“You don’t,” Jack agreed tersely.
“Belle wanted us to go gentle with the children,” Lachlan reminded him of something else he hadn’t forgotten.
“Then go gentle as you ask him all I’ve told you to ask him.”
“Jack –”
“He’ll tell you,” Jack interrupted. “He’ll want to help Belle. Be kind. Have a mind. But do it.”
There was another pause before Lachlan agreed, “Right, mate. I’ll get Lorna and we’ll do it tonight.”
“Excellent. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Right.”
Jack disconnected again, pulled in a deep breath and on his second one, decided there was nothing more he could do.
This did not make him feel better.
Then he walked through the cottage, disrobed in Belle’s bedroom and slid into bed beside her.
She wrapped herself around him immediately.
This made him feel better.
“Is Miles all right?” she whispered and at the sound of her voice he knew she’d never been asleep but, as was her way, remained in bed to give him some time.
“He’s fine.”
“Did everything go okay?” she asked.
“It’s fine,” he lied.
“Jack, you got here ten minutes ago and came to bed just now. Are you sure everything is all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Belle. I’m fine. Miles is fine. Everything is fine.” He pulled her closer. “Now, I’m exhausted and I need to sleep.”
Although it was wrapped warm around him, she held her body stiffly for long moments before she asked softly, “You wouldn’t lie to me?”
In the more than three weeks since Jack broke through her grief, she’d been happy. There had been dramas. He’d seen a shadow pass over her eyes on occasion and he knew her thoughts were dark. Twice, he’d seen her run her hand over her belly, her face set in wistful nostalgia. And it was not pleasant nostalgia, it was melancholic. He gave her these times, times she needed to process the grief for their lost child. Times, unfortunately, she would likely always have if, eventually, less frequently.
But mostly, she’d been content, her giggles coming more often, her smiles regular.
And there was nothing Jack wouldn’t do to make certain Belle remained happy.
Including lie.
“No, my love, I wouldn’t lie to you,” he whispered, gathered her closer in his arms and urged, “Now, sleep.”
It took her another moment before her soft body yielded against his and she whispered, “Okay, honey.”
She trusted him and he hoped to Christ nothing would happen to make her realise that this once, just this once, for her happiness, he didn’t deserve it.
“Goodnight, poppet,” he murmured.
“’Night, Jack.”
Jack stared at the ceiling as he listened to Belle’s breathing so he heard when it deepened and evened and he felt it when her body melted in sleep into his.
And he kept staring at the ceiling for long hours after that.
So long, he was awake when she woke.
Exhausted, beyond concerned and feeling a feeling he didn’t like that was worse than both, powerless, he still turned to her when he felt the sleep leave her. Then he put his hands and mouth on her and as he did, he took off her nightgown and panties.
But without any sleep, exhausted, when she was ready, he made her do all the work. He shifted her over him, guided himself inside and sat up. Holding her moving body in his arms, his head tipped back, his hand cupping hers tipping it down so her mouth was on his as she rode him until she gave it to herself and kept riding him until she gave it to him.
And later, pretending all was well, he had breakfast in her small kitchen with her eccentric mother and father then he packed his Belle and his dogs in his car and he took them home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Last One Down
Lachlan
Lach had just rammed deep into her sweet, hot, very wet snatch when the thought assaulted him.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered.
“Don’t stop,” the woman on her knees before him, her face in the bed, begged.
“Bad fucking timing,” he muttered, pulled out and put his hands to her hips as he listened to her gasp in protest, the sound driving straight through his dick.
He whipped her to her back, spread her legs then jerked them up with his hands behind her knees and he positioned.
He drove inside.
Moving her calves to round him, he fell forward. He planted one hand in the bed at her side, arm straight, the other hand he moved between her legs.
“Hurry,” he grunted as he thrust fast and deep and his thumb rolled.
“Oh God,” she moaned.
Lach’s eyes moved over her. Her masses of hair were spread across the bed, her creamy skin was stark against the dark sheets and her beautiful face was extraordinary in its excitement.
Christ.
His need quickened exponentially and not just because he had things to do.
“Hurry,” he ground out, grinding deep and circling tight and hard with his thumb.
Her neck arched back, her nails dragged down his chest and she repeated, “Oh God.”
Finally. There it fucking was.
Lach moved his hand from between her legs, dropped to his forearm, let go of his control and kept thrusting deep, fast and hard until he found it.
When he came down, her mouth was on his neck, he was breathing heavily into hers and her hands were roaming the skin of his back. He gave himself a second to recognise he liked the smell as well as the feel of her just as he liked the sweet, light way her hands roamed his skin before he pulled out and rolled off.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“A minute, baby,” he muttered, moved until he was sitting on the side of the bed and he reached an arm out toward his jeans.
“Lachlan?” she called and he felt the bed move as she did then he felt her hand slide up his spine right before her soft body pressed against his back.
Her scent came back to him.
Jesus, she really smelled great.
Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to, Lach couldn’t allow himself to concentrate on her smell.
He had his jeans in his hand so he pulled his out phone, activated the screen, touched his thumb to it, slid it on the screen, tapped it and put it to his ear.
It rang three times before his sister hissed in greeting, “This better be good.”
Christ, he didn’t want to know what he interrupted.
“Lewis was murdered first,” he replied and at his words, the woman at his back gasped.
Shit, what was her name?
Emma. Right, Emma.
Emma was a pretty name but not right for her considering she was far beyond a pretty woman.
There was nothing on the phone for several seconds then Lorna asked in his ear, “What?”
“Lewis was murdered first. He told us he was murdered then he was suddenly in the eastern turret. Myrtle was murdered second.”
“Lach, what are you on about?”
“Lorna, Lewis was murdered first. We know this because Myrtle’s ghost joined him after he materialised in the turret. And the police records reported Myrtle’s body was found in Lewis’s room.”
“So?”
“So, she could have heard something and gone to his room.”
“Or she could have been dragged there,” Lorna suggested.
“Either way, the wee boy was alone up in that turret when he saw his mother tossed from the cliff by Caldwell.”
“Oh my God,” Emma whispered and he felt her body leave his back.
He ignored this as Lorna repeated, “So?”
“So, wee Myrtle wasn’t dead yet.”
“Lach –”
“As far as we can tell from the timeline Lewis gave us, he materialised directly after he was murdered. Moments later, he reported he saw Caldwell and his mother outside in the s
torm. Caldwell was looking over the cliff and Brenna was gone when Myrtle’s ghost joined her brother. If Caldwell was outside throwing Brenna off a cliff, who was inside smothering Myrtle?”
“Oh my God,” Lorna breathed as it hit her.
“There were two of them. Caldwell had a partner. He killed Brenna while someone was inside smothering the children.”
“Fucking hell,” Lorna whispered.
“If Myrtle came into the room, she could have seen the assailant. And definitely she would have seen him if he dragged her there prior to killing her. And, Lor, we didn’t question Myrtle.”
“We need to get to The Point,” Lorna decided.
“Yeah, we bloody do. Where are you?”
“Plymouth.”
“I’m in Exeter. Get in your car. I’ll meet you at The Point. You call Cassandra.”
“You calling Uncle Angus?”
“He’s already there. The party is tonight. I’ll call him and get him to talk to Belle. Lewis is protective of his sister and Belle’s protective of both of them. Uncle Angus is going to have to talk her into letting us talk to Myrtle.”
“Is Cassandra there?” Lorna asked.
“I don’t know. She was invited but she had a job and I don’t know if it’s done. Find out,” he ordered. “Get her ass there. We have to talk to Myrtle then we have to figure out what’s next.”
“Right. On it and outta here. See you at The Point.”
Lach touched his screen then he got up and swiftly moved, carrying his jeans across the room to the bathroom in order to deal with the condom.
When he came out, he had his jeans on and he moved directly to his jumper on the floor.
Emma was in bed, the covers tucked tight around her naked body. She was sitting on her ass, her legs curled into her chest, her arms wrapped around her calves, her eyes on him.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked quietly as he tagged his jumper from the floor, straightened and prepared to pull it on.
“You don’t wanna know,” he muttered and yanked it over his head.
“I’m thinking you’re right,” she whispered as he pulled the jumper down to his waist. “But you seem worried and, uh, we just had sex and it looks like you’re leaving.”
At her words, he focused on her.
She had great hair, dark, glossy and a lot of it.
And she had a fantastic ass.
He moved to the bed, put a fist into it, leaned toward her and touched his mouth to hers.
Then he moved back and caught her brown eyes.
Damn, but she also had great eyes.
“My job is strange and there’s some danger,” he told her, his burr soft and gentle, his mind processing the fact that her eyes getting wide was all kinds of cute. “To me but also to the people I do it for. A month ago, I left a job because there was nothing more I could do. No information to get, the trail was cold, the story dead and nothing was happening. It had been weeks and nothing. There were other jobs to do and we had to do them. So we made certain the protection was strong and we left. But I just figured out we missed something.”
Her brows went up. “And you remembered that while you were inside me?”
He grinned and whispered, “Sorry, love. My job is intense and when I say that I mean sometimes lives are at stake.”
She held his eyes a moment before she muttered, “At least whatever it is has to do with kids being murdered and lives being at stake. I suppose that’s more important than um…” she threw out a hand to indicate her bed and finished, “whatever.”
He liked that she understood, not many women would and he knew this because the few he’d tried to explain it to didn’t so he no longer bothered.
He liked it enough that his grin turned into a smile and he leaned in again, catching her at the back of her neck. He pulled her to him and kissed her, this time longer, deeper and wet.
She tasted great too and that night he discovered it wasn’t just her mouth that tasted good.
She was blinking at him and looking dazed when he let her go.
It was a good look but, also unfortunately, at that moment it wasn’t a look he could get lost in.
So Lach moved away, grabbed his socks and boots, sat on the bed and pulled them on.
He was swinging his leather jacket on and walking to the door when she called out, “Lachlan?”
He turned and looked at her.
“Aye?”
“Be careful,” she whispered.
He didn’t have time but the look on her face, the memory of her heart-shaped ass in his hands and tipped up for him to take, all that hair, her warm brown eyes soft on him and the sweet way she said that, he went back to the bed and kissed her again.
In the hall of her house, heading to her door, hearing the rain pouring down outside, he pulled out his phone to call Uncle Angus.
* * * * *
The Other
She stood beside the prone body of Angus McPherson on the floor in the corner of the room in the servants quarters where she’d lured him.
The blood dribbled from his forehead into his eye and off his red nose.
His phone rang.
She reached down, pulled it out of his limp hand and looked at the display.
Then she put it to the floor, lifted her foot and smashed it with her heel.
The other ones, she hadn’t smashed. In her time skulking about the house, she’d just collected them, turned them off and hidden them.
She didn’t know why she smashed that one.
But it felt good.
She turned the lights out when she left and was certain to lock the door.
* * * * *
Mickey
Mickey was grinning at the female bartender and lifting his new pint of lager to his lips when his phone rang.
He pulled it out of his back pocket and looked at the display.
He felt his brows draw together, his eyes went back to the bartender and he muttered, “A minute.”
She jerked up her chin and wandered down the bar.
Mickey took the call and put his phone to his ear.
“Dempsey,” he answered.
“Mr. Dempsey?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. This is strange…” she trailed off.
When she didn’t speak for some time but didn’t disconnect, Mickey said into the phone, “Can I help you with something?”
“I, well, you’re going to think I’m all kinds of barmy but, well, I’ve spoken with Dr. Holmes and he gave me your number to call you.”
The minute she mentioned Holmes’s name, Holmes being a historian with a doctorate, a speciality in Cornwall and a sub-speciality in famous local crimes including the Bennett murders, Mickey’s back went straight and she had his complete attention.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mercy. Mercy Richardson.”
“Ms. Richardson, why did Dr. Holmes tell you to speak with me?”
“He says the dreams I’m having are, well, he says you’d be interested in them.”
Dreams.
Bloody hell.
“And what dreams are you having, Ms. Richardson?” Mickey enquired.
“They’re very, erm, strange,” she whispered then said no more.
“Please tell me about them,” Mickey coaxed, not feeling good about this mostly because Bennett made it clear he didn’t feel good about the fact that nothing came of all the work and research Mickey and Bennett’s crew of whoever they were had done a month ago.
Mickey was convinced the spirit of Caleb Caldwell had been fucking with Bennett’s head. One last shot before, if all this lunacy was true, Caldwell was sent straight to hell.
Bennett was not convinced of the same.
With absolutely nothing left to find and nothing left to do, Bennett’s team had disbursed.
That didn’t mean Bennett had to like it. He didn’t and he made this clear.
He also had no choice and he made
it even clearer he liked that even less.
“All right,” she said in his ear, taking him from his thoughts, “well, first, I’ve been having them for months. I tried to remember when they started, Dr. Holmes said that might be important, but I don’t know exact. But I do remember they started a few weeks before all that news hit with James Bennett, The Tiny Dynamo and James’s brother, Miles. I remember that.”
Blood hell.
“Right, so you started having the dreams, then…” Mickey prompted.
“I know you probably think it’s weird that I told you that about, well, Belle Abbot and James Bennett but, I don’t know. I think it’s important. Because, at the time, I thought I was dreaming about them. It felt weird because, you know, they were from another time and everything. Like, they didn’t look like them, really, but still… they were. Then, bang! They’re in the paper and they’re together. It really freaked me out.”
“As I suspect it would,” Mickey muttered, seeking patience. “What else? Most important, what did you dream?”
“Okay, now, I know this all sounds bizarre –”
“How about this,” he cut her off. “Just assume I won’t think it’s bizarre. All right? You don’t know me but rest assured, I’ve seen and heard a lot, Ms. Richardson, so just tell me your story and don’t worry what I think about it. Yes?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Then, well, okay, so you won’t think it’s bizarre when I say it isn’t like these dreams are dreams. It’s like they’re, well… memories.”
Bloody fucking hell.
“Go on,” he urged.
“The thing is, there’s another man.”
Good Christ.
“And…” Mickey prompted.
“And he’s with a woman. And I see them. They don’t see me. I think, well, it’s crazy but I think I’m like a servant or something. And they don’t see me or they don’t care that I’m around. I exist but I’m not important. But, and Mr. Dempsey, this is disturbing as well as weird and it’s the reason I went to Dr. Holmes. I asked around, who to talk to because I’m scared to go to sleep, it’s that disturbing. And this is because, first, okay, I know you said don’t say anything is crazy but this is. See, she’s a witch. An… actual… hocus pocus witch. And worse,” she cried, warming to her theme, “they’re plotting a murder. The murder of two children and a woman. And the woman’s name is Brenna.”
Lucky Stars Page 48