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The Devil's Eye
Dawn Brown


Brynn James is shocked when her sister calls to tell her that their father is dying. Brynn thought he was dead already–and she didn't even know she had a sister. Reeling from the discovery that her life has been a lie, Brynn travels to a remote corner of Wales looking for the truth. What she finds is more mystery.Stonecliff, her family's ancestral home, has a habit of proving deadly to its residents. It's not long before Brynn becomes convinced that the manor house wants her gone, too. But Brynn is determined to stay long enough to prove her newfound sister innocent of murder. The only person she can trust is Reece Conway, and he has dark secrets of his own. Before long, Brynn and Reece are fighting for their lives against an unknown but terrifying enemy. An enemy who'll stop at nothing to make the murky depths of the Devil's Eye their final resting place.







Brynn James is shocked when her sister calls to tell her that their father is dying. Brynn thought he was dead already—and she didn’t even know she had a sister. Reeling from the discovery that her life has been a lie, Brynn travels to a remote corner of Wales looking for the truth. What she finds is more mystery.

Stonecliff, her family’s ancestral home, has a habit of proving deadly to its residents. It’s not long before Brynn becomes convinced that the manor house wants her gone, too. But Brynn is determined to stay long enough to prove her newfound sister innocent of murder. The only person she can trust is Reece Conway, and he has dark secrets of his own. Before long, Brynn and Reece are fighting for their lives against an unknown but terrifying enemy. An enemy who’ll stop at nothing to make the murky depths of the Devil’s Eye their final resting place.


The Devil’s Eye

Dawn Brown






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


DEDICATION

For Dave and Max.

Special thanks to Nalini for all her hard work and guidance.


Table of Contents

Prologue (#ude983069-9f6a-5b0d-a0d2-f65027f4ead0)

Chapter One (#u04399097-1d4e-538f-890f-3d7ca25cbf86)

Chapter Two (#uafb33fe9-d6a4-5c92-9c5d-4d2efaaeaa01)

Chapter Three (#uc1348598-3ab1-5175-9517-03198495f36b)

Chapter Four (#uf90e7762-25b8-58b5-b9d7-ef345d7e3ca1)

Chapter Five (#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)

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)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

“You’re a sodding liar, Charlie Deevers.”

Charlie glared at Martin Buldger. He’d have liked nothing more than to smash the other boy right in his stupid gob, but Martin was bigger than him, and would probably lay him out flat if he tried. Still, bigger or not, Charlie wasn’t about to stand there and let a prick like Martin take the piss out of him in front of their mates. Sure, he was lying, but so were they all. Why should he be the only one centered out?

“I did see her, The Witch of Stonecliff, up there on that rise.” Charlie pointed to the rocky ledge through the trees. Sharp gray stone poked out between clumps of fuzzy green moss. “She was hunched over, eating a dead animal. When she looked up, she had blood all around her mouth.”

Martin squinted his piggy eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of animal?”

How the hell should he know? He’d only added that last bit for effect. Eating an animal raw sounded like something a witch might do. “I don’t know. She’d eaten it, hadn’t she? All I could see was a bit of fur and guts. She looked at me and her eyes glowed red. I thought she was going to eat me as well, so I got the hell out of there.”

“Do you suppose that’s what she does with them?” Dev cut in, his voice heavy with awe. “Do you think she eats the men she takes?”

The wind kicked up, rattling the last leaves clinging to branches. Even without the forest canopy, skeletal trees cut the daylight. Combined with bleak clouds overhead, a dull gloom made the forest darker than outside the woods. Charlie shivered.

Martin snorted and smacked his palm off his forehead. “Don’t be a stupid git.”

“I heard she fucks them to death,” Robbie added, his eyes bright.

For a moment, they all fell silent, even stupid Martin, while considering the possibility. At twelve, Charlie’s knowledge of sex was a combination of science lessons and wank mags Dev’s dad hid in their back shed. The idea of being fucked to death both thrilled and terrified him.

“That’s rubbish. You can’t be fucked to death,” Martin said, but his voice had turned soft and raspy as if he had a sore throat.

“I heard she’s got a dick and a twat,” Dev said, jamming his hands into his coat pockets and hunching his shoulders against the damp air. “My brother, Tom, said so. Griffin Paskin saw, and that’s why she killed him. Maybe she ate him after, and that’s why no one found his body.”

“Deevers is full of shit, and you’re as stupid as he is if you believe a word of it.” Martin jabbed a finger at them both.

“I’m not!” Charlie cried. “And I don’t care if you believe me, anyway.”

“I don’t believe you. I said so, didn’t I?” Martin shifted into his path, standing only a few inches away. “Everyone knows the witch left the island and hasn’t been back. How could you see her when she wasn’t even here?”

Charlie’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Oh, she’s been back. They’ve had another hired man go missing, haven’t they? And Stephen Paskin saw her, too.”

Dev and Robbie nodded in agreement. Ha, even Martin couldn’t dispute facts. The wind kicked up again and Dev wrinkled his nose. “Do you smell that?”

Charlie inhaled and grimaced. A sour, rotting stink laced the air, mingling with brine blowing in off the sea.

“It’s The Devil’s Eye,” Martin said, and shifted back uneasily.

The hair bristled along Charlie’s neck. He couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching them.

He glanced up at the ridge half-expecting to see the witch standing just as he’d imagined, gripping the remains of some animal in one hand, a ring of blood smeared around her mouth. “I need to go home. My mum will be looking for me for my tea.”

“Deevers, you wanker. You’re shit-scared with all of us here. There’s no bloody way you’d have come by yourself.” Martin’s smug smile split his round, freckled face.

“I did, too,” Charlie ground out. “I’ve seen what she does in these woods. That’s why I want to leave. You’d want to as well if you’d seen what I did.”

Robbie pushed his silver-framed glasses up his nose with his fingertip. “Maybe we should go. It’s getting late, and our parents will be looking for us.”

“If you really came here, prove it,” Martin sneered, ignoring Robbie. “Show us where you were, where she was.”

Charlie’s heart beat harder, the spit in his mouth drying. The cold prickle creeping along his skin intensified. He was suddenly certain they were no longer alone in the woods.

He wanted to go home, but he didn’t want to lose face in front of his mates. Martin would never let him live it down. “Fine. I’ll show you exactly where I saw her.”

The sooner he did, the sooner he could get the hell out of there. He crunched through dead leaves littered over the forest floor. As he neared the ridge, that horrible stench, like rotting garbage, intensified. The bog, Martin had said, and he had to be right. What else could it be?

As he climbed the steep, rocky slope, he glanced back at his mates. They watched him with wide eyes, faces pale. Except Martin. He stood with his arms folded over his thick chest, head tilted and a smirk stretched across his face, as if convinced Charlie would back out at any moment.

Stupid Martin. He’d show him who was shit-scared.

Charlie continued up, grabbing saplings to pull himself along. He should have told them he’d seen the witch at the bottom of the ridge, then he wouldn’t—

The wind blew, and he froze, heart jumping into his throat. Voices. He was certain he could hear whispered voices, their words impossible to understand. He whipped his head side to side, scanning the thick cluster of trees surrounding him for the source. Nothing.

“Do you hear that?” he called down.

Dev and Robbie frowned, shaking their heads, but Martin stepped forward. “I don’t hear anything. Now, get moving.”

Had to be the wind. But why hadn’t the whispers stopped when the wind died? Instead, they were growing louder. How much farther to the top? He looked up and his breath lodged in his throat.

A dark shadow stood at the top of the ridge, less than ten feet from him.

Black fear coated Charlie like oil. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

“Holy shit, do you see that?” Dev’s shrill, almost girlish scream exploded in the quiet, shattering the paralysis gripping Charlie’s limbs. He turned and started running down the rocky hill. He didn’t care what Buldger called him.

The rubber soles of his trainers slipped on wet leaves and moss. He fell face-first, slapping hard against the lumpy ground and sliding down the sharp slope. Air rushed from his lungs in a whoosh. He threw his hands forward to protect his face and head. Something sharp jabbed his hip, but the stabbing pain barely registered as he slid down the rest of the hill. When he finally rolled to a stop, his gaze locked on milky eyes in a bloated, dirty face.

He screamed and scrambled back, unable to look away from the dead man staring back at him.

“Are you all right?” Robbie asked, coming up behind him, his voice breathless as if he’d been running. “What is that?”

Charlie swallowed, but didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Somewhere during his tumble down the hill his voice had vanished, along with his ability to truly grasp what he was looking at.

A glistening pinkish-gray worm slithered from the dead man’s nostril and plopped to the ground. Charlie’s stomach lurched. He turned and puked, until his insides were empty and his throat raw. When the dry heaves tapered off, he glanced at the top of the ridge. Whoever had been up there was gone.

Charlie turned to his two mates standing over the rotting corpse. “Where’s Buldger?”

“He ran,” Dev said, then pointed at the mangled midsection of the body. “I bet that’s James’s hired man who vanished. Looks like someone’s been eating him.”


Chapter One

Brynn was no stranger to bad days, even worse than this one, but by God, today certainly ranked in the top five.

She peered up through the sleet-streaked windshield at the large Tudor building before her. Yellow light glowed from leaded windows like beacons in the late afternoon gloom. A wooden sign mounted over the door with the words Iron Kettle Pub swayed in the wind, the grinding squeal from the hinges audible even inside her rental car.

She didn’t want to go in, but she didn’t have a choice. She was lost and needed directions. She glanced at the folded instructions on the passenger seat. Accurate directions.

Or maybe she should find her way to the nearest hotel and call it a day. She could always start over again tomorrow. Just the idea of a clean hotel room, door locked against the world, while she crawled into a warm bed and pulled the covers over her head drained some of the tension gripping her neck and shoulders.

You’re only putting off the inevitable.

She let out a slow sigh and rubbed her tired eyes with her fingertips. What was she even doing here? She should turn this car around and head back to the airport.

Of course, that would mean crossing the suspension bridge back to the mainland again. Images of huge steel girders poking through the mist like pointed teeth, thick cables swaying in the wind and dark churning water flashed through her mind. Her stomach jumped.

Forget it. She’d stay and deal with her newfound family. Better to face a potentially murderous father who hadn’t bothered with her in almost twenty-five years, than face that bridge twice in one day.

She snatched up the directions, opened the car door and slid out. Sleet slapped her face, stinging her bare skin like frozen needles. The tangy smell of the sea flooded her nostrils.

She pulled her coat tighter around her middle, ducked her head against the wet wind and hurried across the gravel parking lot. As she weaved between several cars, her foot sank ankle-deep in a frigid mix of water and slush, soaking through her leather boot and coating her skin in liquid ice.

“Shit.” She yanked her foot from the puddle and looked down at the sopping mess. Even the hem of her pants was wet. Just perfect.

First, seven hours on a flight from Chicago to Manchester, eating rubbery chicken and watching some craptacular movie with singing cheerleaders—while the old lady in the seat behind her hit the back of her chair whenever she tried to recline—followed by a two-hour drive to the Isle of Anglesey and a near nervous breakdown while crossing the bridge from the mainland. And now this.

Maybe it was an omen. As if fate was warning her to get back in her car and drive as far away from here as possible.

Or maybe she’d just stepped in a puddle.

She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and marched to the pub with as much dignity as she could while her foot slopped in her boot. Once inside, soft light and warm air heavy with the mixed scents of wood smoke, fried food and alcohol wrapped around her. The pub looked exactly like an English—or Welsh, as was the case—pub should. Wide, plank floors, gleaming wooden tables and plush burgundy benches at the booths, even a fire crackling in a huge stone hearth.

Two elderly couples shared a table in the center of the room. A middle-aged woman and her teenaged daughter sat in one of the booths running along the far wall, and three more men were perched at the L-shaped bar.

The door swung shut behind Brynn, closing out the frigid afternoon, and all eyes turned to her.

“Come in out of the cold,” a woman called from behind the bar, her loud voice deep with a smoker’s rasp, oddly incongruent to her melodious accent. “What can I get to warm you?”

“Oh…um…nothing, thanks.” Brynn pasted on a fake smile that made her cheeks ache, and crossed to the bar. “I was hoping someone could tell me if my directions were correct.”

“Lost, are you?”

One of the men at the bar snorted, but Brynn didn’t turn to see who. The weight of the stares pressing against her back was uncomfortable enough, no need to make eye contact, too. Her smile stretched wider, tighter.

The woman put her hands on her ample hips, and shot the man a hard glare. Her orange sweater clung to her round belly, tweed pants hanging loose on thin legs. She looked a little like an orange standing on two sticks.

“Where is it you’re trying to go?”

Brynn set the printed email on the bar and smoothed out the creases. “Stonecliff House, do you know it?”

Silence, except for the crack and pop from the fireplace fell over the pub. The woman’s brown eyes rounded in her puffy face.

“Why on Earth would you want to go there? You’ve not taken a job there, have you?”

Oh, this is promising.

“I’m visiting my father.”

The woman’s gaze narrowed on Brynn’s face as if searching for something, then popped wide. “You’re the other one. Meris’s daughter. What can you be thinking, coming back here?”

Her horrified awe fed Brynn’s swelling anxiety. “You knew Meris?”

“I did. She was a friend of mine.” Tough, her deadpan expression belied her words. “I’m Dylis Paskin.”

If she thought offering her name would make her recognizable to Brynn, she was mistaken. Brynn hadn’t had contact with her mother since she was three, and her parents had supposedly died in a car accident. Of course, now she knew there’d been no accident. That her father had been alive all these years, and while her mother might be dead now, the woman had been very much alive when she’d turned Brynn over to her grandparents.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Brynn said, keeping her smile fixed in place, then tapped the directions with her fingertip. “So, can you tell me how to get there?”

A loud bang cut through the quiet. Brynn jumped and jerked her head up as a huge man hauling a large wooden crate emerged from a door behind the bar. His hair, a tangled mass of light gray curls, stood out at odd angles.

“Why’s it so bloody quiet in here?” he boomed, bending to set the crate down. When he straightened, his warm hazel eyes locked with hers and he flashed a wide smile. His weathered face was ruddy, as though he’d spent a lifetime in the sun and wind.

“This is my husband, Stephen,” Dylis said, flatly. “This is Meris’s girl.”

“Brynn James,” she offered, pushing her directions toward the couple. Maybe they’d take the hint.

“Back after all these years?” He and his wife exchanged a glance. “I should have realized. You have her look.”

Brynn managed not to snort. The man was obviously being polite. While Brynn had no real memory of Meris, she’d seen enough photos to know she didn’t look at all like her, except maybe her hair color. But even then, Meris’s hair had been a vivid flame-red while Brynn’s looked more like watered-down copper.

“I’m actually looking for directions—”

“She’s on her way to Stonecliff,” Dylis cut in.

Stephen’s wiry brows drew together. “Why in the world would you want to go there? You’d be better off staying at the inn here in the village. Hell, we’ve a room you can rent.”

What was so wrong at Stonecliff that virtual strangers were offering to let her stay with them? Had she not been exhausted and standing there with one frozen foot, she might have given in to the apprehension tickling the base of her skull and taken them up on their offer. But right then, even if the house was filled with psychotic circus clowns, she didn’t care. So long as there was a hot shower and warm bed. “That’s very kind of you, but if you could just look at these directions and tell me if they’re right, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I can do better than that.” A wide smile lit Dylis’s round face. “I can give you your own guide. Isn’t that right, Reece? I’m sure he’d appreciate a lift.”

Dylis turned to one of the men at the bar, and Brynn did the same.

An older man, white hair curling out of his ears, sat next to her watching the entire scene unfold unabashedly. He flashed a crooked grin. “Not me, love.”

He leaned back, giving her a full view of a younger man hunched over the bar. His shaggy black hair fell into his face, hiding his expression while he focused on turning his nearly empty beer glass and leaving crescent-moon marks on the cardboard mat.

Yeah, right. As if she’d let some scruffy stranger into her car. Maybe people did that all the time around here, but not her. “I don’t want to cut his evening short.”

“Nonsense.” Dylis waved her hand as though swatting away Brynn’s words. “Reece is nearly finished here, and you’d be saving him a long walk home in bad weather.”

The man in question had yet to speak a word. Slowly, he lifted his head and glared at Brynn, greenish-blue eyes as cold as an arctic sea. His features were broad straight lines and sharp angles. Black stubble framed his scowling mouth and covered his chin. He looked edgy and dangerous and pissed off.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.

He slid off his seat, snatching a jacket from the stool next to his, and tossed a few pounds on the bar before closing the short distance between them.

Oh, no. This couldn’t be happening. She did not want him in her car. She didn’t even know him.

“Really, I don’t want to impose.” She grabbed her printed email from the bar and held it out to him. “Maybe you could just tell me if these are right.”

He took the paper and scanned the text, his mouth curling into a smirk.

“They’re perfect.” He handed the paper back to her. “Imposition it is.”

The man looked like he should be mugging tourists in a back alley somewhere, not sitting next to her pointing the way to her destination. “I don’t even know who you are.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “Reece Conway, groundskeeper at Stonecliff. Shall we go, or would you like to conduct a complete interview first?”

What she’d like to do was tell him to forget it. Unfortunately, he worked for her newfound family, and apparently lived on the estate as well. Perfect. There was no way to turn him down without appearing rude. Though, why that would bother her when he was hardly making an effort at friendliness she didn’t know. Besides, the directions were correct and she still couldn’t find her way. She needed his help.

And if he turned out to be a psychotic killer, and she wound up dead in a ditch, at least she wouldn’t be traveling anymore.

“That won’t be necessary.”

She turned and walked to the exit. As she pulled the door wide, Reece caught the edge above her head to hold the heavy oak open for her. Now, he was chivalrous?

She glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

He nodded and dropped his gaze to her wet boot before meeting her eyes once more.

“I stepped in a puddle,” she replied to his unspoken question, heat creeping into her cheeks.

“As lost on foot as you are behind the wheel. Not terribly reassuring.”

“You could always walk, and I could follow behind you in the car.”

His mouth twitched. “Tempting.”

Shaking her head, she walked outside. The sky had darkened from gray to blue twilight. Frigid air, thick with the tang of sea brine, struck her face like a slap and a shudder raced along her spine.

She hit the remote locks, tugged the door open and rolled her eyes. Passenger side. That was the second time she’d done that.

“Did you want me to drive, then?” The low rumble of Reece’s voice next to her made her jump. A faint tingle crept over her skin at having him so near.

“Of course not. I was just…getting the door for you.”

“Right.”

She hurried to the other side of the car, face hot, while he sat in the passenger seat. Without so much as a glance at her traveling companion, she slid behind the wheel and slammed the door closed.

Giving the gearshift a wiggle to make sure it was in neutral, she pushed in the clutch and turned the key. The car hummed to life. She eased her foot off the clutch, shifted into first. The car shuddered and stalled.

Shit. Reece snorted beside her and a fresh wave of heat prickled her face. She’d blushed so many times in the past fifteen minutes he probably thought her natural skin tone was blotchy-red. “It’s been a while since I last drove a stick shift.”

Actually, the last time she’d driven a manual transmission she’d been seventeen and her boyfriend, Jamie Carver, had offered to teach her on his mother’s Ford Escort. After twenty minutes of grinding gears and the acrid stink of burning clutch, Jamie had ended the lesson.

She tried again and stalled shifting into first. Reece sighed loudly, tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

When she’d been making arrangements for her trip to Wales, it hadn’t occurred to her to specify automatic transmission when she reserved her rental, and naturally only standards were available when she arrived. One more detail she’d missed on an ever-growing list. Once she got the car moving, she was fine, but getting it going took her a couple of tries. And the sneering man next to her wasn’t helping.

“Look,” she ground out. “This car is completely backward to me. So if you could cut me a break, and keep your mouth shut, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she muttered, and turned the key.

She gripped the gearshift, eased up on the clutch.

“Wait.” Reece covered her hand with his, sandwiching her palm between the gearshift and his warm, callused skin. A small charge shot up her arm, and she struggled not to yank her hand back.

“Shift first.” He pushed her hand into gear. “Give it some gas, then let off the clutch slowly, and when you feel the catch…There, feel it? Let out the clutch.”

Nodding, she did as instructed. The car rolled forward, and she turned out of the parking lot onto the road.

“Thanks.” The word stuck on her tongue.

He shrugged, attention fixed on the passing scenery through the glass. “I hoped to make it back to the house before morning.”

Zinged again. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road, determined to ignore him.

He shifted in his seat and dug an orange plastic pill vial from his pocket. After popping the lid, he shook two capsules into his hand and tossed them back, dry swallowing them.

“What were those?” The way her day was going, he was probably some pill-popping drug addict.

“Migraine,” he muttered, without looking at her as he slipped the bottle back into his pocket. The prescription label had been peeled off the vial, so what he’d taken was anyone’s guess.

How had she let herself get talked into this? She released a slow breath and focused on the road before her.

Fat snowflakes mingled with sleet pellets swept through the beams of her headlights like a moving wall. The clunk and swoosh of the windshield wipers the only noise in the otherwise silent car.

“Is the house far from here?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

Her stomach knotted. Fifteen minutes and she’d be meeting a family she hadn’t even known existed a week ago. She nipped at her bottom lip. A thousand questions churned inside her head. Why had her sister and father waited so long to contact her? Why had her grandparents lied to her all her life? And what had her mother been so afraid of in her letters?

She glanced at Reece again. His attention remained focused on the fields and trees through the window—little more than dark silhouettes against the rapidly darkening sky. Absently, he pushed his shaggy hair away from his face, exposing his profile. Despite the dangerous edge to his appearance, his features were interesting, attractive. High, broad forehead, straight nose, sharp ridge of cheekbone beneath chilly sea-blue eyes. Though right then his gaze didn’t look nearly as cold as it did in the pub. Instead, he appeared far away, lost in thought.

He didn’t look like any groundskeeper she knew—though, to be fair, she didn’t know any besides him. Still, weren’t groundskeepers old with wild hair, gnarled hands and weather-wrinkled skin?

As if sensing her stare, Reece sighed. “What?”

She turned back to the road. “How old are you?”

He frowned and finally glanced her way. “Why?”

“You don’t look like a groundskeeper.”

“I don’t?” He smirked.

“No. What did you do before you worked here?”

“Lots of things.” He tilted his head to one side and jutted out his chin. “What do you do?”

Evasion, surprise, surprise. “I’m an accountant at a holdings company.”

He snorted. “Figures.”

She probably didn’t want him to explain what he meant by that. “You never answered my questions.”

He pressed his lips together, but the corners of his mouth lifted as though he was struggling not to smile. “Maybe because you ask so bloody many.”

“I asked you two.”

He sighed loudly. “Fine. I’m thirty-one.”

“And what did you do before becoming a groundskeeper?”

He didn’t speak for a long moment. Brynn glanced away from the road to look at him. All traces of humor gone, his expression had turned dark. “You don’t want to know.”

“Oookay.” She turned her attention back to the rain-smeared windshield, silence settling between them once more. As the turn drew near, she let up off the gas and flipped the signal.

“That’s the wrong road.” The low tenor of Reece’s voice cut through the quiet. “You want the next one.”

“But the directions say…” She didn’t bother even attempting to pronounce the name. With twelve letters, six of them vowels, she’d butcher it for sure.

“The directions say Choedwig Basio, that’s Choedwig Ochra.” The Welsh words sounded lyrical and pleasant despite his harsh tone. “Had you taken the time to read the words, you might have found your way on your own.”

And not wound up trapped in a car with him. The man had a point.

“Tell me something,” she said. “Is it me specifically, or are you this pleasant with everyone?”

Ignoring her question, he nodded at the stone wall running alongside the road. “The gate posts are just ahead.”

She slowed the car and steered between two stone pillars on either side of a narrow dirt driveway. A tangle of leafless trees closed in around the car, skeletal branches scraping the sides and roof like bony fingers. The dull screech set her teeth on edge.

The trees to her right fell away abruptly and the ground dropped to a steep slope. Ocean, the same twilight blue as the sky, stretched out deep and infinite.

Her stomach fell like a stone off a cliff. Icy sweat sprang to her skin. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. Her gaze stayed fixed on the terrifying expanse of water, and every muscle in her body seized. She couldn’t breathe.

For an instant, she could feel icy water stinging her skin. Taste the gritty, metallic flavor in her mouth. Her nose burned with the rush of frigid water into her sinuses and down her throat.

For an instant, she was drowning all over again.


Chapter Two

“What the hell?” Reece’s shout barely penetrated the fog wrapped around Brynn’s brain. He reached over and jerked the steering wheel sideways. The wall of trees on the opposite side of the drive rose up fast, and she stomped on the brake, seatbelt digging into her shoulder.

“Clutch!” Reece yelled.

She slammed her other foot on the small pedal, as Reece maneuvered the gearshift. The car jolted to a stop across the width of the drive, facing the tree-lined ridge.

At least she wasn’t looking at the sea anymore.

Brynn slumped against the seat, bile creeping up the back of her throat. She locked her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut. The last thing she wanted was to wind up doubled over emptying her stomach—and with an audience, no less.

“You nearly took us over the bloody cliff,” Reece snarled.

Even if she could have spoken without retching, she didn’t have a clue what to say. The minute her gaze had landed on the ocean, her brain ceased functioning. Her body had locked up except to steer where she looked.

She’d had panic attacks before when faced with large bodies of water, but she’d never shut down so completely. To be fair, she’d never come face-to-face with the place where her phobia had originated, either.

Cold dread curdled her insides. Had she made a mistake coming here? All those questions, maybe she was better off not knowing the answers.

Something brushed her stomach. She jerked back and opened her eyes. Reece reached across her lap.

“What are you doing?” she muttered, between clenched teeth.

“You’re white as death.” He pressed the button, lowering her window. Frigid air swept inside. The soft hush of the surf beating the shore filled her ears and a quiver rippled up her spine.

“Put your head down before you’re sick or pass out.” Reece pressed his hand to her back, forcing her to bend forward and to the side of the steering wheel. She might have argued, but she didn’t trust her insides enough to open her mouth.

Heat from his palm seeped through her knit jacket, warming her despite the wind gusting through the window. Brynn let out a slow breath, releasing some of the tension gripping her. She closed her eyes, dragged in another gulp of damp air. The pounding of her heart eased, and her breathing turned regular.

“Was it the height?” Reece’s tone was softer and slightly less combative than before.

She shook her head, but didn’t look at him. Heat stung her cheeks despite the chill. God, she must look crazy. “The water.”

“The water?”

The amused disbelief in his voice grated her already taut nerves. She sat up and his hand fell away. “A fear of water isn’t unusual, you know?”

“I suppose not, but someone suffering a fear of water visiting an island seems odd. Did you not know Ynys Mon was an island?”

“Of course I knew,” she snapped, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.

He frowned. “How in the hell did you ever manage to fly across the ocean to get here?”

“I’m not afraid to fly.”

“You pitch a fit when you catch sight of the sea—”

“I did not pitch a fit!

“—but flying over it has no effect?”

“If the plane went down, I’d be dead when I hit the water. I wouldn’t have to worry about drowning.”

He stared at her like she’d sprouted another head.

She wished she could crawl under the seat. “Can we just go?”

“You tell me.”

She reached for the keys, but his hand wrapped around hers, warm and strong. Something fluttered low inside her. Just nerves.

“Maybe I should drive.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “Aside from not wanting to wind up crushed at the bottom of the cliff, God knows how bloody long it’ll take you to get turned around again.”

She just wanted this trip to end. “Fine.”

Reece didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. He got out of the car; she did likewise. They passed each other wordlessly as they rounded the back. She kept her gaze fixed on the muddy ground, refusing to allow herself a glance at those dark waves. Her breathing was still coming faster than normal. It wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge she clung to.

She collapsed into the passenger seat and tugged the belt over her shoulder. As if unable to help herself, she peeked at the slate water roiling and exploding against the shore. Her blood iced over, drained from her face. She squeezed her eyes closed.

The engine rumbled to life, low vibrations humming through her taut muscles. She felt the car roll slowly forward and curve back onto the drive.

“It still runs.” Reece said. “I was a bit worried you’d left the gearbox back there.”

“Ha, ha. You must have been a comedian before landing this job.”

“Not quite. Are you keeping your eyes closed to avoid looking at the water?” The image of those endless waves flashed across her mind and a shudder crawled over her skin. The question must have been rhetorical. He didn’t bother waiting for a reply. “You do realize Stonecliff overlooks the sea? Unless you plan on keeping your eyes closed your entire visit, you’ll likely have to look at it at some point during your stay.”

Didn’t she know it. Her reaction to open water hadn’t been this bad in years, but to be fair she usually made considerable effort to avoid lakes and oceans…rivers…paddling pools.

She’d be fine. She hadn’t expected to come upon the water when the car emerged from the trees. She’d just been caught off guard.

“You’re not about to go off again, are you?” Suspicion laced his deep voice.

“I’m ignoring you.”

He snorted, and she cracked an eye risking a peek at him. Even with only the faint glow of the dash lights, she could make out his grin. His entire face changed when he smiled like that, those granite features softening. The flutter in her belly returned.

As if sensing her gaze, he lifted his chin toward the windshield. “There’s the house.”

She opened both eyes and looked straight ahead. A hulking outline materialized from the gloom. The manor sat atop a large plateau overlooking the sea. At the rocky edge, the ground sloped steeply toward the water. A thick tangle of forest hemmed in the house at the back.

She held her breath, waiting for some hint of recognition, some spark of memory.

Nothing, only shivery unease.

Reece pulled into a large courtyard, driving past an ancient coach house, and parking her rental in front the manor before cutting the engine. Silence wrapped around them, except for the rain beating crazily on the car’s roof.

“Ready?” he asked.

Not even close. But she swallowed hard and nodded, anyway.

Brynn opened the car door and stepped out. Wind gusted, spraying her with freezing rain and wet snow. She kept her attention fixed on the ground to avoid looking at the water. For all the good it did with the brine thick in the air and the rush of the surf pounding the shore below.

She met Reece at the rear of the car, took back her keys and opened the trunk. As she hauled her carry-on bag onto her shoulder, Reece lifted out her suitcase.

“You don’t have to take that. I can manage,” she told him, quickly.

He rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I do.”

He started for the manor. Brynn slammed the trunk closed and hurried after him, but her gaze locked on the house. Stone walls, black from the wet weather, gleamed despite the darkness. Lights from two second-floor windows on either side of the vestibule glowed like yellow eyes over a dark, cavernous mouth.

Don’t go in there. The thought popped into her head, bringing with it an irrational swell of fear. Her breath hitched and she froze midstep.

“What are you doing now?” Reece’s exasperated voice dragged her attention to his scowl.

“Nothing.” She had to pull herself together. She’d already made an ass of herself in front of him once today. She’d really like to at least get inside with some shred of dignity in place.

She swallowed the coppery taste in her mouth and forced her feet forward, following Reece beneath the archway of the darkened vestibule. He opened the heavy oak door, moved aside and allowed her to go in first.

The wild panic surging through her vanished the moment she stepped into the warm hallway. Tiny prisms of color cast through dangling crystals on the intricate chandelier above danced over the patterned tile floor. Her gaze swept over the space, from the square staircase with a thick wooden banister, to the faded wallpaper and antique pieces of furniture.

There was nothing frightening, nothing menacing, just a sense of worn elegance.

Slowly, her heart settled into a normal rhythm and a wave of exhaustion rolled over her. Maybe bouts of paranoia were common in cases of extreme jet lag.

The door behind her closed with a solid thunk. Her face heated. She must look like some high-strung neurotic. Though, after today, maybe she was.

“Lord all mighty, Reece Conway. What can you be thinking?” A woman’s shrill voice broke into her thoughts. Brynn looked up at a tiny, ferret-faced woman storming down the stairs. The hem of her navy skirt brushed her calves, hissing against her thick beige hose with each step. “You’re not to be bringing your strumpets back here.”

Disdain curled the woman’s thin mouth as her nearly black gaze swept Brynn from foot to head.

Brynn turned to Reece. Did he bring a lot of women back here? What difference did it make? She didn’t even like the man, and he certainly wasn’t her type. He reminded her of those boys from high school with their ripped jeans and leather jackets. The kind of boys her grandparents would have grounded her for life if she had ever shown an interest in.

“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Reece said, flashing a hard smile. “Ms. James is Eleri’s guest, not mine. Maybe you ought to fetch her and tell her that her sister has arrived.”

The woman’s close-set eyes narrowed, high-arced brows pulling into a confused frown. Her gaze bounced from Reece to Brynn. “It can’t be.”

Unease settled over Brynn, bringing with it a faint chill. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her return.

“Find Eleri,” Reece said. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to explain all of this.”

Without a word, the woman hurried down the hall.

Brynn turned to Reece, tight knots twisting her stomach. “Who was that?”

“Mrs. Voyle?” He slid his hands into his jeans’ pockets and leaned back against the door. “She’s the housekeeper.”

Brynn nodded slowly. “You didn’t know I was coming, did you?”

He shrugged. “Eleri James is hardly going to discuss such things with me.”

“And the housekeeper didn’t know either.”

“Obviously.”

If the staff hadn’t been told about her impending arrival, what about her father?

“You’ve made it, at last.” Brynn turned to the small woman emerging from the same hall Mrs. Voyle had disappeared down. “I was beginning to worry.”

Brynn’s throat tightened. This was her sister. How could her grandparents have kept this from her, died without telling her the truth?

Brynn searched for some sort of familial recognition, a fragment of memory.

Nothing.

If she’d passed Eleri on the street there was nothing about the woman that would make Brynn give her a second look. Nothing that so much as hinted they were related, let alone shared the same father.

Eleri was small, a good four or five inches shorter than Brynn’s own five foot seven. Her frame was tiny, though it was hard to be sure, swallowed up the way she was by an oversized gray sweater and baggy gray pants. Dark brown hair, cut blunt, framed her sharp features and curled beneath her pointed chin.

They looked nothing alike…except the eyes, maybe. Dark brown and lifting slightly at the corners, and interestingly, the feature Brynn liked least about herself.

She forced an awkward smile. “I got a little lost. Luckily, I ran into Reece at the pub when I stopped for directions.”

“Lucky, indeed.” The woman’s gaze shifted to Reece, her tone cooling considerably. “Found you at the pub, did she? No surprise there.”

Reece glowered; a muscle ticked at his jaw. “It was my afternoon off.”

Animosity thickened the air between them, and Brynn stepped back as if unconsciously moving out of the line of fire.

Eleri crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side. “Take Brynn’s things to the front guest room. Mrs. Voyle can direct you. Whatever time you’ve had to take from drinking yourself into oblivion, you can have tomorrow. Provided I don’t need you for anything else, of course.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Brynn broke in. She wasn’t comfortable with Reece hauling her suitcases around like a bellhop. “I’ve managed them this far…”

She might as well have kept her mouth shut. Reece didn’t so much as look her way as he bent to gather her bags.

“No, really you don’t have to.” Brynn reached to take her case from him, but he jerked it away and pinned her with a frigid glare.

“This is what they pay me for.” He hoisted her bags and started down the hall.

“Sorry about that,” Eleri said, once he’d gone. “He’s new.”

“I don’t like someone waiting on me,” Brynn said. “And for the record, I also believe in being nice to waiters and cashiers.”

Having waited tables in college to supplement her student loan, she liked to imagine there was a special corner of hell set aside for people who got their rocks off by being rude to people in the service industry.

Eleri crossed the foyer and pushed open a dark wooden door. “Do you think he might quit?”

“Do you want him to?”

“It’s better for him if he does.”

Brynn followed Eleri into a large living room. Cream-colored walls with pale blue inlay looked rich, especially with a cream brocade Louis XIV settee and chairs. But as she moved farther into the room, she realized it was a facade. Thin cracks spidered across the plaster walls. The fabric on the settee was worn and split. Fluffy white stuffing poked out from the arm of one of the chairs where the material had frayed.

“Sit down. You must be exhausted, and you’re soaked through.” Eleri crossed to the fire in the hearth and lifted the poker. She jabbed the smoldering log until it crumbled, tiny flames lighting along the edges. Orange glow flickered across Eleri’s small features, giving her an almost demonic appearance.

Brynn slowly sank into the chair closest to the door. What in the hell had she gotten herself into? “Reece and the housekeeper didn’t know I was coming.”

“No, they didn’t,” Eleri said, without meeting her gaze.

“Arthur doesn’t know either, does he?”

A faint flush crept into Eleri’s face. Her mouth pulled into a wry smirk. “If I know Iola Voyle, he does now. Our father’s ill. I didn’t want him upset with the anticipation of your arrival. He can be very stubborn.”

Eleri’s admission hit her like a kick to the stomach stealing her breath. “You came looking for me. You said he wanted to make his peace with me before he died.”

“He does. He will,” Eleri said, quickly, setting down the poker.

Brynn stood, and raked her fingers through her damp hair. “I won’t stay where I’m not welcome.”

Though, the idea of hauling her bags out to her car and facing the sea again sent a fresh wave of exhaustion rolling through her. Maybe she could stand on that particular principal starting first thing tomorrow.

“I want you here.” Eleri sat on the chair opposite Brynn. “Our father’s dying. Soon we will be all the family we have left, and we know nothing about each other.”

Brynn’s anger fizzled. She knew what it was to be on her own. Her grandparents were gone, and so was Zack. Never before had she so keenly felt like the orphan she was.

She flopped back into the chair. “He doesn’t want me here.”

On some level she had expected this reaction. After all, her father had always known where she was and never once tried to contact her. Still, as much as Brynn hated to admit it, some small part of her had been hoping for the sitcom father-daughter reunion. Even if her cynical side knew she was in for a much different outcome.

As usual, her cynical side was right.

“When I called you the first time, you were adamant when you said you wouldn’t come here,” Eleri reminded her.

Brynn nodded. Apparently, her first instinct had been the right one.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I found the paperwork granting my grandparents custody.” And her mother’s letters, one for every birthday from the time Brynn turned four until she was eleven. Each letter filled with her mother’s love…and her fears.

“You came here to understand where you came from, who you are, to know something of your family. You mustn’t let him spoil that for you.”

Don’t let the man’s blatant rejection spoil meeting him for the first time? Brynn shot her sister a baleful stare. “Maybe I should stay at a hotel while I’m here.”

“He’ll come around,” Eleri said, quickly.

Brynn wished she were as confident as Eleri sounded. Unease scuttled up her spine. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, or rid herself of the small voice whispering in the back of her brain, What else isn’t your sister telling you?


Chapter Three

Reece’s head thudded like it was about to explode. He set down Brynn’s cases and pressed his fingers to his forehead. His skull pulsed like a cartoon character struck with an anvil. He’d swear that bastard knew exactly what places like the pub did to him and insisted on meeting there on purpose.

He glanced at his watch. Five-forty. Damn, he was late. Maybe if wrapped up what he needed to here and took one of the cars back to the pub, he’d make it before the other man left.

If this headache didn’t knock him on his ass first.

The pills he’d swallowed in the car had taken the edge off, but not much more. He reached into his pocket, curling his fingers around the plastic vial. If he popped another, he’d be down for the night and driving would be out of the question. Lord save him if he missed this meeting.

Bloody Dylis Paskin and her grand ideas, but she’d jump at any excuse to get him out of her place. He’d like to believe his connection to Stonecliff was what made the woman so uncomfortable around him, but he knew better. Like so many others, she sensed something off, something not quite right, and while he’d never given her cause to refuse him at her establishment, she looked for any reason to keep his visits short. Ironically, were it up to him, he’d never darken her door.

He sighed, snatched up Brynn’s cases and continued on to the kitchen.

He’d had everything timed perfectly—until Brynn walked in. He hadn’t even known Arthur James had another daughter. Or had he? Hadn’t he heard something about Eleri and a sister? Of course, the story ended with Eleri having killed the infant. But that’s how all the stories about Eleri ended—in death and murder. With so many, how could he keep track of them all? Or know which to believe?

Obviously, Brynn hadn’t been murdered. She was very much alive and looked well enough to him. He certainly wouldn’t have pegged her for Eleri’s sister. Unlike Eleri’s small, hard features, Brynn’s were softer, prettier. Warm brown eyes and pale red hair falling damp and windblown to her shoulders gave her an earthy sexiness he would’ve had to be dead not to notice.

Did Brynn have any idea of the mess she’d stumbled into? For all he knew, she and her sister were two of a kind. He considered her artless questions, open expression, and somehow didn’t believe it.

Why? Because he liked her face? He of all people should know better. Human beings rarely looked like who they really were. He, for instance, played normal so well no one would guess at the freak he really was.

“You must be mistaken, Iola. Perhaps you heard her name wrong.” Hugh Warlow’s condescending voice drifted from the kitchen. Reece slowed his pace and pressed against the wall. The musty stink from the ancient wallpaper wafted to his nose while he inched nearer to the opening so he could better hear the hushed conversation without being seen.

“He introduced her as Ms. James.” The housekeeper’s whisper gave way to a shrill squeak. “Who else could she be?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Warlow murmured. “Why would Eleri bring her here now? Why would she come?”

“A father at death’s door? I think we can guess, can’t we? Like mother like daughter. She’s come for whatever she can get her hands on, mark my words. The apple wouldn’t have fallen far from the tree with that one.”

Warlow chuckled softly, the sound cool as a November wind. “Then she’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. And that still doesn’t explain why Eleri would seek her out now.”

“Mr. James is ill. If Eleri isn’t aware there are no provisions for Meris’s girl in his will…” Shrewd implication crept into Mrs. Voyle’s voice. “Perhaps, she plans to finish what she started.”

Unease unfurled inside Reece. What had Eleri started that she might finish now? Based on the stories he’d heard, the possibilities weren’t good.

“She’s gone through a lot of trouble to bring that girl here, I doubt Eleri would do so without knowing who gets what when her father passes. She’s too clever.”

“Crafty, more like it.”

Silence fell between them. Reece tensed, ears straining.

“Do you suppose this has anything to do with Langley?” Mrs. Voyle asked, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

Now that was interesting. In the weeks he’d been working here, Reece had yet to hear anyone at Stonecliff mention the man found murdered on the property less than six weeks ago. Conversely, in the village they spoke of nothing else.

“Don’t let gossip cloud your better judgment,” Warlow said. Given the animosity between Eleri and the butler, Reece was surprised the man would defend her. “But we do need to know just what that girl is up to.”

“Which one?”

“Both, I imagine.”

Footsteps scraped across the tile floor, moving in his direction. He tensed. It was only a matter of time before one of them caught him eavesdropping.

He pushed away from the wall and rounded through the door, bringing Mrs. Voyle to a halt in front of him. The woman’s beady eyes narrowed, as if guessing he’d been listening.

“What’re you about, then?” she snapped.

Reece opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could get the words out. “How is it that girl came in with you?”

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Bad enough he had to put up with Eleri constantly looking for an excuse to sack him, but to have to offer up explanations to this tight-faced harridan was almost more than he could stand. “I ran into her at the pub. She was lost, I showed her the way.”

“At the pub again, were you?” Mrs. Voyle said, with a derisive sniff. “No surprise there. Well, if you’re after your dinner, you’ll just have to wait. I serve at six sharp. Not before, not after.”

The thick, meaty scent of whatever vile concoction the woman was cooking filled the kitchen. The pounding in his head increased, and his stomach swirled. He’d pass.

“Eleri wants her sister’s things taken to the guestroom. She said you could direct me.”

The shrill whistle from the kettle cut through the quiet, and his skull contracted. Lips pursed as if sucking lemons, Mrs. Voyle shut off the gas burner, lifted the kettle and the whistle ceased.

“So, I’m to fetch tea and tell you how to be about your own duties, am I?” Before Mrs. Voyle could rant further, Warlow lifted his hand, and the housekeeper’s mouth snapped shut.

With his dark suit and short snow-white hair, Warlow looked fastidious and stately, every part the English butler. Despite the color of his hair, only a few lines creased the corners of his eyes when he smiled, making his age difficult to guess.

“The front room in the northeast corner,” he said.

Facing the sea? Brynn should love that. He nodded and started to turn away.

“Mr. Conway,” Warlow said. Reece stopped and faced him. “Would you join me?”

As if he had a choice. Not in what Warlow asked of him, or Eleri James, or in working within the walls of this stone asylum. Choice had vanished years ago.

“I really should get these to Br—Ms. James’s room.”

“You can spare a moment.” Warlow’s smile stretched a little wider, blue gaze chilling ever so slightly. He waved Reece to the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”

The man wanted something. Normally, he barely spoke to him—unless to contradict Eleri.

Reece dropped into the chair Warlow had indicated and struggled against the urge to check his watch. He had to get back to the pub.

The butler hesitated before speaking, his gaze following Mrs. Voyle as she placed a teapot onto the trolley’s tray next to a plate of biscuits. Once loaded, she pushed the cart out of the kitchen. The dishes clanked together and one of the wheels squeaked intermittently.

Warlow lifted his teacup and asked, “Would you care for some?”

Just get to the point, already. Reece shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll just take up these cases then be off.”

Warlow leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. “Meris’s girl arrived with you. Did Eleri ask you to meet her?”

Reece shook his head. “I wouldn’t have bothered with her at all, but Dylis Paskin offered me up when Brynn couldn’t follow the directions Eleri sent her.”

“You had no idea Eleri had contacted her sister?” Warlow’s piercing blue stare bored into him. “Why were you at the pub this afternoon?”

Was the man actually trying to catch him in a lie? Funny, Reece had been at the pub for nefarious reasons, just not the ones Warlow assumed. “I was desperate for something edible for my dinner.”

“Ah, well, no one could fault you for that, my boy.”

Reece stiffened beneath the weight of the butler’s patronizing tone.

“A word of warning, though. The Paskins have a long, angry history with this family. You may want to keep that in mind the next time you visit The Iron Kettle.”

Well, considering Eleri had likely murdered their son, one could hardly blame them for holding a grudge. “I really should take Ms. James her cases.”

“A little longer, please.” Warlow waved Reece back into his seat when he started to stand. Good God, would the man never shut up? “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m very concerned about this visit affecting Mr. James’s health. Did the girl tell you anything about why she’s come?”

Irrational irritation prickled the back of Reece’s neck. She has a name. “No.”

Though, her turning up now with her father so ill, Mrs. Voyle probably hadn’t been far off the mark. Not that he was in any position to judge. The things he’d done for money didn’t leave much room to be self-righteous.

“Did she tell you why Eleri contacted her?” Warlow pushed.

Ask her your bloody self if you want to know so badly. “We weren’t in the car long, and didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” The man’s smile dimmed and he nodded almost to himself, then those light eyes fixed on Reece once more. “What did you think of her?”

A bloody nosy neurotic. Instead, he shrugged. “I didn’t think anything of her.”

Warlow chuckled. Only the barely visible narrowing of his eyes hinted at his annoyance. “You formed no opinion?”

He could tell the butler about her panic attack, her fear of water. Reece met the man’s hungry gaze, and a surge of distaste curdled his insides. Hugh Warlow could dig up his own dirt. “Like I said, we didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”

He glanced at the clock over the stove. Ten minutes to six. He’d never make it back to the pub in time. He was well and truly fucked now.

The telltale hiss of Mrs. Voyle’s skirt announced her arrival just before she stormed into the room, dark eyes glinting like onyx.

“Now, I’m to serve Her Highness dinner in her room,” the housekeeper fumed, shooting Warlow a pointed stare. “Familiar days, I tell you.”

Reece saw his chance for escape and jumped at it. He scrambled from his chair and gathered Brynn’s cases. “I should take these up.”

“Yes, of course. One more thing, Mr. Conway.”

Reece lifted his head and Warlow flashed a smile nearly as white as his hair.

“I realize you’ve only been with us a few weeks, but I’m extremely pleased with you so far. There could be a real future here for someone loyal.”

Reece nodded despite the slick knots tightening his insides. A future in this house? Were that the case he’d stick his head in the oven and get it over with now. Besides, he knew the sort of loyalty Hugh Warlow was looking for. Reece was already spying for one son of a bitch. He had no desire to make it two.

* * *

Brynn stared out the window, but only her watery reflection in the glass was visible against the black sky. She couldn’t see the ocean in the darkness, but given the relentless hush of the surf beating the shore, her room no doubt overlooked those endless waves. She shivered. For a moment, images of the ground beneath the house shifting, all this stone and wood tipping forward and sliding down the cliff into the icy waters below filled her head.

Her heart rate quickened and Brynn grasped the fireplace mantle next to the window to steady herself.

She’d just keep the drapes closed during her stay.

Or maybe she should just head back to the airport. Hop on the first flight home. And go back to what? Her grandparents’ empty house? Her career swirling down the toilet? Her life was a mess. If everything had been going great, she probably wouldn’t have made this trip to begin with.

She thought of her mother’s letters tucked away in her purse. No, even if Zack hadn’t knocked up the CEO’s secretary at the company where they both worked, and she hadn’t been given a transfer to a tiny subsidiary instead of the promotion she’d been promised before her personal life had become fodder for gossip, she would have made this trip.

Even knowing her father didn’t want her here, after all.

A lump thickened in her throat, a faint tingle tickling the back of her nose. She was just tired. She drew a trembling breath and let it out slowly. After a decent night’s sleep, she’d be back to her old self.

Eleri had been partially right about why Brynn had come. She did want to know about this place and the people she came from, but more than that she wanted to know what had frightened her mother so much she’d turned Brynn over to her grandparents.

Had her grandparents known? Is that why they’d never told her about this place, her father, her sister, why they’d even kept her mother’s letters from her?

Brynn turned away from the window and flopped back onto the huge bed on the opposite side of the room, sinking into the soft covers and staring up at the wooden frame holding the canopy. She desperately wanted to crawl under the blankets, but Reece still hadn’t shown up with her suitcase. Maybe she hadn’t been far off imagining him mugging tourists.

Eleri had gone looking for him, and if her narrowed eyes and tight mouth were any indication, the man should hope she didn’t find him.

A light tap on the open door and Brynn pushed up on her elbows. Reece stood just inside the threshold with her cases, those sea-blue eyes locked on her, his expression inscrutable. Dull warmth lit inside her and tingled into her limbs.

She dropped her gaze and scrambled off the bed.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting. I was held up,” he muttered, stalking across the room.

“Oh…you didn’t…it’s just…Eleri’s looking for you.” Why was she stammering like an idiot? But she already knew the answer. Something about the sight of him, his dark hair pushed back from those hard features—her thumb itched to trace that sharp ridge of cheekbone—he looked good, primal.

She was tired, had a bad day. Her imagination was getting the better of her.

“Wonderful.” He dropped her cases before the wardrobe with a thud, turned and started for the door, but stopped, his attention shifting to the fireplace facing the sofa. “I’ll get a fire started for you.”

“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

He jerked his shoulder. “Save myself a trip later.”

There, exactly what she needed to hear to put the world back in perspective. She bit her lip to keep from smiling, grabbed her suitcase and hoisted it onto the bed. Once he was gone, she was going to sleep and when she woke up, things would make sense again. She unzipped the flap and dug through her neatly folded clothes for the T-shirt and shorts she slept in.

The flue clunked open and Brynn looked up. While Reece had twisted to reach into the chimney, his shirt had lifted slightly revealing a hard band of flat stomach. Nice.

A sharp rap sounded on her door and Brynn started. Sour-faced Mrs. Voyle stood in the opening holding a large tray with both hands.

What had she knocked with? Her forehead?

“I have your dinner.” The older woman set the tray on the table between the settee and fireplace. Her narrowed gaze fixed on Reece. “What are you doing in here?”

“Knitting an afghan,” he told her, without looking away from the wood he carefully stacked in the fireplace.

“Thanks for bringing this up,” Brynn said.

“It’ll be the last time, I can promise you that. I won’t be carting trays up and down stairs day and night just to please you. In future, I serve dinner at six sharp, and breakfast at eight-thirty. If you’re not in the dining room, you don’t eat. I’m leaving for the night once I finish here. If you need anything else, say so now.”

Brynn blinked, the woman’s hostility catching her off guard. “I can’t think of anything.”

She lifted the silver dome from the dish on the tray and her stomach shriveled. Gray meat smothered in lumpy, brown gravy with mushy vegetables and greasy potatoes. That rubbery chicken she’d eaten on the plane suddenly seemed gourmet.

“You’ll want to keep your door locked,” Mrs. Voyle told her, setting a large iron key on the table next to the tray.

Why? Were you thinking of bringing me more inedible food through the night?

“Thank you, Mrs. Voyle, for all your help,” Brynn said, tightly.

The housekeeper gave a curt nod and started for the door, but paused before leaving. “I don’t know what you’re after coming here, but if you’re wise, you won’t stay.”

Irritation flared, and she shot the woman an icy stare. “I’m not after anything.”

Mrs. Voyle’s small eyes flashed. “You’re not wanted here, and you should thank God for it.”

Brynn shook her head, watching the woman go. “What did I ever do to her?”

“They think you’re after your father’s money.”

Reece’s low voice jerked her attention away from the door. He knelt on the floor next to the hearth, feeding small bits of wood into the flickering blaze.

“Who does?” The sister who begged her to stay? The father who may have tried to drown her when she was three?

“Mrs. Voyle, Warlow, probably most of Cragera Bay, by now.”

“Perfect,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Is that what you think?”

Not that she cared one way or the other.

He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. You’ll want to bank this before going to bed, and it should last the rest of the night.”

“I don’t want his money,” she told him, not sure why it mattered he believe her.

“As I said, it’s no concern of mine.” He stood, pinned her with an icy stare. “She’s right, though, about this place. The sooner you’re away from here, the better off you’ll be.”

* * *

Brynn stood on the bank of a pond, the glassy waters still and dark before her. Huge trees rose up on all sides, their snow-laden branches reached into an indigo sky. Black fear uncoiled inside her like an icy snake. She tried to step back, but the tangle of trees closed tighter, trapping her at the water’s edge.

Her heart pounded fast in her chest. Cold sweat dribbled down her back. Her gaze locked on the fathomless pool and she couldn’t look away.

The oily waters rippled, bubbled as something floated to the surface.

Her blood ran cold.

Run! A voice from somewhere inside her screamed, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away. A man’s face emerged from the black water, flesh bloated and gray. His wide, dead eyes stared milky opaque.

Finally, Brynn stepped back, but the slippery bank gave out beneath her feet and she stumbled into frigid water. Icy fingers curled around her ankles, pulling her deeper…

* * *

Brynn jerked awake, gasping. She sat up and pressed a hand to her pounding chest. Where was she? She blinked, eyes stinging, and waited for them to adjust to the darkness, then glanced around the unfamiliar room.

The dark outline of furniture was little more than odd shapes in the black. Her gaze settled on the glowing coals in the fireplace, and the day’s events washed over her.

“Damn,” she whispered and flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Images from her nightmare filled her head. Not much chance of falling back to sleep after that.

She groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Despite the heavy duvet and blankets cocooned around her, she shivered. The temperature in the room had dropped since she’d gone to sleep. And what the hell was that smell? She wrinkled her nose at the thick, mossy stink seeping through the sheets with the cold. Pushing back the blankets, she sat up and froze. Her stomach dropped.

A huge shape lumbered between her bed and the fireplace, blotting out the glow of the coals like an eclipse.

With wide, staring eyes, her gaze traveled the length of the massive shadow, from the hem of a long coat, to broad, masculine shoulders, to the outline of a wide-brimmed hat.

A man. There was a man in her room!

A scream burned up the back of her throat and lodged there. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could scarcely breathe.

Instead, she stared into the black void where a face should have been. Then, like tiny beacons from hell, two red eyes appeared.


Chapter Four

Brynn stared into the glowing eyes like a bird caught in the thrall of a snake. Hate and rage emanated from the man-shaped thing, a tangible force wrapping around her and squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Run!

But she couldn’t move. Every muscle had seized under the burning red glare.

A dream. Some rational part of her brain tried desperately to convince the rest of her. It had to be a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to count.

One, two…

When she opened her eyes it would be gone—

…three, four, five…

—and she would laugh at how crazy real it seemed.

…six, seven…

Whatever she thought she saw was probably just stress.

…eight, nine…

Some remnant of her nightmare.

…ten.

She opened her eyes. The shadow loomed beside her bed, black delight radiating like a living pulse from its murky form.

She tried to swallow, but her throat had shriveled. Icy sweat coated her skin. Drawing a trembling breath, she eased her hand out from beneath the blankets, eyes locked with the two glowing orbs, afraid that breaking contact, even for a moment, would somehow allow the thing to pounce. Her fumbling fingers bumped the porcelain lamp, sending it teetering sideways.

No, no, no. Please don’t break.

She grabbed the shade and caught the lamp before it went over, then pressed the switch. Brilliant light flooded the darkness. She squinted against the sudden glare. When she turned back to the shadow man, he was gone.

“What the hell?” She kicked free of the blankets and slid from the bed. Frigid air wrapped around her like a shroud, seeping through her thin shorts and T-shirt. Goose bumps stippled her skin.

Where did he go? He couldn’t have just vanished.

She hurried to the door. Locked, just as she’d left it. She turned the latch, pulled back the door and poked her head into the hall. Darkness spread out on either side of her like black curtains, leaving her unable to see anything past the faint pool of light spilling from her room. She shut the door and turned the lock once more.

So what exactly had she seen?

Had there been a man in her room? A man with glowing red eyes? Not likely. So what did that leave? A ghost? Of course not. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Whatever she’d seen, the real question was, where did it go?

She glanced around the bedroom, her gaze falling on the wardrobe. No way. She didn’t actually believe someone was hiding in her closet, did she? Of course not. Still, she crossed the room, closed her trembling fingers around the brass handles and yanked both doors wide.

Ha! Empty. Just like she knew it would be.

Oh, yeah? Then why is your heart ready to burst out of your chest, and your legs like rubber?

She closed the doors and leaned back against them. She was being ridiculous. She must have imagined…

Bathroom!

Brynn hurried to the en suite, pushed open the door and slid her hand up the wall until her fingers found the switch. The small space filled with light.

Nothing.

She looked behind the bathtub, then behind the door.

No one. She was completely alone.

* * *

A sharp jab just below his left kidney dragged Reece up through layers of sleep. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shifted on the lumpy mattress and rolled onto his side, willing himself to drift off again before he woke fully.

Dull stabbing bloomed at his hip.

“Bloody hell.” That blasted spring was like a medieval torture device especially designed to drive him mad. With a muttered curse, he threw back his thin blankets and glanced at the clock next to his bed. Five-twenty. Well, he’d managed ten minutes longer than yesterday. He should be glad for that, at least.

He padded across the cold wood floor and snagged his jeans from the chair next to the window. As he tugged them on, he peered out into the pre-dawn darkness. Stonecliff stood out like a black lump against the brightening sky. Stark and austere, in its day the manor’s stone walls, peaked windows and sheer size had made it a work of gothic grandeur. Some might still see it that way despite its aging facade, but not him.

He hated that house. He shouldn’t. There were no voices here, no apparitions. Stonecliff was the one place he could let down his carefully trained guards and only silence greeted him. But the quiet was unnatural, like the swelling pressure that built in his head just before his ears popped.

Goose bumps studded his skin and his insides tightened. There was something wrong with this place. Malevolence hovered like a dark cloud. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear there was a presence here. There wasn’t, of course. He’d know if there were.

Reece tugged a long-sleeved T-shirt over his head. What the hell did it matter? He should be glad of the peace for a change. It was the only good thing to come out of this mess.

He left the cell-like bedroom, clicked on the lamp next to the worn settee and crossed to the kitchenette. The L-shaped bank of cupboards didn’t offer much in the way of meal preparation. Three square meals provided at the main house were among the perks of working at Stonecliff. Still, the toaster oven, half-sized fridge and coffee maker left him with enough options he could avoid Mrs. Voyle’s cooking for the most part.

The kitchen opened to the rest of the flat. Not that there was much more. A settee with fraying orange flower-patterned fabric, a couple of scratched faux-wood tables and a black-and-white telly all that furnished the small space.

He missed his own flat, quiet and filled with his things. He wasn’t a rich man, but he’d created a comfortable den for himself. There were times when the voices would come, the figures would appear, but he could usually hold them at bay. And when he couldn’t, there was no one to see anyway.

Reece took the coffee tin from the cupboard, ready to begin his morning ritual, but set it down on the counter instead. Frustration hummed beneath his skin, leaving him restless, edgy. Agreeing to this ridiculous plan, he’d merely traded one prison cell for another.

How in the hell had he wound up in this mess? But he already knew the answer. He hadn’t really believed he could lie and cheat people and get away with it, had he? The wheel of karma turned slowly, but it turned all the same. Now, here he was, at last paying for the things he’d done. Caught in some crazy scheme with a man driven half-mad by his own obsession.

The same man he’d stood up last night thanks to Brynn James.

How had she managed her first night at Stonecliff? Unease gnawed at his insides with jagged little teeth. What if she’d disappeared through the night, vanished like the others?

Cold settled low in his gut and he shoved his hand through his hair. She wasn’t his problem. Lord knew he had enough of his own.

Still, he thought of her last night, stretched across her bed, that deep copper hair spread out around her head, eyes dark and sleepy when they met his. A surge of lust had slammed into him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Bloody hell, he was thinking like some sex-starved adolescent.

No wonder, really. He hadn’t been with a woman for nearly six months. He wasn’t cut out for long-term relationships, uncomfortable making promises he wasn’t capable of keeping. He’d had a pleasant arrangement for a while with a woman who worked at the shop down the road from the boatyard. Newly divorced, she was in no hurry to get seriously involved with anyone, just looking for a bit of fun while her kids were with her ex. Or so he thought until she’d suggested he meet her children, forcing him to put an end to their arrangement.

He doubted Brynn would be content with just sex. She’d certainly want someone stable, a house in the suburbs, a couple of kids. For some reason the image annoyed him.

He left the kitchen and made his way to one of the dormer windows that faced the house, ducking so he wouldn’t crack his head off the sloped ceiling. Outside, the sky had lightened to bleak gray.

If Brynn wanted to put herself in harm’s way to get something out of her dying father, it was none of his business. Still, someone should tell her what was happening at Stonecliff, warn her of all the wicked things her sister had done.

Of course, if he warned Brynn and she told Eleri, or Eleri overheard, he’d be out on his ass and very possibly facing a prison cell.

Could that bastard really see him locked up? Even if he couldn’t, the charges alone would assuredly destroy the life he’d built.

Through the glass, Mrs. Voyle’s small, blue hatchback pulled into the courtyard and parked near the kitchen entrance. Now, there was opportunity knocking if he’d ever heard it. Mrs. Voyle enjoyed few things more than a good rant about her employers, and from what he’d overheard, the housekeeper had her suspicions about Brynn’s timely arrival and Eleri’s motivations for bringing her here. If he pushed just the right buttons…

Reece pulled on his jacket and shoved his feet into his work boots. He’d go down for his breakfast. Maybe dig up something for his blackmailer, and if he could catch Brynn alone, warn her about Eleri.

Surely, he could tolerate the housekeeper’s cooking long enough to get what he needed.

He thudded down the stairs and out the side door of the coach house. Wet wind off the sea slapped his hands and face as he hurried across the courtyard to the back door. Drizzle clung to his hair and jacket, cold settling into his bones.

Three days of frigid rain and wind. He’d never be warm again at this rate. If he stayed here much longer, he wouldn’t have to worry about prison, or his past destroying his present, or a madwoman murdering him. He’d be dead from pneumonia first.

He pushed open the back door and stepped into a small utility room. The smoky scent of sausage wafted in from the kitchen. His stomach growled despite the revulsion welling inside him. The food might smell good, but he knew from experience the meat would be charred on the outside and raw in the middle.

As he entered the kitchen, Mrs. Voyle’s shrill voice stopped him midstride. “You get those boots off, Reece Conway. I’ll not have you dirtying my floor with mucky footprints.”

He looked down at his feet. His boots had already left wet tracks on the gleaming checkerboard tile.

“Sorry,” he muttered, toeing off each boot, “I forgot.”

Mrs. Voyle sniffed, but returned her attention to the meat in the pan, while he dropped his boots onto a rubber mat next to the door in the utility room, then wiped up his mess with a handful of paper towel.

“If you’ve come for your breakfast, you’ll have to wait. It’s not ready yet.” Mrs. Voyle poked at the sausage simmering in a layer of grease. He managed to suppress a shudder.

“That’s all right.” Reece tossed the sopping towels in the rubbish bin. “Is the coffee made?”

She nodded to the machine on the counter. “Help yourself. What are you about coming in so early?”

He shrugged and ambled over to the coffeepot. “I’ve a lot to do today.”

“I suppose you will after all this rain.”

Reece took a mug from the cupboard in front of him, poured the sludgelike liquid and rolled his eyes. The woman couldn’t even make coffee right.

Gripping the steaming cup, he leaned back against the counter and eyed the tight-faced woman. How to get her on the subject of Eleri and the missing men without appearing too eager? He’d have to say something soon. The longer he stayed, the more he’d have to eat.

“Eleri was very specific about wanting the grounds tidied before noon,” he ventured.

The housekeeper snorted and spooned watery eggs into a serving dish. “Eleri will be too busy with Meris’s daughter to be bothered with you today.”

“I didn’t realize Mr. James had another daughter.”

Mrs. Voyle wiped her hands on her grease-dotted apron, and shot him a hard stare. “If Mr. James has any sense left, he’ll toss that one out on her backside. Just like her mother. Hand out, ready to take what she can. Do you know about Meris?”

He shrugged. “A few things.”

“She was a piece of work that one, chasing after Mr. James like a bitch in heat. He was still married, you know? Crazy Enid might have been, but having that red-headed witch throwing herself at her husband certainly hadn’t helped matters. She had her accident only days after Meris told Mr. James she was pregnant.”

Reece had heard talk of Eleri’s mother’s death. It was part and parcel of the ever-growing legend that surrounded Eleri. And like so many of the stories there was more than one version. Some claimed Enid James took her own life when she realized the child she’d produced was evil, while others claimed Eleri managed to convince her mother to kill herself with her nefarious powers. The official report stated that Enid had died due to misadventure, having lost her footing while walking the cliffs.

“Enid knew about the affair?”

“She’d have to have been a simpleton not to. Mr. James was so bewitched by Meris he had her living in the house. That woman knew what she wanted, and exactly how to get it.”

He frowned. There were richer men out there. “All this because Meris had been after Mr. James’s money?”

Mrs. Voyle chuckled and turned back to the stove. A plume of gray smoke wafted from the charred sausage in the pan.

“She wasn’t interested in his money.” The housekeeper turned a knob on the cooker, and the blue flame beneath the pan vanished. “Meris wanted Stonecliff. Claimed she was related to the original family who owned the property.”

“The Jameses didn’t always own Stonecliff?”

Mrs. Voyle scooped out the blackened sausage into another serving dish. “No, Mr. James’s great-uncle built this house nearly a hundred years ago. But before that, the Worthings owned the land. The entire family was killed in a fire. Took the house, too. Have you not come across the ruins during your work?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t. Where are they?”

“Deep in the woods, near The Devil’s Eye.” She set a lid on the tray. “It’s probably for the best. The grounds are haunted.”

Reece snorted before he could stop himself. Mrs. Voyle glared at him over her shoulder.

“People say this place is haunted, too. I haven’t seen any ghosts.” He kept his smirk fixed in place and his tone light, so she wouldn’t know just how serious he was. Years of swindling people had taught him a lot about body language. The more he appeared to consider the whole thing a joke, the harder the housekeeper would try to convince him otherwise.

“Not haunted,” the woman said, holding his gaze. “Cursed. This land is cursed.”

“Because of the people who disappeared?”

She turned back to the stove and covered the sausage platter. “The disappearances are just the tip of the iceberg. How else can you explain Mr. James’s misfortunes? Two dead wives. Failing investments. Oh, things get better for a while, but they always crumble in the end. And now with that Matthew Langley…” She snatched the spatula from the counter and whirled to face him, waving the utensil like a witch waving a wand. “You mark my words, they’ve found one dead man. There’ll be more.”

Did she actually know something about what happened to the men who’d vanished, or was the woman merely relishing in the story? “Why do you stay?”

She jerked a shoulder. “We all have to eat, haven’t we? Mr. James pays more than a fair wage. There’s evil here, granted, but it doesn’t want me. You, though…”

“Afraid I might disappear like the others?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain amused despite the cold prickling the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t worry. I don’t.”

“You wouldn’t—too young and full of yourself. Still, you’re not a bad sort. We’ve certainly had worse working here.”

Like Matthew Langley? Reece had heard stories about his predecessor. And a con man could always recognize another con man. “What do you think happened to the men who disappeared?”

“I think they’re dead.” Mrs. Voyle’s dark eyes held his. “The house takes what it wants. It always has.”

* * *

Brynn stood with Eleri outside the pocket doors separating Arthur’s siting room from his bedroom. Nerves fluttered in her throat and she wiped her damp palms on her pants. What did she have to be so nervous about? He was the one to ignore her for the past twenty-three years. He was the one who owed her an explanation, who should be nervous.

Eleri hesitated before sliding open the door. “He’s not a nice man.”

Knots tangling Brynn’s insides squeezed. She swallowed hard. “Thanks for the warning.”

Eleri pushed open the doors and Brynn entered the dimly lit room. Silence closed in on her, except for the low hiss from the oxygen tank next to the bed. The sour odor of sickness combined with a sterile hospital-like smell sent a sharp pang slicing across her middle. For an instant, she was back in her grandfather’s hospital room, watching helplessly as he wasted away. She swallowed hard and shook the memory away, making a concentrated effort to breathe through her mouth. The doors slid closed with a thunk behind her.

“If you’re coming in, come in.” She jumped at the man’s raspy voice.

Nice to see you, too, Dad.

She let out a slow breath and squared her shoulders, then crossed the room to a chair next to his bed—getting her first look at her father in more than twenty-five years.

He met her gaze with her own dark brown eyes—Eleri’s eyes, too. His thinning white hair was cut short to his head, gaunt features sharp, pointed, much like her sister’s. His sallow skin grooved around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. Propped into a sitting position with pillows, heavy blankets hid his lower body. Long clear tubes coiled from the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth to the tank on the floor. Despite the telltale signs of illness, he sat stiff and regal.

Brynn held her breath, waiting for some spark of recognition.

Nothing.

Her heart sank. He might as well have been a complete stranger.

He shoved his oxygen mask aside and nodded to the empty chair next to the bed. “Sit.”

Sit? Really? Twenty-three years and the best he could come up with was sit? She hadn’t been expecting them to fall into each other’s arms, or that he’d crumple to his knees and beg for her forgiveness—okay, maybe she’d been hoping for something like that—but she had expected something more than sit.

She swallowed down her hurt and stiffened under the man’s glare. “I’m fine where I am.”

He let out an impatient sigh. “Eleri overstepped herself. She’d no right to bring you here without my knowledge. There’s nothing for you, know that from the start.”

Perfect. Reece had been right. He did think she was after his money. He’d let her go through life believing he was dead, never once tried to contact her, but she was the bad guy here? “I don’t want anything. Eleri contacted me because you were ill—”

“And you came to see what you could get.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, fingernails digging into her palms. “No. I’d been told you were dead. When I found out that wasn’t the case, I wanted to meet you.”

He let out a dry bark of laughter that sounded more like he was choking. She wished he were choking. “You thought I would finally be the father you always wanted? That we’d become a happy little family? I made my peace with you when you left.”




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