Darkwood Manor. Jenna Ryan
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do you know my name?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” She pushed on his arm. When he refused to release her, she twisted sideways. “Look, I appreciate the rescue, but I’m fine now, and I really don’t have time to play games.”
Instead of slackening his grip, he drew her closer until his mouth moved against her temple. “Best use of that time you don’t have would be to get in your car and leave.”
She gave him a determined shove. “I’d love to if you’d let me go.”
“Stop squirming and listen. You need to go back to Boston. No questions, no detours, just get on the highway and drive.”
When she continued to struggle, he used the fingers of his other hand to capture her chin. “Do it, Isabella. Now. While you can.” Then he drew her closer still, set his mouth next to her ear and added a soft, “If you want to live, you need to get as far away from this house as possible.”
Chapter Two
He vanished before she could question him further. Vanished as he’d been trained to do by the government. As he’d been able to do long before anyone had thought to train him.
He knew the melodrama hadn’t worked. He hadn’t expected it would. But short of tying a blanket over her head and tossing her on a southbound train, it was the best he could manage.
He wasn’t supposed to be in the house. He’d promised his uncle he would look around discreetly, without fuss. Fuss led to attention, and that would send the rats scurrying.
If they’d been ordinary rats, he wouldn’t have cared. He still wasn’t sure why he did, but his uncle was concerned, so it wouldn’t hurt him to skulk for a while.
If it turned out Haden was right, something should probably be done. Maybe by him, maybe by someone else. The who here depended on how the local authorities reacted to a hot blonde in a long, black leather coat, with skin that shouted peaches and cream and eyes so blue he’d been struck by the color fifty feet away.
The woman had courage. He admired that. She was determined, likely stubborn. Couldn’t fault those qualities. She also had a body under that black coat…
Blanking his mind to the fantasy, he watched her from his crouch on the sheltered side of the house.
Purposeful strides carried her along the driveway to the front gate and through it to the other side. She didn’t use an umbrella, and she didn’t bother to belt her coat. She had the shoulder bag he’d rifled, her 2K camera and, he imagined, an expression on her face that matched her body language.
A reluctant smile tugged on his lips the longer he watched her. Too bad nothing would come of it, but then he was used to nothing, and what he did have—primarily his uncle—more than compensated for the lack.
Her car engine roared. The tires spit wet gravel as she turned it toward Mystic Harbor, Maine, a town where he and more than one of his ancestors had been born.
His name was Donovan Black. Like it or not—and he definitely did not—he was connected to Darkwood Manor. Which was why, no matter how tempting Ms. Isabella Ross might be, he would never be connected to her.
“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO do anything, are you?” Isabella stared down at a thirtysomething man with a crooked nose and very large teeth. “You have more important matters to attend to than searching for a woman, a stranger, that no one, including you or your deputies, has seen. In any case, Darkwood Manor is situated on the fringe of your jurisdiction, so maybe she’s crossed the county line by now. Problem solved. Have a nice night, ma’am.”
The man’s smile didn’t falter. “Could be you’re right there, Ms. Ross. Could also be you’re inventing a crime to drum up publicity for a new hotel.”
Exasperation won out. “That’s ridiculous. My family doesn’t stoop to publicity stunts. We go about things the old-fashioned way. We advertise. And we only do that when a hotel is up and running. Not only is Darkwood Manor not in that category, it isn’t even a hotel.”
“Yet.”
Isabella held fast to her Irish temper. “Sheriff Lucas, I’ve had a really crappy afternoon. I’m not asking you to launch a full-scale search for Katie, I just want you to take a few minutes and look into her disappearance.”
“Can’t do much in a few minutes, now can I, Blondie?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. Ms. Ross.” His smirk belied the apology. “Now, I’ve been patient, and I’ve listened to your story with an open mind.”
So open, Isabella thought, that it had drained from his head.
“You say you and your cousin drove up here this afternoon from Boston.”
“I said we drove up from Portland.”
“Via Portland, but you live and work in Boston. You also said you came here then drove to Darkwood in separate vehicles. Why is that exactly?”
Isabella refused to let him rattle her composure. “I’ve already explained. Katie was going on to Bangor. I was stopping here. Two destinations, two vehicles.”
“And your cousin’s vehicle, like your cousin herself, is currently unaccounted for?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t suggest anything to you?”
Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “It suggests that both Katie and her car are missing.”
The sheriff’s smile grew strained. “A stronger suggestion would be that something at Darkwood Manor spooked her. When she couldn’t find you, she gave in to her fear and ran.”
“She’s not answering her cell phone.”
“Maybe she dropped it in her rush to escape. People have been known to leave all manner of personal possessions behind as they scramble back through those gates. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a believer myself, but more than a few folks hereabouts swear the manor’s haunted.”
“Oh, good.” Isabella mustered a false smile. “Here comes the ghost story. Katie wasn’t spirited away, Sheriff, and she didn’t run out on me.”
“You think someone kidnapped her and stole her car.”
“I think that’s a more plausible explanation than believing she ran from a ghost.”
Yet, in spite of herself, her conviction wavered. To bolster it, she jammed her hands in the pockets of her coat. “Whose spirit is supposed to haunt the place?”
“Take your pick. Aaron Dark, builder and owner. Aaron’s wife, Sybil, who ran off with another man. The unborn child some swear she was carrying. Hell, it could be Dark’s sister took up residence after she died, as penance for having her brother locked away.”
“Interesting. But you don’t believe any of those stories, so it can’t be fear that’s stopping you from driving out there with me.”
He gave her an insulting once-over. “Do you drink, Ms. Ross?”
She wouldn’t react, she told herself, would not lose it because some pasty-faced sheriff was either too lazy or too jittery to help her.
So instead of answering his question, she tipped her head to the side. “Tell me, Sheriff Lucas, is there something untoward going on at Darkwood Manor? Some illegal activity that might necessitate Katie’s removal from the house and cause me to be warned off?”
The sheriff’s open mouth closed with a snap. “You didn’t mention that you were warned off.”
“You didn’t give me a chance, and I’m mentioning it now.”
“Who did the warning?”
“I