could remember. He only hoped it would be enough for them to finally arrest The Witch of Stonecliff.


Chapter One

Murderer.

Die Witch.

Eleri stood transfixed, unable to tear her gaze from the slashing red strokes of paint almost glowing against the pale stone wall. Sweat slicked her skin despite the chilly spring wind slapping at her face.

She did her best to squash the dread mushrooming inside her. Most of her life she’d been called those names. She really should have been used to them by now. But since the bodies of a dozen men had been pulled from the bog on her property four weeks ago, the name-calling seemed far more sinister—especially with the looming possibility of prison.

“I’m sorry to be the one to show you this.”

The housekeeper’s voice jerked Eleri from her reverie. She’d nearly forgotten Mrs. Voyle was standing next to her. The woman’s beady eyes gleamed in her narrow face, belying her words.

Of course Iola Voyle wasn’t sorry. She was probably elated. The only thing that would please the woman more would be if the police turned up with handcuffs and dragged Eleri away right now. Or better still, if an angry mob of pitchfork toting villagers hung her from the nearest tree.

“There’s more farther down. To be expected, I suppose, given the situation,” Mrs. Voyle added, with a sidelong glance. Her thin mouth pressed in a tight line, she turned away following the old stone wall, lumbering through the overly long grass. The combination of her ankle-length skirt and rubber boots made her gait slow and awkward. Periodically, she glanced back as if she feared an attack from behind. With any luck, she’d fall flat on her face.

Eleri blew out a sigh. She had more to worry about than her housekeeper’s suspicious stares and innuendos. Following Mrs. Voyle, she trudged over the wide strip of wet grass between the estate wall and the road. The tangled blades wrapped around her mud-caked boots, threatening to trip her up. Her luck, she’d be the one to land on her face.

Wind gusted with mossy smells of rotting leaves, wet earth and the salty tang of the sea hidden by the woods. Bare branches only starting to green with spring rattled in the breeze, and frigid water droplets sprayed the back of her neck. She hunched her shoulders so her coat collar protected her bare skin.

This morning’s rain had stopped, but if the steel-colored clouds hanging low in the sky were any indication, the reprieve was temporary.

As Eleri drew closer to the wall, the words painted two feet tall in the same red slashing strokes as the others stopped her.

Killer.

Burn Witch.

Well, her vandal was consistent if not terribly original. “I’m beginning to detect a theme.”

“Whoever’s responsible had quite a busy night. Did you not hear anything unusual?” Another sidelong glance.

“Obviously not, or I’d have put a stop to it.” She bent forward and rubbed the edge of a letter with her thumb hoping the paint might smudge. Nothing. The stone had already absorbed the paint. Would turpentine take it out? Or would she have to replace the stone? And how much did it cost to replace three hundred-year-old stone? She didn’t have a clue, masonry not exactly being her forte.

She folded her arms, then lifted one hand to her mouth and nipped at her thumbnail.

Mrs. Voyle sniffed. “That’s a filthy habit.”

A little of the woman’s usual condemnation crept into her voice, and it was almost a relief—a cantankerous Mrs. Voyle was preferable to a wary one. Still, she shot the woman a hard glare and flicked her nail loudly off her front tooth before turning back to the wall.

“Repairing this mess will be dear,” Mrs. Voyle continued, her words like a probing finger in a gaping wound. “I don’t know where your father will find the money.”

Neither did she, actually. There was precious little left for the day-to-day running of the estate—and her attorney. Maybe she could convince her father to sell off another few acres of land. He’d been making a living from the proceeds of parcelling off property for years now. Convincing him to sell a little more shouldn’t be too difficult. Especially since he had so little time left.

Persuading him to sell the estate entirely was out of the question. He refused to let the house go. Though, why anyone would willingly stay on these tainted grounds escaped her. Burning the whole thing down and collecting insurance sounded good to her. Hell, burning the place down for nothing provided she could walk away and never look back sounded even better.

The low hum of a car engine cut the quiet. Mrs. Voyle turned to see who was driving past, but Eleri tensed and kept her attention fixed on the wall, heat creeping up her neck into her cheeks.

“What in the world could this be?” Mrs. Voyle said.

Eleri looked up in time to catch sight of a dark blue sedan disappearing down the driveway. Her stomach sank like an icy stone.

Well, this was it. They’d come at last.

“Expecting visitors?” Mrs. Voyle asked.

“No,” Eleri lied. Panic squeezed her chest, and the urge to bolt was nearly overwhelming. She’d been expecting this moment for weeks now. Every night when she went to bed, her last thought before falling asleep was tomorrow the good detective would come to arrest her.

Reece, her sister’s boyfriend, had been certain Detective Harding would be very careful before arresting her, dotting every i and crossing every t. Last month, her father’s nurse had murdered two people. And while Harding had been doing his best to pin the murders on Eleri, Ruth had nearly managed to kill Reece and Eleri’s sister, Brynn.

Eleri let out a slow breath. It seemed Harding finally had everything he needed to bring her down—even if the evidence was wrong.

“I need to get back.” She turned and kicked her way through the grass toward the driveway. Mrs. Voyle huffed and puffed behind her, but Eleri didn’t slow her pace. She wanted distance, some quiet so she could think.

She passed the stone pillars flanking both sides of the drive and a cold weight settled on her chest. The forest stretched out on either side of her. A thin layer of mist hovered above the leaf-covered ground, snaking between tree trunks and shifting with the breeze like a living, breathing thing. Skeletal branches tangled overhead like arthritic fingers, but offered little protection against the drizzle that had started falling again.

Her calf muscles tightened with the urge to run as fast and as far as she could. But she continued toward the house. Running now would only make her look guiltier, and there was nowhere to go, anyway.

Memories of men’s bodies hauled from the black waters of The Devil’s Eye filled her head. One after another—twelve in total. Her pace faltered and she stopped midstep. Mrs. Voyle bumped into her from behind and let out a soft gasp.

“What are you on about?” The housekeeper’s voice sounded reedy, and she scurried past Eleri.

Swallowing hard against the swirling in her belly, Eleri forced her feet to move again.Flashes of the house appeared between the branches. A section of slate roofline. A peaked window. Then the trees fell away and Stonecliff stood before her in all its hideous majesty.

God, she hated this place.

She’d tried to build a life away from Stonecliff, away from her past. And after a few years, she’d actually fooled herself into believing she’d managed to do it. Then Detective Harding had turned up at her flat with questions about a murdered man and she’d come to the sad realization that this place would never let her go.

So she’d returned to her father’s estate, planning to clear her name—it was the only way she could see of putting all this behind her—and she still planned to prove she was innocent. Unfortunately, she was a little fuzzy on the details just now.

Her gaze shifted to the car she’d seen turn down the drive and a small flicker of relief lit inside her. While the vehicle was the same blue as Harding’s sedan, it wasn’t his car, and she doubted the man’s fortunes had improved so that he could afford a BMW on his policeman’s salary.

So who, then? Another bloody reporter? Some passerby hoping to gawk at The Witch of Stonecliff?

Fast fury snaked inside her until her entire body quivered. She’d give the bastard a look, all right. She’d give him a close encounter he wouldn’t forget.

She strode across the drive, oblivious to the rain pelting her skin, her boots crunching over the wet gravel. Her step faltered when a man got out of the car, walked around and opened the boot. He unzipped a suitcase, pulled out a jacket and shrugged it on.

A trespasser with luggage? Unlikely. Though, very possibly another one of Hugh Warlow’s derelict hires. Her anger eased, replaced with annoyance instead. Had the butler learned nothing after the mess with Reece? Warlow couldn’t possibly have investigated this man thoroughly. He could be anyone.

The man tensed as she drew closer—no doubt her sloshing footsteps in the pooling puddles gave away her approach.

“Would you mind telling me just who in the hell you are?” she demanded.

He turned slowly, his mouth twisted into a faint smirk. He was oddly attractive, tall and lean, a shade away from skinny. His thick brown hair, damp from the rain, slicked away from the finely drawn features of his face. “I’m Kyle Peirs.”

His voice was rough gravel. Pale green eyes travelled over her from foot to head and back down again, studying, assessing. For some reason, her skin tingled beneath his scrutiny.

She stiffened. “This is private property. What are you doing here?”

His grin faded. Probably wasn’t used to a woman who didn’t melt at the sight of him. “I’m letting a house.”

Her stomach sank. “The lodge?”

“That’s right. I was to sign the paperwork before moving in.”

“Hugh Warlow made these arrangements?”

He slammed the boot closed, jammed his hands into his jeans’ pockets and nodded. A thick band of scar tissue peaked out from the collar of his button-down shirt. The jagged ridge started behind his jaw, curled beneath his chin, then dipped down over his Adam’s apple as if someone had tried to cut his throat, but botched the job.

Ah, that explained what he was doing at Stonecliff. Good God, what rock had Warlow dug this one up from under?

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be here for long. “I’m—”

“I know who you are.” His voice, barely more than a whisper, shivered over her skin. “Eleri James. You’re something of a celebrity around these parts.”

Her belly twisted, but she lifted her chin. “Given my celebrity, I’m surprised you’d want to be anywhere near this place.”

After all, if gossip were to be believed, Kyle Peirs was her ideal victim. A fresh body to pull from the bog.

Something glinted in those light eyes and he snorted. “I’m fairly certain I can handle you.”

His icy tone combined with his hard expression sent a chill slithering down her spine. Oh, this man had to go. Anyone who looked like him, with an injury like his, had to be running from something.

“Come with me,” she told him, and started for the house.

He had to jog to catch up and fall into step beside her. She didn’t spare him a glance. When she reached the door, she hauled open the heavy oak and stormed into the hall.

Mrs. Voyle was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She’d shed her raincoat and rubber boots. Her narrowed gaze lit on Kyle and her face tightened into a disapproving frown.

“Where’s Warlow?” Eleri demanded, dragging away the woman’s attention.

“In the study. Who’s this?”

Eleri ignored the question and crossed to the door on her right. Of course he was in the study. The past weeks he’d been locked away, door closed with explicit instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed. But she’d disturb him now, all right. Who in the hell did he think he was, leasing property without even discussing the matter with her?

She flung the door open and marched into the room. Warlow’s head snapped up, but his furious glare didn’t slow her down. Instead, she pointed at the man standing in the open doorway. “Explain.”

Warlow’s nostrils flared slightly as he gathered the papers spread before him into a pile, then turned to Kyle and shot him his well-practiced phoney smile. “Mr. Peirs, may I assume?”

Kyle’s mouth twitched. “That’s right. Is there a problem with the lease?”

Eleri snorted, earning another hard glare from the butler.

“No problem,” Warlow said, voice warm as honey. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all.” Kyle’s knowing smirk curled his mouth once more as if guessing how this argument was about to turn out. Hair bristled at the back of Eleri’s neck.

She glared at the butler until the door clicked closed behind her.

“He has to go.” She sank into the chair opposite the desk, leaning an elbow on the arm. For a long moment, silence stretched between them. The only sound was the hiss of the baby monitor and her father’s rattling breaths through the speaker.

Warlow had yet to find a replacement for her father’s nurse and had taken on the duties in the meantime. The role was a good fit, really, since the man rarely left her father’s side. Even before the emphysema.

Warlow drew a deep breath, leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. “You’re over reacting.”

Of course she was. Poor high-strung Eleri. And poor rationale Hugh, having to deal with her. She grit her teeth so tight, her jaw ached. “Am I? I can’t think of a worse time to let that property.”

“Was it not you sending out adverts all over the country to lease the space?”

“That was before police pulled twelve bodies from The Devil’s Eye.”

He sighed loudly. “Bodies or not, as you’ve pointed out so many times, the estate needs income. Mr. Peirs contacted me two weeks ago, eager to move into the lodge. Convenient timing, I’d say.”

A little too convenient. “Two weeks? You couldn’t have possibly investigated him thoroughly. And after what happened with Reece…”

She let the words hang. Warlow’s gaze narrowed slightly, barely discernible to the untrained eye.

Direct hit. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Eleri had mixed feelings about her sister’s boyfriend. He’d taken a job at the estate while working with the detective determined to see her blamed for murders she hadn’t committed, but he’d also saved Brynn’s life and helped prove Ruth was a killer. Eleri would always be grateful.

Warlow’s feelings about the man were much more straightforward. He was furious.

“Reece was an error in judgement.”

“How will this one be any different?” She nodded at the closed door. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s an author looking to get out of the city while he writes his book.”

At the word author, Eleri stiffened. “How do you know he’s not some sleazy reporter here for a story?”

After all, she’d had experiences with tabloid reporters before. One in particular had coined the phrase The Witch of Stonecliff.

“When I spoke to him over the phone, he told me he writes science fiction.”

“What books has he published?”

“I’ve no idea.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of anger rolling through her. “Of course you don’t. You shouldn’t be making these decisions without consulting me first.”

Something gleamed in his light blue eyes and he smiled. “Your father trusts my judgement.”

Translation: your father doesn’t trust you. He thinks you’re all the things people say.

Witch.

Evil.

Killer.

Tension hummed through her body, frustration radiating from the inside out. She was going to lose this argument. Already she could feel her footing sliding out from under her, as if she were standing at the edge of an embankment, the ground crumbling away beneath her. Still, she had to try to make the man see sense.

“Did you or my father happen to get a look at his neck before entering into this little arrangement? Someone tried to slit his throat. A writer? God knows what kind of trouble the man’s been in with a scar like that and willing to live here.”

Warlow frowned a moment, smile vanishing. “A scar?”

“That’s right. Like this.” Eleri traced the shape over her own throat with her finger.

Warlow shook his head. “He’s a warm body, willing to pay for the space. At this stage, we can’t hope for much better. With everything happening on the estate, who knows how long it could take to find someone suitable.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t know that he’s suitable. You don’t know anything about him, except that he’s a writer. He could be some bloody starving artist. How can you even be certain he’ll pay the rent once he’s in there?”

“He’s agreed to a six month lease. He’s already paid the first three months in advance.”

His words gave her pause. “Three months?”

Warlow leaned back in his chair, smug smile stretching wide across his face. And no wonder. He was aware of how desperate their situation had become. Running the estate took a lot of money and taxes were due at the end of summer. Three month’s rent for the lodge wouldn’t be enough to save them, but it would certainly help.

“You’re absolutely right, I know almost nothing about the man,” he admitted, confirming everything she feared. “But face facts, my dear, we can’t be too choosy, just now. Your father has already approved the lease.”

Defeat weighed heavy on her shoulders, exhaustion chasing away the last of her anger. Her father would always side in favor of the butler. And Warlow knew it, too.

“We need the money,” Warlow said, gentling his voice. “While I hate to bring this up, if the detective has his way, there may be the additional expense of a legal defense.”

Her chest squeezed, but she remained silent when Warlow stood and opened the door.

Kyle leaned against the far wall, arms folded over his chest. His mouth twitched. “All sorted, then?”

“Sorry to have kept you waiting.” Warlow waved Peirs into the seat next to her before lowering himself back into the chair behind the desk. “Miss James had some concerns.”

“I hope your concerns have been alleviated.” Peirs glanced at her owl-eyed, a faint smile pulling at his mouth.

“They have not,” she snapped, drawing a hard scowl from Warlow. The younger man’s grin widened.

“Please forgive Eleri,” Warlow ground out. “She’s under a great deal of pressure just now.”

“Of course,” Peirs said to Warlow, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “Who could blame her for being careful?”

Money or not, letting to this man was a mistake. “So you’ve heard then, about the bodies in the bog? Twelve men.”

He nodded. “I should imagine everyone’s heard.”

The truth in his words iced her blood. Good God, this was so much worse than the last time she’d caught the media’s attention.

She drew in a deep breath, hardening herself against the panic building inside her. “I have to wonder why in the world you’d willingly stay knowing that.”

“I had my eye on Morehead Lodge before your unfortunate discovery, but had some loose ends to tie up first. “ Kyle smiled. “You have the agreement for me to sign?”

Warlow nodded and slid a thin stack of papers toward him. “I believe you’ve already had the chance to review the lease.”

“I have.” He accepted the pen Warlow held out and scribbled his signature on the last page.

Eleri sat next to him, dismissed and forgotten. Dull anger beat behind her forehead. These two men, doing as they pleased, suiting themselves. Warlow after the money and Peirs after the lodge. But it was her life teetering on the edge of ruin.

“You’re a writer, aren’t you?” Eleri asked.

Kyle glanced at her before turning back to initialling the lease. “That’s right. If you’re worried I’m here after a story, you needn’t. I’m a fiction writer.”

“Really? Would I have read anything you’ve written?”

“Unlikely. This has been a recent career change.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Before this career change, what did you do?”

He pushed the signed lease to Warlow. “I was a technical writer for an electronics company. Quite dull, really.”

She didn’t believe a word he said. He was too smug. Too smooth. Too unperturbed by all that was happening around them.

“I can see you’re not convinced,” Kyle said, a light chuckle touching his low, gravelly voice. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come with me, show me the way to the lodge? I’ll tell you everything you’ll ever need to know about me, and hopefully set your mind at ease.”

Eleri nipped at the corner of her mouth, giving his offer serious thought. Not because anything the man could say would sway her opinion, but perhaps something she’d say would sway his. “All right.”

“Excellent idea,” Warlow cut in. “We could all benefit by knowing our tenant better. You’ll no doubt be busy getting settled tonight, but perhaps you’d join us for dinner tomorrow evening?”

For the first time since she’d met him, Kyle’s smug expression fell away, leaving his features blank. Warlow’s offer had caught the man completely off guard. The whole thing might have been funny, had she not suspected her own face looked remarkably similar.

What the hell was Warlow doing? The less they had to do with this man, the better. Yet he was inviting him for a meal? Perhaps he’d forgotten Brynn was away just now, forcing them to eat the housekeeper’s cooking.

She’d add dinner to the list of things to warn Kyle off. After all, he might not get the chance to wind up dead at the bottom of a bog if he succumbed to food poisoning first.

* * *

Kyle stared at the white-haired man behind the desk, not sure how to the respond to his offer. In reality, returning to the main house—invited in, no less—was exactly what he wanted and yet something about this man’s invitation left him uneasy.

Oh bloody hell, who was he fooling? His stomach had been in knots the moment he’d crossed the bridge from the mainland onto the Isle of Anglesey in Northern Wales. His fragmented memories flashed across his brain like a confused silent film.

He was exhausted. Even the light cat and mouse game with Eleri was wearing on him. He needed to get the hell out of there. “Thank you, I’d be happy to.”

Eleri snorted beside him, but Kyle didn’t glance at her, his attention fixed on Hugh Warlow. He’d swear something glinted in the older man’s pale blue gaze. The hair at the back of his neck prickled. Did he know him? Recognize him from before?

Warlow handed him the keys and a copy of the lease. “There is one more thing, and I hope you don’t find me deplorably rude. I couldn’t help but notice your injury.”

Kyle went cold. Absently, almost without control, his fingers moved to the thick ridge of scar tissue peeking out from his collar.

“I was in an accident.” The gravel rasp in his voice seemed more pronounced all of a sudden and a thin line of sweat dribbled between his shoulder blades.

Warlow’s eyes tightened. “Must have been a terrible recovery.”

Months of painful recovery and the black fear he lived with since that day swirled inside his head. “It’s behind me now.”

“Yes, of course. I won’t keep you.” Warlow waved him away, sinking into the chair behind the desk.

Kyle turned from the man, his gaze shifting to Eleri. She’d moved to the door, watching him with narrow-eyed curiosity. The hostility tightening her features had gone. Good God, he must have looked as rattled as he felt.

He forced a grin. “Shall we be off, then?”

Eleri nodded and left the study. Kyle followed her outside, letting out the breath he’d been holding. He’d made it through. Whatever suspicions they had about him weren’t enough to keep them from accepting his money. He hadn’t even really had to lie yet. For all their reservations, they had never thought to ask if he’d ever visited Stonecliff or Cragera Bay before.

But maybe they remembered him and already knew he had.


Chapter Two

“Get in,” Kyle said, yanking open his car’s passenger door. Nervous energy hummed through him, making his skin itch.

Eleri didn’t move, eyeing the opening like a wary animal gauging a potential trap. “You want me in your car?”

“I don’t see how you can show me the way, otherwise,” he told her, forcing a grin while rounding the vehicle to the driver’s side.

Still, she hesitated as if instinctively sensing something about him wasn’t on the up-and-up. The knots tangling his insides squeezed tighter.

“You know what people say about me.”

Oh he knew, all right. Probably better than anyone else. “I’ve heard the rumors.”

He slid behind the wheel, not giving her a chance to argue further, and waited for her to get in.

She slipped into the seat, closed the door behind her with a thunk and positioned herself as far from him as their tight quarters would allow. Hell, he’d have guessed he was the one rumored to kill people if he didn’t know better. Irritation prickled the hair at the back of his neck.

He switched on the engine, shifted gears and started back down the drive toward the road. He glanced at Eleri stuck to the door, gripping the handle with one white-knuckled fist as though she were waiting to spring out of the moving car if need be.

“Be careful, love. You press any harder and you might fall out.”

Eleri scowled. “You ought to be worried about yourself.”

“Me?” He lifted his hand from the gearshift to tug on his seatbelt. “I’m safe and secure.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She shifted to face him. Her mouth stretched into a smile as hard as her glare. “Aren’t you worried about your safety? They pulled twelve bodies from The Devil’s Eye, and you’re alone in the car with the woman who put them there.”

“Is that a confession?”

“No,” she snapped. “That’s what everyone believes. You do realize you’re the ideal victim? A single male, late twenties to early thirties. No attachments. Just like the other men who vanished from this place. You might as well have ‘prey’ written across your forehead.”

Cold settled in the pit of his stomach like an icy brick. Still, he kept that unconcerned smirk in place, his shoulders loose. At least, he hoped he did. “What makes you so sure I’ve no attachments?”

Eleri snorted and turned away to look out the passenger window. “Why would anyone come here if they had somewhere else to be?”

“I have attachments.” He shot her a brief glance before turning his attention to the winding drive through the windscreen and away from her scrutinizing stare.

“Are you married?”

“No, but I have family. Parents. Siblings. People who would look for me if I should up and vanish.”

“Is that a warning? In case my murderous impulses overwhelm me?”

Was it? Maybe. He glanced at her as the car approached the gateposts. This was only the third time he’d seen her, and only the second time up close. He tried to imagine the delicate features of her face pinched tight with effort and concentration. The slender fingers of one hand tangling in his hair, jerking his head back, while the other pressed a cold blade to his throat.

A shudder rippled through him. She watched him, arms folded over her chest, a smug smile pulling at her mouth.

She hadn’t been the one to wield the knife. He knew that for certain. So how did she fit into the murders?

“Which way?” he asked.

“Turn right. The same way you came.”

He nodded and she stayed quiet as he steered down the narrow road, thick woods rising up on either side of them. Despite Eleri’s silence, Kyle could feel her gaze boring into him as she studied him, measured him. Cool sweat sprang to his skin, that all too familiar anxiety beginning to build.

He tightened his hold on the steering wheel and concentrated on drawing deep, even breaths. Once the tension gripping him eased, he forced his stock nonchalant grin and glanced her way. “Am I that lovely to look at?”

Those black eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon.”

“You’re staring. While I’m flattered, I—”

“Don’t be,” she snapped. “If I told you the rumors were true, would you leave?”

Eleri’s words sent a chill scuttling along his spine.

“No.” Not until he knew for certain. Not until he could prove it. Not until she led him to the others.

“Turn right.” She pointed to a nearly invisible break in the trees.

He slammed his foot on the brake and cranked the wheel. The car’s back end fishtailed as he steered up the drive. Unlike the gravel-covered drive leading to the main house, this one was little more than two narrow ruts cutting through the trees.

Once the spring and summer foliage took root, the pathway could very possibly disappear entirely. It would be swallowed up by the woods, leaving him trapped amongst the trees. The idea left him cold.

The car emerged into a clearing. A dark stone building rose up before him. This house was older than Stonecliff, possibly by a good hundred years. He had no idea how modernized the place was inside; for all he knew he would have to dig a hole in the woods every time he needed to shit.

He stopped the car, and before he could even cut the engine, Eleri had hopped out, slamming the passenger door behind her. He climbed out and followed her to the front door, where she waited for him to unlock it.

Once he pushed open the door, Eleri moved passed him, her rubber boots thudding on the wood floor. She pressed a button on the wall, and the overhead light flared to life. Without a word, she crossed to the room to the right of the stairs and stood in the opening. He sauntered up behind her to what appeared to be the lounge, judging by the settee and chairs set up before the old stone hearth. No telly. Just as well. He had better things to do with his time.

“Someone’s been in to make the house ready for you.” Eleri’s dark stare moved over the furniture. She folded her arms over her chest, lips pressed in a flat line, clearly irritated by her own observation. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to. The least I can do after you graciously guided me here is offer you a brew.”

“Not necessary.” She shifted around him and started for the door.

Despite having his offer of tea shot down, Kyle wasn’t ready to give up. She was his best link to what had happened to him two years ago. His only link. She didn’t seem to recognize him. Did that mean she was as innocent as she claimed, or just a brilliant actress? He needed for them to be friends, for her to trust him so she would let her guard down and give him the answers he wanted. “Let me drive you back, at least.”

“It’s faster for me to walk through the woods.”

So much for that. He followed her outside as she hurried across the drive toward the edge of the trees.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, then,” he called out.

This time she stopped and faced him. “You’re making a mistake staying here, but if you refuse to leave, you should at least make every effort to avoid Stonecliff.”

She hurried away, disappearing between the trees and leaving him alone. He used to have a way with women. While he’d only considered himself average looking, there’d been something about him that attracted the opposite sex. Charm. Persuasion. The gift of the gab, his mother would say.

Whatever it was, it had no influence on Eleri James—that was for sure. These days, his way with women had abandoned him. They were uneasy around him, uncomfortable.

Absently, his finger traced the scar on his throat.

Wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the rush of the surf against the shore. The sea mustn’t be far off. Tomorrow he’d walk and explore the grounds. Revisit the places he’d been the last time he’d come here.

Memories washed in blood and pain rose up inside him. He shook his head as if to physically force the images from his mind.

Maybe he wasn’t ready yet. Besides, he had things to do before worrying about all of that. He jogged down to his car, hauled his computer bag and suitcase from the boot and carried them back to the house before returning for the box of groceries. He hadn’t bought a lot, just enough to get him through the next few days.

He carried the box through to the kitchen—which looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1950s—and set it on the table. After putting his few supplies away in the cupboards and fridge, he toyed with the idea of making something to eat, but apprehension had killed his appetite.

Instead, he moved to the back door and peered out the window. Oily smears circled the glass—evidence of a hasty clean—distorting the dull green forest closing in around the house and his own pallid reflection.

What in the hell was he doing back here? The last time he’d barely escaped with his life. But he already knew the answer. The endless ache that something was missing inside, something left unfinished, forgotten.

The feeling haunted his days, left him tossing and turning through the night. And despite the terror he’d survived, there was an undeniable pull, an inevitability that he would come back here to face his demons.

For too long, he’d simply been existing. He needed answers, justice, and, live or die, he would find them both.

* * *

“Did you know?” Eleri asked, storming into the kitchen. Satisfaction lit inside her when the housekeeper jumped.

Mrs. Voyle turned away from the bubbling pot on the stove, pressed a hand to her narrow chest and glared. “Did I know what?”

“About our new tenant.” Eleri flopped onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Of course you did. Someone’s been in to give the lodge a tidy. You didn’t say a word?”

The woman jerked a shoulder and tuned back to the stove. “Not my place. I do as I’m told.”

“And was keeping me in the dark among your instructions?”

“Take the matter up with Mr. Warlow. It’s nothing to do with me.”

What would be the point? Since Brynn left, Eleri had no allies. A lonely pang squeezed her chest. Her sister promised to come back, but what if she changed her mind? What if Reece convinced her to stay in Chicago?

Brynn believed she was innocent, but Reece was far from convinced. He might not say the words aloud, but Eleri could read it in his suspicious stares, the way he tensed anytime she went near Brynn.

Eleri couldn’t fault him, really. If she were in his shoes, presented with the same evidence, she’d probably believe she was a killer too.

She shoved away her dark thoughts. She had more pressing matters at hand.

She needed Kyle Peirs to leave Cragera Bay, preferably with a large audience and an easy to find forwarding address. She probably should have pressed harder to convince him she was all the things people said. But when push came to shove, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t like the idea of him looking at her the way the rest of the village did. The way most of the people under her own roof did.

Eleri stood and started out of the kitchen.

“Six, sharp,” Mrs. Voyle called after her. “I won’t be staying later.”

As if Eleri could forget. And if that greasy smell wafting from the pot on the stove were any indication, Eleri would be better off skipping dinner altogether.

God, she missed her sister’s cooking. She missed Brynn more than she realized she would. After more than twenty-five years apart, she was surprised how close they’d become over the past six weeks.

But facing down a deranged killer bent on revenge was just the sort of thing that cemented sisterly bonds, she supposed. Unearthing family secrets, too, and sharing in ghostly shadows that few people at Stonecliff acknowledged. For the first time in her life, Eleri had felt like she had someone on her side.

With Brynn back in Chicago, she was alone again. She took some comfort in Brynn not wanting to leave, especially while Eleri was under investigation, but there were things Brynn needed to do since deciding to stay in Wales: sell her house, ship over the things she planned bring with her, dispose of the rest. Naturally, Reece had gone with her. Since they’d both nearly been killed a month ago, he hated for her to be out of his sight. Of course, that he still thought Eleri might kill the woman he loved probably sharpened those protective instincts.

Maybe he wasn’t like that in Chicago. Maybe he was laid-back and easygoing away from Stonecliff. Maybe he smiled and the chill left his icy gaze.

She didn’t know what her sister saw in him. Broad, sharp features, hard stares and scowls, topped off with shaggy black hair, Reece looked too scruffy to suit her stylish, pretty sister.

No, if anything Eleri pictured Brynn with a man like Kyle Peirs—all fine features and smooth charm. Minus the scar, of course. She tried to picture Brynn with Kyle, but the image irritated her and she couldn’t say why.

As soon as Eleri stepped into the foyer her gaze landed on Warlow and Dr. Howard by the door speaking in hushed tones. Her stomach sank and she stopped in her tracks.

Had something happened while she’d been with Peirs? Could her father be…? Numbness tingled into her limbs.

“What’s he doing here?” Eleri asked.

“Nothing to be alarmed about,” Dr. Howard said, pushing back his round, silver-framed glasses. The man had always reminded her a little of a younger Father Christmas, but without the jolliness. He was squat with a round belly. His reddish brown hair, curly and laced with strands of white, had receded to create a horseshoe around the back of his head. A wiry beard, the same color as his hair, covered his cheeks and chin and neck. But unlike Santa Claus, his round features were usually impatient or annoyed. “My visits will be more frequent without Ruth to look after your father.”

Had she actually heard reproach in his tone? “I suppose you will, now that he’s no longer under the care of a murderess. How is he?”

Dr. Howard scowled. He’d always been suspicious of her, believing her stepmother’s stories that she was dangerous even as a child, that she had tried to drown her own sister. Even after Brynn had remembered Meris had in fact been the one who’d tried to drown her as a child, the man still hadn’t warmed to her. Likely because of the twelve dead men found in the bog.

“I won’t sugarcoat the situation. His health is deteriorating quickly.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

The doctor glanced at Warlow briefly. “He needs to be kept comfortable, stress to a minimum.”

He shot her a meaningful stare, and her spine stiffened.

“I’m sure in future, Hugh will be far more careful about who he hires.” If not his tenants. A grim sort of satisfaction welled inside her at the sight of Warlow’s mouth tightening.

“Be that as it may,” Dr. Howard continued, “there are some…alternative treatments we can explore. I’m going to do a little research and get back to you. I’ll be back in a few days, but if you need me sooner, ring. Day or night, I’ll come.”

Dr. Howard said his goodbyes to Warlow, barely sparing Eleri a glance before he left.

The minute the front door closed, the butler turned to Eleri. “Mr. Peirs settled, then?”

“Letting him stay is a mistake,” Eleri said, apprehension like an icy ball in her stomach. “You heard what the doctor said about unnecessary stress. What if Peirs vanishes like the others?”

“There’s no way around it.” Warlow waved his hand as if swatting her words away. “The estate needs the money.”

Eleri sighed and gripped the banister, but froze with one foot on the bottom step. The sconce at the top of the stairs was dark, casting long shadows up the wall. They rippled. Pulsed. Her breath lodged in her throat.

She wasn’t the only one who saw them. She knew that now. Both Brynn and Reece had their own experiences with whatever presence dwelt within Stonecliff. And they were certain Warlow had, too.

Eleri glanced at the man, but he merely watched her. A confused frown drew his thick, white brows together.She pointed to the top of the stairs. “Bulb’s burned out.”

The swirling shadows had taken on humanoid shapes—three of them—writhing over the ancient floral wallpaper.

“I’ll see it’s replaced.” If Warlow did see them, he gave no indication. His expression remained puzzled.

Could Reece and Brynn have been wrong about the man? Someone had tampered with the lights in Brynn’s room, leaving her vulnerable to the dark mass. But maybe Ruth had been responsible for that, too.

Eleri backed away from the stair, and Warlow’s frown deepened. No doubt she looked as mad as everyone suspected, but she didn’t care. There was no way she’d move closer to the shadows than she had to. Instead, she used the servants’ stairs off the kitchen.

After closing herself in her room, she switched on every light to keep the shadows away, crossed to the window and looked out over the sea. White caps dotted the slate waves, black clouds rolling toward her. Wind whistled and moaned through unseen cracks and rattled the glass in its frame.

A storm was blowing in.

She turned her head to the left, her gaze almost magnetically drawn to the high roofline of the lodge peeking out between the branches. She sincerely hoped Kyle Peirs would be all right tonight. If anything happened to the man, Detective Harding would have her in cuffs before the sun set.


Chapter Three

He’d started for The Devil’s Eye, but changed his mind five minutes in. Instead, Kyle turned and walked the opposite way, seemingly without direction, but the farther away from The Devil’s Eye he went, the clearer it became that he was retracing his escape route.

A phantom ache gripped his throat, and Kyle swallowed hard. Memories played in his head, turned his skin clammy and chilled him to his soul.

His terrifying run through the trees, naked and bleeding. There’d been no pain, then. Not yet. Adrenaline had been pounding inside him. There’d been a vague sort of heat where his throat had been slashed. A sticky stream down his neck and chest. He had no idea how much damage had been done—not as much as there could have been had he not managed to free his hands and jerk forward as the blade pierced his skin. Later, he’d learn how much damage he’d done to his feet. Running barefoot through a forest had shredded them.

Now the trees fell away and a field of tangled, yellow grass stretched out before him. Kyle spotted a stone cottage in the distance. It looked smaller in the day than it had that night—even as he drew closer—but his memories were blurred. The drugs pumping through his system then had distorted the world around him.

At the time, he’d barely been able to make out more than a yellow glow from the window. For the first time since he’d regained consciousness next to The Devil’s Eye, Kyle had actually believed he could survive.

He stopped walking, closed his eyes against the anxiety swelling inside him. The line between past and present was becoming more difficult to maintain.

That night had changed everything. He thought of the man who only hours before had been drinking and doing his best to charm some tourist girl into going back to his room with him.

Kyle might have survived that night, but that man had died, and only a few fleeting memories remained.

“Good Christ, is that you?”

Kyle opened his eyes. The squat farmer who had found him that night stood a few feet away, eyes rounded, face pale as though he’d just seen a ghost. But in a way, Mel Barber had.

Kyle forced a smile. “In the flesh.”

Barber didn’t return the smile. “What in God’s name could you be thinking coming back here? They’ll kill you this time. Mark my words. You got away once. They won’t let you escape twice.”

Kyle held his grin in place, pretending the man’s predictions didn’t turn his insides to ice. “I’m counting on it, as a matter of fact.”

Barber lifted his worn gray cap from his scalp and scratched what little hair remained on his round head. “You’re out of your bloody mind, you are. D’ya remember nothing of what I said to you that night?”

He remembered only too well the man’s furious instructions. The story he’d concocted and insisted Kyle memorize while driving him to the nearest hospital. Kyle had been leaning against the passenger seat of Barber’s truck, holding an old towel the man had given him to staunch the bleeding at his throat. A rough horse blanket wrapped around his lower half to shield his nudity.

“If you say anything about where this happened, they’ll find you,” Barber had said, his words clipped. “If you’re a threat, they’ll finish what they started. But say you don’t remember anything from me finding you out here in the ditch, they might leave you be.”

By then, Kyle’s throat had been white fire, he’d hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, but every word the gnome-like farmer had spoken stayed with him. Haunted him.

He’d had questions, of course, despite the haze of agony spiking every time the truck, with its piss-poor shocks, hit a bump in the road. He’d wondered if this man had known who they were—these faceless monsters he feared still. But he couldn’t speak to ask; even breathing had turned into an alarming gurgle, the tinny taste of his own blood thick on his tongue.

Looking back, Kyle still wasn’t certain how he’d survived. Only that he wouldn’t have if not for the scowling man facing him. “I remember everything.”

“You’ll get us both killed.” Barber waddled closer, waving a chubby hand. “You need to go. Now!”

“I owe you a thank you. I wouldn’t have survived that night, had it not been for you.”

“If you want to thank me, leave and never come back.”

Kyle snorted. “Believe me, I wish I could. You did a brilliant job, by the way. Moving my car from the pub so no one would think I was anywhere near Cragera Bay, and I suppose that’s why you took me to a hospital on the other side of the island.”

The man’s careful attention to detail had been instrumental in the police not believing Kyle’s version of events.

“I did that for you. The further away, the safer you were.”

“I never doubted it. Was it her, Eleri, you were keeping me safe from?”

The man’s round face paled so his sagging cheeks looked disturbingly like cottage cheese, and he took a step back. “Who else?”

“That’s the question I’ve been asking myself. You said ‘them’ in the car that night, and again just now.” Kyle held himself rigid, watching the man’s expression morph from surprise to irritation in a nearly single fluid motion.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“While you were driving me to the hospital, you told me if I kept my mouth shut with the police, I might be safe from them—not her, them.”

“Bah!” Barber waved a hand and stalked off toward a small barn, its brown planks weathered and sloped. The rickety structure looked ready to collapse at any moment. “You nearly bled to death in the cab of my truck. You can’t remember anything clearly.”

Kyle fell into step behind him. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to close my eyes and not see that night in my head. You said them, and there was more than one. If you—like the rest of this village—believed I’d fallen prey to one small woman, why them?”

“I’ve work to do,” Barber said, hauling open one rough weathered door. “I don’t know what happened to you before I found you. I saved your life, isn’t that enough?”

“It should be.” Kyle wished it were. But he’d spent the better part of two years haunted by memories of that night, fear building to a crippling paranoia until he wondered if he wasn’t slowly going mad. “Who are they?”

Barber took a pitchfork from the corner of the barn and started mucking out the nearest stall. “You know as much as I do, I’m afraid. They say it’s that woman, that she’s wicked.”

“That may be, but she’s not alone.” There were at least three—two holding him down, a third binding his hands while his consciousness ebbed in and out. A shudder rippled over him. “Who are the others?”

Barber tossed the pitchfork aside and stomped over until he was inches away. The top of the man’s head barely reached Kyle’s chin, and the farmer had to tip his head back to meet Kyle’s gaze. “If I knew for certain what in the hell went on at that place, I’d be as dead as you’re sure to be if you stay here. Maybe Eleri James acts alone, maybe she has a coven of minions carrying out her evil tasks, but I tell you this: death follows that girl like a shadow. Get away while you still can.”

* * *

Eleri dragged the scrub brush across the fading lettering. The stringent cleanser’s acrid fumes wafted to her nose and churned her stomach. Her shoulders ached with the repetitive motion and her knees cramped from kneeling on the damp ground.

She leaned back to look at her work. The brilliant red lettering had faded to dull grayish pink, but the words were still visible.

Witch.

Murderer.

If she found the bastard who did this, she might just live up to the epitaphs, after all. The last one, at least. With a gloved hand, she opened the tin and poured more cleanser on the stain before returning to the monotonous task.

As uncomfortable as her job was, at least she was out of the house, her mind busy. Though, her thoughts did have a habit of wandering, and usually down the same track. Her gaze, almost involuntarily, darted to the trees in the direction of the lodge.

She still hadn’t seen Kyle today, and she wished she’d catch sight of his car on the road behind her or the man himself walking through the woods on the opposite side of wall where she worked. Anything to let her know he was alive and well so her knotted insides would finally loosen. Though, the sensation would be short-lived. Every time the man was out of sight, all she could think was that it would be the last time she saw him.

Eleri had even gone to her father that morning; a last desperate attempt to override Warlow. She hated visiting her father, hated the stink of illness in the stale air, hated the way he looked at her like she was some foreign object he couldn’t quite understand. Like she was all the things people said. For all the good it had done her, anyway. Her father had merely stared at her with dark eyes, a scowl etched into his skeletal face. He was little more than taut skin over bone these days, the outline of his limbs beneath his bed covers barely discernible from the wrinkles. When she’d finished speaking, silence had stretched between them in the dimly lit room except for the steady hiss of the oxygen tank. Finally he had said, “Hugh has given you my decision. Stop wasting my time.”

A rumble from a car engine cut through the quiet and pulled her from her thoughts. She dropped the scrub brush, stood and turned as a white van passed. Her stomach sank like a brick.

“Shit,” she whispered. She didn’t have it in her to deal with that man.

Her pulse fluttered in her throat. She bent her head and started for the Land Rover parked between the posts at the end of the drive, peeling off her rubber gloves as she hurried.

Tires crunched gravel as the van swung over the soft shoulder and onto the grass between her and her car. She jerked to a stop, her feet nearly slipping out from under her.

Heart slamming against her chest, she backed away from the van. Could she make the drive for the lodge by doubling back on the path through the woods? Unlikely—she couldn’t outrun his truck.

The driver’s door opened and Stephen Paskin’s enormous frame unfolded from behind the wheel. The man’s small eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted into a ferocious caricature of a smile beneath his flat, crooked nose. His square head set on a short neck gave him a hunched appearance as his long strides ate up the space between them.

“Advertising, Eleri?”Paskin asked, nodding at the faded lettering on the wall.

She couldn’t reply. Fear had cut the receptors connecting her brain to her mouth. She was alone with Stephen bloody Paskin.

Now that he was out of the van, she might be able to outrun him. But it would take him seconds to climb back behind the wheel and catch up to her. Maybe he’d even run her over. No one in the village would fault him. Not when they believed she’d killed his son.

“Is this your handiwork, Paskin?” She jerked her head at the graffiti, pleased at the strength in her voice. She would at least behave as though the man didn’t have her quivering like a whipped dog.

“Anyone could have done that. Everyone in the village knows what you do.” He clenched and opened his fists at his sides. She remembered those massive hands clamped around her arms, dragging her closer.

Her legs turned soft, and she had to lock her knees to keep from crumpling into the grass. Surely he wouldn’t actually do anything to her next to a road where someone could drive past.

As if to mock her, the road remained empty and silent.

“Get back in your truck and le-leave.” Heat crept into her face. She’d almost managed to sound ferocious until that hiccup at the end.

He took another step closer. “I’m not going anywhere, love. You put my boy in that bog.”

Something squeezed in her chest at the possibility that Griffin had spent the past six years rotting away in The Devil’s Eye, less than a mile from where she lived.

No, he was in France—just like he said. He was painting and living in the country, and maybe from time to time his thoughts flitted to her, thinking about what could have been if she’d been braver.

“How badly would I have to hurt you to make you admit to killing my son?” Despite his almost conversational tone, Paskin’s pale blue eyes shone with malice.

Fear spiked in Eleri’s chest, stealing her breath. “Griffin left because he hated you.”

“If I broke a few fingers, maybe? An arm? Or would I have to make you bleed?”

He won’t do anything. Not here. Not where someone could see him.

What did he care if someone passing saw? No one in the village would come to her defence. Paskin owned the local pub. People loved him—and hated her. They’d think she was getting what she deserved.

Paskin lunged for her and she bolted. His thick fingers tangled in her hair jerking her back. Sharp needles stung her scalp.

She reached back and clawed at his hands, all the while trying to yank free from his grasp. He ground out a curse, grip loosening, and she stumbled away, strands of hair ripping from her scalp.

“You little bitch,” he growled.

Eleri scrambled back, hand pressed to her stinging scalp. She had to get away. Before things turned out like last time, only without Griff to help her—

Her back slammed into something warm and solid. An arm wrapped around her waist like a vice, holding her tight. White fear swept through her. Her legs turned to mush.

God help her, Paskin wasn’t alone.


Chapter Four

Fear surged through Eleri like a wave. She shoved at the arm banded around her waist, tried to twist free. His grip squeezed tighter. Rough stubble scraped her cheek. Warm breath whispered against the skin beneath her ear.

“It’s me, Eleri.” Kyle’s gravel voice penetrated the terror encapsulating her brain. She froze, heartbeat thundering inside her chest.

What was he doing here? Helping her, or Paskin? She held her breath, body tense, ready to resume fighting her way free.

“This is nothing to do with you, lad,” Paskin growled, light eyes never leaving her face. “Best see to your own business and leave us to finish ours.”

The arm at her waist loosened and Eleri curled her fingers into Kyle’s coat sleeve. Under normal circumstances, she would have swallowed glass before admitting she needed help, especially from a man she wished would go back to wherever he came from. But right then, she was ready to sink to her knees and beg Kyle not to leave her alone.

Instead of letting her go, he eased her behind him, putting himself between her and Paskin.

“Your business is finished,” Kyle ground out.

Stunned, Eleri stared at his broad back. When was the last time someone defended her?

The gesture hadn’t been lost on Paskin, either.

“You’re protecting her? Too bloody rich,” Paskin sneered. “She’s a murderer. She killed my boy.”

“Get in your car and get the hell out of here,” Kyle told him.

Paskin’s face darkened. “You listen to me—”

“No, you listen,” Eleri cut in, slipping out from behind Kyle so she stood shoulder to shoulder with him. As surreal as having this strange man coming to her defence was, she had to stand her ground. “Leave and don’t come back, or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Paskin ignored her, glare fixed on Kyle. “You remember this moment when the time comes.”

Eleri’s cheeks burned. Impotent fury circled inside her belly and left her nauseous. “Get out of here, Paskin!”

He didn’t spare her a glance, his attention solely on Kyle, but he retreated, walking backward toward the van. “She’ll kill you, too.”

Kyle’s expression remained stoic. He might have heard the stories about her, but now he’d come face-to-face with the reality. Surely he’d leave the lodge.

A pang too close to disappointment for her liking pierced her chest. Ridiculous. She wanted him gone before something happened—especially now.

Paskin pulled his truck onto the road and sped away, tires squealing. Eleri watched until his taillights disappeared around the bend in the road and the sound of his motor faded. Quiet descended like a soft blanket. Only the wind in the trees and birds twittering from branch to branch remained.

She released the breath she’d been holding, locked her shaking knees so she wouldn’t sink to the ground. She wanted to collapse into the cool, wet grass, wrap her arms around her middle and curl into a ball.

But she couldn’t. Not here. Not with an audience.

Instead, she slipped her hands into the rear pockets of her trousers so Kyle wouldn’t notice how badly they shook then met his furious scowl.

“What?” she asked, taking a step back. She wished her voice wasn’t so hoarse.

“Why in the hell didn’t you call for help?”

“I didn’t know you were there.” But thank God he had been. What would Paskin have done had he got his hands on her? Revulsion welled inside her.

“Are you all right?” Kyle’s expression softened and he reached for the side of her head. The white-hot sting had receded to a faint throb, but she jerked back before his fingertips could make contact. He frowned and his arm fell back to his side.

“I’m fine,” she told him, gingerly touching the side of her head, and forced a smile. “No bald spot.”

His mouth quirked slightly. “No, your hair is intact. You should report him.”

She snorted before she could stop herself. “Who would believe me over him?”

“I saw him.”

She shrugged. “He’d get a warning, nothing more. Even if someone believed Paskin threatened me—”

“He did a bit more than threaten you,” Kyle snapped.

“No one would side against the man. He thinks I murdered his son, and so does everyone else.”

She turned and gathered the cleanser and scrub brush. “I should get back. This doesn’t seem to be working, anyway.”

And the sooner she was away from Kyle Peirs’s scrutinizing gaze, the better. Her body trembled, limbs soft and rubbery. She was on the verge of shattering and she really didn’t want anyone to see.

“Did you?”

Kyle’s question stopped her midstride. “Did I what?”

“Did you kill his son?”

A thin jolt stabbed her belly. No one had ever asked her outright, not about Griffin or any of the others. Everyone assumed she had, even the police. They’d asked her a thousand questions over and over—when did you see him last, what did he say to you, what was your relationship—but no one had ever asked her if she’d taken a life.

She tilted her head and forced a hard smile. “Having doubts, Mr. Peirs?”

“Did you?”

She jerked a shoulder and turned away, infusing her voice with a light indifference she didn’t feel. “Not that I recall.”

She tossed the supplies into the back of the Land Rover.

A faint touch grazed her elbow. She jumped back and whirled around in one fluid motion.

“Eleri?” Kyle’s gaze shifted from her shaking hands to her face. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine.” She dug her keys out from her purse and hurried around to the driver’s door.

Exhaustion weighed down her limbs. The back of her nose tingled. She was crumbling, eroding like a rock cliff at the edge of the sea pounded by the waves over and over again. She had to get out of there.

She yanked open the car door, but hesitated before climbing in. He’d helped her. Defended her—and in front of Stephen Paskin of all people. No doubt the whole of Cragera Bay would know about what had happened—at least Paskin’s version—within the hour. If Kyle didn’t have a target on him when he took the lodge, he would now.

“I wish you’d leave.”

“I can’t,” he told her, his tone grave. “I wish you’d contact the police.”

She snorted. “The less interaction I have with them just now, the better. Thank you, though, for intervening.”

“You don’t have to thank me for doing what’s right.” Impatience edged his soft words.

With a nod, she climbed behind the wheel, pulled the door closed and started back to the house.

* * *

Kyle watched the Land Rover disappear down the drive. Dull fury still thudded behind his eyes. His hands itched to grab Paskin around the throat and pound the bastard’s face in.

The man had been massive compared to Eleri. Her expression, wild and terrified, had fueled the rage humming under Kyle’s skin. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to fly at Paskin.

He thought of Barber’s claims that Eleri was one of them, but she hardly looked the part of a hardened killer capable of slitting a man’s throat. No, she looked exhausted…hunted.

An odd sense of connection gripped him. After all, he’d seen a similar expression marring his own features.

She wanted him away from the lodge, even the village. Because she feared he’d put a finger of blame on her to the police, or she feared something happening to him?

A rhythmic buzz from his jacket pocket broke into his thoughts. His blasted mobile had been going off every few minutes the entire time he’d been with Eleri. He fished it out and his younger sister’s text glowed up at him from the screen.

Where r u?!!!

The most recent message of about a half dozen. A thin shaft of guilt punctured his resolve. God, what would he put his family through if something happened to him again?

He was under no delusion that his escape two years ago had been little more than a fluke. If his plan failed, he wouldn’t make it out alive—not again. He supposed that was the reason he’d told Sophie where he was really going and why. If the worst did happen, at least one person would know where he was, what he was doing.

I’m fine. Will ring u soon.

U have 15 min or I’m telling.

He snorted, Sophie’s response all too reminiscent of their childhood. They’d been the two younger ones. The two stuck with the hand-me-downs. The two bossed by the older ones. The two who never had a turn first. As they’d grown older, they’d formed short-lived alliances, an us against them determination when dealing with his older brother, Tom, and older sister, Grace. But they’d always been too quick to turn on each other for such unions to last.

His phone hummed in his hand and he looked down at the screen.

I want 2 hear ur voice.

Guilt squirmed in his stomach. Sophie hadn’t wanted him to come and, God forbid, anything happen to him. His sister would never forgive herself for her part in his scheme.

It wasn’t fair to put her in this position, forcing her to keep his secret, but there’d been no one else. He couldn’t tell his parents. Even if they wouldn’t have tried to stop him—and they would have, he was certain—he couldn’t worry them more than he had. His father must have aged ten years in the first three months after the attack, and his mother’s voice still trembled slightly when her gaze flitted to the scar across his throat.

As for Tom, he would have physically sat on Kyle to keep him from making this trip, and Grace’s fears would have come out in a stern lecture about responsibility that would somehow inflate the guilt already pumping through his veins. Only Sophie would keep his secret. Maybe out of nostalgia, remembering that tumultuous camaraderie of their childhood. Or maybe, two years younger than Kyle’s thirty, she was young enough to believe she could have her brother back. Either way, he didn’t want her worrying about him more than she already was. Besides, he wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t tell on him if he didn’t ring her.

He dialed her number as he emerged from the edge of the trees and started toward the lodge. Pinning his mobile awkwardly between his ear and shoulder, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Sophie answered before the first ring finished. “‘Lo?”

“It’s me.”

“Thank God,” she breathed. “I’ve been worried.”

Again that sharp twist in his gut. “Sorry. I was…” He’d been helping the woman who may have tried to kill him. He settled for, “I was speaking to someone.”

“When you didn’t answer me right away… I think this is a bad idea, Kyle.”

“I’m fine, really. You can’t panic every time I miss a text or a call. I sleep, you know? Shower. Go to the toilet.” He forced his tone to remain light, hoping he could draw a laugh from his little sister.

“I wish you’d never told me what you were up to. You’ve put me in a terrible position. If something happens to you, they’ll blame me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he told her with more conviction than he felt. After all, she was his fail-safe, his just in case. And worse, she knew it.

* * *

As soon as Eleri locked her bedroom door behind her, she peeled off her sweater and t-shirt in a single yank over her head. Her skin, cold and clammy, itched as though tiny invisible bugs scurried over her flesh. She tugged off her trousers next, hopping on one foot to the nearest lamp and turning the switch. While she peeled off the rest of her clothes, she made her way to every light in the room until the space glowed brightly. The shadows chased safely to the far corners of the room.

In the en suite, she turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat. Once the bathroom steamed, the spray as hot as she could stand, she stepped into the big iron bathtub.

The nearly scalding water beat at her skin like tiny hot bullets, but Eleri barely noticed. She bent and snatched the soap from the wire basket on the edge of the tub and rubbed it hard over her body, determined to scrub the crawling sensation from her skin.

When her arm tired and her raw skin stung, her knees gave out and she sunk slowly to the bottom of the tub. Kneeling, she tucked her chin to her chest against the spray pelting the top of her head and back. Her ragged breathing sounded in her ears, and the trembling in her muscles eased.

What a bloody mess she was in. She needed to get away from this house, from the village. But she couldn’t. She was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.

She lifted her leaden arm and turned the tap, shutting off the water. Exhaustion slammed into her like a wrecking ball. She wanted to climb into bed and pretend the day had never happened.

The last thing she wanted was to face Kyle again after he’d witnessed that mess with Paskin. What if he asked questions?

She should skip Hugh’s dinner. It was the butler’s bloody idea, after all. Instead she dragged on a clean pair of gray trousers and a white blouse and returned to the bathroom. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the sink and frowned. God, she was plain. From dull brown hair, the ends curling and brushing her shoulders, to dull brown eyes, to pale skin, her blouse and trousers as bland as the rest of her.

She couldn’t even change. All her clothes were the same, varying only in color—beige, gray, white. All perfectly practical had she still been serving customers in a flower shop, or when she mucked about in the garden, but nothing for company.

Since when did she care what she wore to dinner? She finished getting ready, and less than fifteen minutes later she was making her way down the hall to the stairs.

As she rounded the last corner in the passageway her gaze caught on the burned-out wall sconce at the top of the stairs. Warlow still hadn’t replaced it. Dark shadows stretched across the corridor like a veil. Eleri slowed, unease prickling along the back of her neck. The smell hit her next. Putrid and rotted, the stink wafted to her nose, filling her nasal cavities, trickling down her throat until she wanted to gag.

Whispered voices filled the air around her. The stench intensified.

Eleri whirled around and started back the way she’d come. She’d use the servants’ stairs again. She couldn’t manage this now. Not after her run-in with Paskin.

Once on the main floor, she hurried down the hall to the parlor, but Hugh’s voice stopped her outside the door. “We’re delighted you could join us tonight, Mr. Peirs. There are few men willing to dine with Eleri just now.”

Her cheeks flamed. Why in the hell would Warlow say something like that?

“I’m not worried,” Kyle replied.

“How strange. Why is that?”

“Even if Ms. James were indeed guilty, with an investigation going on, I should imagine her own self-preservation would keep me safe.”

“But surely you’ve heard the story of the frog and the scorpion? The frog carries the scorpion across the river and the scorpion stings him even though they both will die because the scorpion can’t help what it is.”

Dull fury pulsed behind her eyes. Eleri strode into the room and pinned Warlow with a hard stare. “In your cautionary tale where I’m the scorpion and Kyle the frog you left out yourself; the big, fat toad.”

Warlow let out a long suffering sigh from where he stood before the fireplace. “I meant nothing by it, Eleri. You had concerns about Mr. Peirs’s motivations for staying here while there was a murder investigation in the works. This dinner is to help alleviate those concerns.”

“So the abject humiliation was for my benefit. I should have realized.” Eleri lowered herself to the edge of the settee, half-tempted to sit on her hands to keep from throttling the butler. “You may leave and see to my father now.”

She risked a glance at Kyle. He watched her, a bemused smile curling his lips, lounging in a frayed chair near the fireplace. She suddenly wished she had worn something else.

He looked good in dark charcoal trousers, a white shirt untucked—which looked casual rather than sloppy—and navy jacket. His brown hair, a tad too long, was swept back away from his forehead, revealing the long lines of his face, straight nose, slightly pointed chin. Those smoke green eyes stood out bright against the dusky hue of his skin.

He really was an attractive man. The only thing marring all that perfection was the jagged scar at his neck.

“Your father’s resting,” Warlow said, dragging her attention away from Kyle. Probably not a bad thing; she was on the verge of staring. The butler nodded to the hissing baby monitor. “As he’s too ill to join you, he’s asked that I stand in for him while we get to know Mr. Peirs better.”

Of course he would. Warlow had been pulling her father’s strings for as long as she could remember. Even before his illness took root, Arthur James deferred to his butler for nearly every decision. Now that her father was bedridden, was it any wonder Warlow behaved as though he owned the place?

Though, for all she knew, once her father was gone Hugh Warlow might own Stonecliff. She doubted Arthur would leave the estate to either her or her sister. A small flicker or relief lit inside her at the possibility.

“What made you choose our neck of the woods, Mr. Peirs, given the current goings on?” Warlow asked.

Eleri frowned. Something had shifted between yesterday and today. Suspicion laced the butler’s false cheer.

“Money, quite frankly. You’re charging considerably less than other houses I looked at. While I’ve set some money aside for this little sabbatical, without a steady income I need to conserve where I can.”

“Did you quit your last job?” Eleri asked.

He shook his head. “A six month leave to say I gave it a shot.”

“Had you visited the area before?” Warlow’s chilly gaze was in complete contrast to the wide smile stretched across his face.

Kyle pinned him with an icy stare all his own. “Never.”

Eleri’s gaze shifted between the two men, the tension in the air thickening. Was Kyle lying? Had he been to Cragera Bay before, and did Warlow know him somehow?

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but that must have been a terrible injury to your neck.”

The younger man’s eyes narrowed, features hardening.

“Hugh!” Eleri snapped. She couldn’t believe how rudely he was behaving. Normally, he was a model of decorum. Pompous and condescending, but always well mannered.

“It was,” Kyle agreed.

“I’m sorry if I appear rude,” Warlow said.

“If?” Eleri cut in.

Warlow shot her an impatient glare. “Eleri was concerned that such an injury indicated ties to a criminal past.”

Her eyes rounded. Her face burned. Kyle swung his gaze to hers, one corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Really?”

“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not true.”

“That’s exactly what you said.” Warlow’s white brows pulled into a frown, his voice annoyingly patient. “We want to ease your concerns about his character.”

“You had doubts about my character based on this?” Kyle traced a finger over the ridge of scar tissue.

Why couldn’t the floor open up and swallow her? “He’s taking what I said out of context. I meant that he didn’t know anything about you, that you could have had criminal ties.”

That didn’t sound any better.

Kyle let out a dry chuckle and lifted his right hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise this isn’t the result of any criminal activity on my part. Does that set your mind at ease?”

Not really. The best way to set her mind at ease would be to stop talking about it.

“What sort of accident, if you don’t mind me asking?” Warlow said.

Kyle stared at the man for a long moment before finally replying, “Traffic collision.”

“Did the recovery take long?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry for what you must have gone through. Where about was the accident?”

“Outside London. Were you hoping to gather enough clues to verify my story? Do you need the date, the hour of the accident? Perhaps a look at my medical records?

Warlow turned his attention to her and asked, “Eleri?”

There wasn’t a hole big enough for her to crawl into. She shook her head.

A part of her wanted to blurt out that she had nothing to do with Warlow’s probing, but she had suspected him of a criminal past. So when had her opinion changed? When he came to her rescue with Steven Paskin?

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

His light green eyes held hers. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

The low rasp of his voice shivered along her skin and a thin flutter tickled low in her belly. She frowned and dropped her gaze to the floor. What was that about? But she already knew. She found him attractive. Desirable. And that was dangerous for them both.

Look how things had turned out for Griffin.

“Dinner has been set in the dining room.” Mrs. Voyle’s sharp voice cut through the tension like a jagged blade. She stood in the doorway, buttoning her coat. “You’ll need to come straight away if you want your dinner hot.”

Hugh stood, genial grin fixed firmly in place. “I must see to Mr. James, so I’ll leave you to dine without me. Thank you for indulging us, Mr. Peirs.”

Kyle jerked a shoulder, his impassive features impossible to read. “Of course.”

Outside the parlor, Warlow started up the stairs, and Eleri and Kyle followed Mrs. Voyle down the hall.

“You’ll have to serve yourselves,” Mrs. Voyle said, as Eleri and Kyle entered the dining room. “I’ve already stayed later than I prefer. And you’ll need to tidy up yourself. I won’t wait.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Voyle,” Eleri ground out. If by some unfortunate twist of fate her father should leave Stonecliff to her, after all, Eleri’s first order of business would be to fire the woman.

Mrs. Voyle hurried away, and Eleri led Kyle to the plates stacked at one end of the sideboard. “I should apologize in advance for Mrs. Voyle’s cooking. Whatever threat you were willing to face by letting the lodge, I’m afraid you may have increased it considerably by agreeing to eat here.”

She glanced back over her shoulder with a smirk, but the expression dissolved quickly. Kyle stared down at the domed platters, his normally olive skin pale, expression shuttered.

Of course, he wouldn’t find the crack amusing—especially coming from her. “I was kidding.”

His gaze met hers and he smiled but it looked forced. “If you’re willing to eat it, I’m sure I’ll be safe enough.”

Eleri lifted the silver dome off the first platter, and let out a soft sigh. Ah yes, Mrs. Voyle’s infamous gray roast beef. No doubt they would have the woman’s lumpy potatoes and mushy vegetables to look forward to. And of course, her sludge gravy. She forked a slice of meat onto her plate. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“I’m just pleased to be invited for a meal. Saves me from having to cook something.”

“Are you certain this is better?”

He met her gaze. “There’s the company, as well.”

Warm flush tingled over her skin. Was he flirting with her?

What a lot of nonsense. As if he’d be interested in the likes of her. He was attractive, successful, sexy. He could no doubt do better than a short, plain woman under investigation for murdering men just like him.

With dinner on their plates, they sat at the large table facing each other.

“I’m sorry about Hugh,” Eleri said, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “It was wrong of him to pry the way he did.”

“I should imagine letting your house to a complete stranger is disconcerting.”

Eleri used her fork to squash the larger lumps in her potatoes. “I can’t imagine anyone choosing to stay here if they had somewhere else to go. And when Warlow said you were a writer, I worried that you might be after a story. I haven’t had great experiences with reporters.”

The jagged scar curling across Kyle’s throat bobbed. “How do you mean?”

“A few years back, a man who worked for us vanished. Despite indications that he’d simply moved on, his family was certain he’d met with foul play.”

“What sort of indications?”

“His belongings were gone from the coach house and his car had gone. There was no evidence that the man hadn’t just moved. When his family lost faith in the police, they went to the media. One reporter in particular wrote a series of articles, none of them true. He filled the articles with gossip and rumors. He was actually the one to come up with the name The Witch of Stonecliff. Life in the village quickly became unbearable. I left first chance I got.”

Kyle’s face had paled, his expression intent. “Did you ever meet him?”

Unease prickled the base of her neck.

She shook her head. “He asked for an interview, but I refused.”

“What happened to him?”

“I’ve no idea. Once the story played itself out, I imagine he moved on to something far more titillating. Alien sightings in the Outer Hebrides maybe. Another royal family conspiracy.” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. “Maybe he’s one of the men they found in The Devil’s Eye. Maybe that’s why the articles stopped.”

Eleri’s stomach squeezed, and she pushed her plate away. She sincerely hoped not. “Surely, if he’d disappeared, someone would have noticed. You can bet the police would have been at my door the minute the man had been reported missing.”

Kyle stared at her for a long moment without speaking, his expression stony. Something in the conversation had changed. He’d changed. Gone was the mildly flirtatious man who’d arrived. He’d been replaced by a man searching for something.

Had her initial instincts been right all along? Could he be working with the detective like Reece had been? Related to one of the men police had fished out of The Eye?

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, softly.

He grinned, all warm charm once more, chilly intensity leaving his light eyes. “It’s not fair how you’ve been treated.”

Was he being sincere, or playing her? And if it was the latter, to what end? What did he want from her?

She stood abruptly. “If you’re finished, I’ll take your plate.”

“Let me help you,” Kyle offered.

“It’s fine,” she told him, snatching up his dishes and hurrying away to the kitchen. Dumping the plates on the counter, she let out a slow breath.

What was she doing? She should never have brought up the murders, reporters or anything else to do with The Devil’s Eye. She shouldn’t have agreed to this dinner. She needed to get Kyle on his way back to the lodge and avoid him for the length of his stay.

“Can I help with the washing up?”

She started at the sound of Kyle’s voice. He leaned against the far wall, arms folded over his chest.

A flutter tickled low inside her. She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I can manage. It’s getting late.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?”

She lifted her shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “It’s been a long day.”

“Did my questions about that reporter make you uncomfortable?” He straightened and took a step toward her.

“No.” His odd shift in mood made her uneasy. “I’m just tired.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I’m…” Her words trailed off, eyes widening as he closed the distance between them. She tried to step back, but bumped into the counter.

He stopped inches away, so close she could feel his body heat radiating from his frame. Her pulse fluttered in her throat.

She didn’t like him so close, yet her fingers itched to grasp his loose shirt and tug him nearer.

Kyle reached out one arm, brushed her shoulder, and she shivered before she could stop herself. His light spicy scent teased her nose. Warm fingers trailed her chin, tilted her head back. Pale green eyes met hers.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that he hadn’t, but before she could get the words out, Kyle dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.


Chapter Five

Kyle’s mouth touched hers softly at first, almost hesitant, as if asking permission. Warmth lit inside Eleri, pulsed. He was kissing her. Her. She should push him away. Demand an explanation. Insist he leave. But it had been so damned long since she’d been touched. Held. Kissed. She craved the contact.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she angled her head to give those firm lips drawing on hers better access. Kyle immediately took advantage, pressing closer until the edge of the counter bit into her back, but she barely noticed. Her senses were filled with him. His rich, spicy scent. His smooth fingers tracing the column of her throat, sending a delicious shiver over her skin.

His teeth nipped at her lips. She opened her mouth, let his tongue sweep inside. God, he tasted so good. Her head swam. The muscles in her legs softened. She curled her fingers into his solid shoulders to both keep herself from sinking to the floor as much as to draw him closer. His hard, lean body pressed flush with hers. The bulge straining against his pants pushed into her belly.

“Shit.” Kyle tore his mouth away from her with a gasp so soft she wasn’t sure she’d heard it at all. She wanted to scream, to grab his head and force his lips back to hers. Instead, she bit back the whimper swelling in her throat.





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