“I’m not surprised,” Jack replied. “That’s Mickey Dempsey. I told you I recruited his assistance after he wrote the article about Calvin Cole. He watched us and thus, I would assume, you.”
Her eyes grew unfocussed for a moment as she whispered, “Oh,” then they focussed on him and she stated, “Well, that explains that.”
It was lucky she was so endearing or he’d be even more pissed at that moment than he was. Instead, he was only mildly pissed and therefore he could gentle his voice when he asked her, “Now, I need you to get dressed and make coffee. Can you do that for me, poppet?”
She nodded. “Of course, Jack, I make coffee every day.” She paused then finished, sounding somewhat disgruntled as if she missed having the chore of making coffee, “Or I used to before I moved in with you and started to get waited on hand and foot.”
He was surprised at that juncture to find himself fighting back a smile.
She was blossoming and it wasn’t happening slowly. She trusted him. She trusted his love. She trusted in their future. And she knew he’d keep her safe. So he had the best of both because he had his cute, sweet, imperfectly perfect Belle and he had the Belle she gave him when he flipped on her switch.
Instead of smiling, he dipped his head, touched his mouth to hers, followed her to the bedroom, closed the door behind them and as she moved around getting dressed, he pulled on a long-sleeved, black t-shirt.
Dressed, he walked out, closed the door again and saw Gretl sitting outside the door.
Baron was sitting in the living room where he found Dempsey.
“Beautiful dogs,” Dempsey muttered.
Jack made no comment about his dogs.
Instead, he said, “Belle’s going to make coffee in a minute. But you’re going to explain now.”
Dempsey grinned. “I could use some coffee.”
Jack’s head cocked to the side. “Did you miss the ‘now’ part?”
“Right,” Dempsey muttered, moved to the window, glanced out over the rooftops to the obstructed but nonetheless lovely view Belle had of the sea then he turned back to Jack and crossed his arms on his chest. “This legend, Bennett, Addison, Caldwell, the children, the murders, it’s very well-known.”
“You disturbed my Sunday with Belle to tell me something I’ve known since I could process thought?” Jack asked, losing patience.
“What I mean is, it’s known widely. St. Ives. Penzance. Land’s End. Falmouth. Even as far as Newquay.”
Dempsey had covered a great deal of ground in the last few days.
He still was not telling Jack something he didn’t already know.
“It’s legend,” Jack agreed. “Legend with over two hundred years to travel widely. It’s known beyond Newquay, Dempsey. It’s written about in books. This doesn’t explain why you think Miles is Caldwell reincarnated.”
They heard the bedroom door open. Dempsey’s torso shifted to the side to catch a look out the door of the living room to Belle moving through the landing thus Jack’s body shifted to block his view.
Dempsey’s eyes shot to Jack and the grin came back.
“Protective,” he muttered.
“You’ll meet her soon enough,” Jack returned then went on. “And you’ve investigated her. If she was yours, you’d be the same bloody way. Now, focus. What did you find?”
“Ghost tale,” Dempsey got to the matter at hand, “told around campfires. Kids telling it to scare the hell out of other kids.”
“Dempsey,” Jack warned low.
“For centuries, Bennett,” Dempsey returned. “A shocking story, heartbreaking, brutal. So much so, there are not one but three local historians who’ve made it the focus of their field of study. And not only that, it was shocking, heartbreaking and brutal back in the day. It stunned local residents. Joshua and Brenna Bennett were popular, Brenna especially. She was adored. Her murder marked the locals. The fact that her children were taken made it worse. So there’s a good deal these historians could study. And they shared it all with me.”
“Explain,” Jack demanded.
“Diaries of local residents, letters kept, archives of constabulary records. I haven’t had time to go through it all thoroughly but the primary theme bled through almost immediately,” Dempsey answered.
“And that theme would be?” Jack prompted when Dempsey didn’t go on.
“Bennett and Caldwell had a lifelong feud,” Dempsey replied and Jack felt his body get tight.
Dempsey continued.
“It was not private. It played out very publicly and started when they were young. It followed them into adulthood and business. Caldwell was not well-liked and, the story goes, this was because he was a cheat and a poor loser. Further, although Caldwell was not a peasant, not common, his family didn’t have the kind of money the Bennett family had, still, he was ambitious. And most of that ambition was centred around besting Bennett. Unfortunately, Bennett was richer, smarter and better looking than him and always won. Caldwell didn’t like this. From what I read, as boys even to young men, Bennett participated in these various contests, whatever they were and, in the end, they included the pursuit of women. However, as Bennett matured and turned his mind to the family business, he lost interest in Caldwell and his competitions. In fact, Bennett was often in London and not in Cornwall at all. That said, it was widely believed that Caldwell still smarted that the games ended before he could best Bennett at least once.”
As engrossed in the story as he was disturbed by it and its further similarities to his own life, Jack still heard Belle moving about the house so he lifted a hand. Dempsey fell silent and his eyes cut to the door.
Jack turned to see Belle standing there, looking curious and tentative, her gaze on Dempsey. She was wearing jeans so faded they were nearly white and had a frayed split in one knee. She was also wearing a white slouchy sweater that was loose-woven and had a wide neck so he could see her white vest at her shoulders and through the weave. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail but tendrils had escaped and framed her face. Even nearly first thing in the morning without makeup, she looked just as casually chic and adorably charming as she actually was.
She also, fortunately and unfortunately, looked like she’d just enjoyed a rather pleasurable orgasm. Jack liked that the results of their lovemaking lasted some time for Belle.
No, he loved it.
Though, as usual, he wasn’t keen on sharing it.
Without a choice, he extended an arm her way and called softly, “Come in, poppet, meet Mickey Dempsey.”
Her eyes came to him, she gave him her small smile then she walked straight to him. She fitted herself tight to his side as his arm curled around her shoulders and hers around his waist but she leaned forward and extended her other hand to Dempsey who took it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dempsey,” she said softly in her musical voice.
“Mickey,” he corrected. “And nice to meet you too, Ms. Abbot.”
She awarded Dempsey one of her small smiles. It was smaller than the ones she gave Jack but it was something and that something was something Dempsey liked. Jack saw it immediately as Dempsey’s gaze grew captivated.
“And please,” Belle continued, “call me Belle.”
“Belle,” Dempsey murmured and he still hadn’t let her hand go.
“Perhaps we can move forward with what you have to share so Belle and I can get on with our Sunday,” Jack suggested pointedly, Belle pulled her hand from Dempsey’s grip and Dempsey grinned at him. Jack looked down at Belle. “I explained I’d spoken with Mr. Dempsey and what I asked him to do,” he reminded her of the conversation they’d had days before and he did this to share with Dempsey that Belle was aware of the situation.
She nodded up to Jack then to Dempsey then she informed them, “Coffee should be ready in a few minutes.”
Jack had no intention of sharing coffee with Mickey Dempsey. He wasn’t even going to ask him to sit down.
His blossoming Belle, however, had
other ideas.
“Please, sit, Mickey,” she offered, throwing her arm out to the couch.
There were times, Jack thought, when meek, mild and shy worked in his favour in regards to Belle. This would have been one of them.
Dempsey smiled and sat on the couch. Again with no choice, Jack took an armchair and was slightly appeased when Belle perched on the arm in the perfect position for him to wrap an arm around her hips. Therefore he did this without delay.
“Sorry to say,” Belle put in, “but I was eavesdropping. Small house, hard not to do,” she told Dempsey.
“What he says does affect you, my love, and it is your house,” Jack pointed out.
She looked down at him and whispered, “Right, of course.”
Jack gave her hips a squeeze and looked back to Dempsey. “Why don’t we continue?”
Dempsey nodded and did just that.
“As I was saying, although Bennett moved on, Caldwell did not. So, when Brenna Addison saved that child from drowning –”
Jack’s arm got tight around Belle’s hips even as he leaned slightly forward and whispered, “What?” at the same time Belle whispered, “Oh my goodness gracious.”
Dempsey’s brow furrowed. “Brenna saved a child from drowning. She nearly drowned herself doing it. It was one of the reasons she was so beloved. Didn’t you know that?”
Jack shook his head. “I paid little attention to the legend.”
“I hadn’t heard that either,” Belle said softly.
“I know you two are aware of the similarities in their story to yours, of course. But I thought you knew all of it. And all of it is near to identical to your own. Including Caldwell pursuing Brenna because of her beauty and popularity but also in order to win her in an effort to best Bennett. He made it clear after drinking heavily and bragging in pubs that he was keen to show Bennett his prize. That prize being Brenna.” Dempsey’s eyes moved to Jack. “I’m relatively certain this sounds familiar.”
“It does, indeed,” Jack agreed, his voice low and annoyed but he wasn’t annoyed.
He was uneasy.
“Although I can see why you’d think Caldwell is reincarnated in Cole,” Dempsey carried on, his eyes moving to Belle and giving her a gentle look before they shifted back to Jack, “I hope you can see why I believe this isn’t true. The initials are the same. The marital treatment is the same.” He again looked to Belle and muttered, “Sorry.”
“Please don’t worry about it,” Belle replied quietly.
Dempsey nodded then his eyes went again to Jack. “But the behaviour, as I understand it, is your brother.”
It was. Absolutely.
And this could mean that it was Miles who pushed Belle down the stairs. He’d lived at The Point all his life, grew up there. He knew every inch not only of the castle but of the land surrounding it. He could get to and in the house without being detected. He could get out the same way.
His brother. His own fucking brother.
“We need to talk to Miles,” Belle said and Jack looked up at her to see her looking down at him as she continued, “We need to ask him to let Cassandra touch him.” Then her head tilted sharply to the side as her eyes moved over his face and she asked, “Jack, are you okay?”
Miles would not do that. There wasn’t a chance in hell.
And he was most definitely not okay.
“We’ll talk later, love,” Jack muttered and looked back to Dempsey. “Is there more?”
Dempsey shook his head. “Not now. I thought it important to share my theory with you without delay so you could be aware your brother posed a possible threat. I’ve been loaned some papers, books, diaries, etc. and I have more reading to do, a few more people to talk to and if I find anything, I’ll contact you.”
“Next time, call,” Jack ordered and Dempsey’s lips quirked.
“Did any of the stuff you’ve read talk about magic? Witchcraft? Anything like that?” Belle asked at this point.
“None at all,” Dempsey answered then finished, “so far.”
“So I wonder how that third ghost…” she didn’t finish likely because she didn’t want to cast her mind back to losing their child and how she did.
But at her words, Jack realized she hadn’t put it together. She thought it was a ghost. She didn’t think, possibly couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought of Miles sneaking in and pushing her down the stairs, killing their child at the same time wounding her without thought that such a fall could kill her as well.
Miles had told him in the stables that Jack would pay. He’d vow to do it through Belle. And now, possibly twice, he’d tried. Once, he’d attempted to fill her mind with rubbish and prey on her fragility by planting ideas about Jack and Yasmin in her head.
Once, he might have attempted to take her away from Jack another way.
Lewis saw the “ghost”.
They needed to find Lewis.
Now.
“I’m sure the coffee is ready now, Mickey. How do you take yours?” Belle asked, moving from the chair.
“He takes it by ordering it from the coffee house down the street,” Jack replied for Dempsey, rising from his chair.
“Jack!” Belle snapped, her eyes moving swiftly to his and narrowing.
“We have to get to The Point as soon as possible,” he told her. “We need to report this to Angus and Cassandra. They’ve been making little headway for weeks. This could be a breakthrough.”
“Oh, right, that probably would be smart,” she muttered.
Jack looked to Dempsey to see him gazing fondly at Belle. “You’ll pardon our rudeness at not offering you refreshments.” He spoke with politeness but it was a thinly veiled order.
“Right, mate,” Dempsey replied.
Jack caught Belle’s eyes. “I’ll show Dempsey out. Then we’ll have a quick breakfast and head to The Point.”
She nodded, offered her hand to Dempsey who took it, to Jack’s way of thinking, for several seconds too long and, finally, Jack showed him out.
By the time he was back upstairs, Belle had his coffee ready for him and bread in the toaster.
They had toast, coffee and gave the dogs a quick walk. Then they came back and had a shower together that Jack decided, even though it was imperative to get back to The Point, would be a long one.
A very long one.
And in the end, it was a very, very long one.
Then, on their Sunday alone together, Jack loaded Belle and his dogs in his Jag and headed to a castle full of people.
* * * * *
As with every day since Jack broke through her grief, waking up with Belle meant the day started brilliantly.
As with everything happening in his home, the possibility of this continuing was unlikely.
And, upon arrival at The Point, their already ruined Sunday degenerated.
This was because Jack found he had more guests.
As they said they’d do, Angus and Cassandra had called in reinforcements. And after Jack explained he wished to speak with the not so dynamic duo in his study with Belle and no one else so as not to distress his mother with the news about Miles, he was introduced to them.
A brother and sister pair. Twins. They were Angus’s niece and nephew, Lachlan and Lorna McPherson.
“Oh my,” Belle breathed when the motley quartet sauntered into his study and he looked down at her to see she was gazing with shy interest at the twins. Or, more accurately, the male one.
With narrowed eyes, Jack took them in.
They were in their late twenties. Both ginger. And both, Jack was mildly pleased to see, didn’t appear in full Scottish regalia. Lachlan wore jeans, boots and a sweater that fit close to his broad chest. Lorna wore a jeans skirt, high-heeled boots, a form-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt and a long, colourful scarf wrapped around and around her neck.
And luckily, unlike Cassandra who was sporting what looked like six on three different places on her body including head, neck and hips, Lorna only had one scarf.
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The female twin was more than slightly attractive. She was petite and rounded, much like Belle, but with masses of thick, curling red hair, delicate features and bright blue eyes.
Her brother was surprisingly tall, towering at least six inches over his sister. His ginger hair was cropped short, the waves contained though longish and curling around his neck. He had a short clipped, red beard, craggy, dominant features with a high, strong brow all of this making him appear older than his twin.
But they shared the same startling blue eyes.
It took Lachlan McPherson approximately half a second to lock eyes on Belle and a half a second longer to grin a wolfish grin at her.
“Oh my,” Belle repeated even more breathily.
“Jesus,” Jack muttered and felt Belle start at his side.
Angus, not one to miss much, one of the few things Jack respected about him, didn’t miss this.
Therefore, he clapped his nephew on the shoulder and boomed proudly, “He’s a McPherson!”
This made Lorna roll her eyes and murmur, “Someone kill me.”
Lachlan, his gaze still locked on Belle, noted, “You’re prettier than your pictures.”
“Thank you,” Belle replied softly.
“By quite a bit,” Lachlan went on.
“Um… thank you,” Belle repeated, dipping her chin and looking under her lashes at him.
Lachlan’s wolfish grin turned predatory.
“Jesus,” Jack repeated, again on a mutter.
“Uh, Lach, just to remind you, the man standing right there has a soul that’s eternally bound to the woman at his side,” Lorna informed her brother then she finished bluntly, “There’s no way in hell you’re getting in there, mate.”
Her brother swung his head her way and tipped it down to catch her eyes.
“I know that,” he replied. “Doesn’t make her any less pretty.”
Lorna looked to Cassandra and shared, “He breathes therefore he flirts. This is my lot in life. Can you imagine being connected to him through blood and profession and having to put up with this constantly?”
“I can imagine being connected to him but not through blood,” Cassandra returned, eyeing Lachlan appreciatively, her words getting his attention and he turned his roguish grin her way.
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