There were two men on the steps, rain glistening on black coats. Their faces were expressionless.
Ian kept his hand on the door, one eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?”
“Sorry to bother you, sir.” The taller man reached into a pocket and flashed a badge. The logo of the Sussex Police looked authentic, Ian thought, but the flash of the image had been too fast for certainty.
Ian frowned, forcing up a look of surprise. “Police?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s official business. Could we come in, sir?”
“Of course.” Ian opened the door slowly. “Is something wrong?”
“I am Inspector Hampton. Sorry to trouble you so late.” The taller man glanced up the broad staircase. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Ian Woods.” It was the pseudonym Ian usually used. Only a handful of people knew the name, and it would cover him until he understood exactly what was afoot. “Come into the library, please. The family is away, but I can manage to round up some tea for you. Perhaps something stronger, if you care for it, Inspector?”
“Nothing for me. As we’re on duty, I’ll get straight to the point.” The man in the dark coat followed Ian into the small study on the abbey’s first floor, glancing around alertly. Something about that look sent another instinct of warning up Ian’s spine.
“I hope there’s been no crime in the village. It’s general very quiet down here.”
“I’m afraid there has been a crime. We were tracing an escaped prisoner from Hastings. She got away in the storm. We’ve been going house to house, warning the residents.”
“A woman, you say? Good Lord, what is the world coming to?” Ian moved to the fire, careful to keep his left shoulder to the wall so that his right arm was free. “But we’ve seen no one here. It’s all been quiet.”
“You’re certain of that? No one has come with a story of a flat tire or a car breaking down? Maybe an excuse that they were lost?” Again the inspector’s sharp eyes roamed across the room.
He looked like a man who would miss nothing, Ian thought.
“Nothing at all. I wish we had something better to report. It would be a pleasure to see this criminal brought to justice.”
The man in the black raincoat nodded slowly. He raked a hand through his wet hair. “I should warn you that this woman is lovely. She has used her beauty to bring several men to their deaths. She preys on the very wealthy. Judging from the house, you might fit that bill, Mr. Woods.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I live very simply. I have my dog for companionship and that’s all I require.” Ian gave an awkward laugh, as if he was a little embarrassed by this admission of his simple lifestyle. “If you leave me your card, I will be glad to contact you should I have anything to report. It’s the least I can do.”
The man near the door pulled a card from his pocket. The crisp vellum bore the imprint of the Sussex police force. This too looked authentic.
But paper was easy enough to forge, Ian knew. “Anything I can do to help, Inspector.” Ian waited, letting a hint of impatience tighten his features. “You’re sure you wouldn’t care for a brandy? It’s damn cold out there.”
“No, we had better be on to the next house. It is going to be a long night. They’re forecasting an ice storm before dawn.” The man turned abruptly at the door. He bent down and pulled a pale scrap from the carpet.
Ian cursed silently when he saw the piece of wet fabric. He remembered that thin cotton. It must have torn from her dress. Worse yet, there was a dark bloodstain at one corner.
The inspector glanced at Ian. “Yours, Mr. Woods?”
Ian gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m afraid it is. I hurt myself earlier. I was out shooting and I slipped in the rain. I ended up shooting myself in the boot. Damned embarrassing. Didn’t want to mention it, Inspector. Nothing a man wants to boast about, you know.” He reached down to his leg and winced. “Hurts like hell, if you want to know the truth of it.” He gave another embarrassed laugh.
The inspector nodded slowly and slipped the piece of cloth into his pocket. “As you say, it’s nothing you would want to brag about.” His eyes moved to his unsmiling companion. “But since she is a dangerous criminal, you wouldn’t mind if we had a look around would you? Through the back rooms. Upstairs too.”
“Of course. Be my guest. But the abbey is completely deserted. Only myself and the old butler are in residence.”
In a quick jerk of the wrist, the man sent his companion forward, out into the hallway. The man moved silently back to the kitchen.
Ian sat down on the edge of the big mahogany desk and reached down, triggering a silent alarm. Marston would see that the woman was out of sight.
Ian leaned down to pour a liberal measure of sherry into a crystal glass. “Take your time, Inspector. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here and nurse my drink. My toes have begun to throb most damnably.”
The man gave a look of distaste, dismissing Ian as an utter fool.
That had been Ian’s intention.
He did not follow when the officer moved out into the hall. There was no reason. Ian had already made certain that the abbey’s security cameras were functioning perfectly. They would tell him exactly what he needed to know.
When footsteps rang down the stairs ten minutes later, Ian ran a hand through his hair, leaving it bristling and unruly. He tugged his jacket askew and splashed sherry over the old tweed.
Perfect. Now he was the very picture of a drunkard well into his cups.
“All finished, are you? No devilish felons discovered in the Long Gallery, I hope.” Ian gave a rough laugh. “I wouldn’t mind a little company tonight, as a matter of fact.”
“Not this kind of company, you wouldn’t.” The officer swept a dismissing glance as Ian sagged drunkenly against the wall.
“Of course. Quite right. Wouldn’t care to be cut up into pieces in my bed. That is what she does? Uses a knife?”
“Hardly. Poison is more her style. I’d be careful what you drink tonight, Mr. Woods.” The inspector pulled his wet raincoat on. “Be sure to call me if you have anything to report. We will be in the area.”
Somehow he made it sound like a threat.
As they moved to the door, Ian moved awkwardly after them, one hand to the wall in a further display of inebriation. “Well then, stay dry. Or as dry as you can. One hell of a storm, no mistake about it.”
The inspector turned back. He seemed thoughtful. “You say there’s no one else here. Only you and the old butler?”
“That’s right.” Ian felt the hairs stir along the back of his neck.
“You mentioned a dog. Where is he?”
“Oh, I expect he’s out in the storm. Likes to hunt. I give him free rein of the grounds.”
The inspector nodded slowly. “Good security.” His hand moved to his pocket. Ian moved back, seeming to stumble, and his hand slid to the Berretta behind his back.
Light shone on the driveway. A car motor growled and came to a stop. Light footsteps raced up the drive.
The doorbell rang.
Ian didn’t move.
The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “Are you in a habit of expecting company this late, Mr. Woods?”
“It’s an old friend from London. He was due quite a while ago. I suppose the storm delayed him.” Ian shuffled past and leaned against the door for a moment, puffing loudly. When he opened the door, he blocked the view with his body and made a quick movement of warning with his fingers.
Izzy Teague stared at him and then nodded.
“About time you got here. I expected you hours ago, Harris.”
“Traffic from London was a nightmare.” Izzy gave a booming laugh. “I hope you have some of that vintage Draycott port waiting for me.”
“None better. But there’s been a spot of a problem. Some kind of criminal has escaped. The inspector from Hastings came to alert residents in the area.” Ian turned, holding the door as if he was about to lose his balance. He gave another embarrassed laugh.
“Enough sherry for me, I’d say.”
He moved back and waved Izzy Teague inside. The man’s chiseled mahogany features were damp with rain as he studied the two men in the foyer. “Police, is it? What’s going on?”
The inspector glanced outside at Izzy’s car. “A dangerous criminal has escaped. She’s still somewhere in the area. If you see anything unusual, contact me immediately. Don’t try to handle her yourself. She’s more dangerous than you can imagine.”
“I came to England to relax, not get swept up in one of your devious mysteries. And since I’m half frozen myself, perhaps you’ll excuse me. I’m going to warm up at the fire.”
“I didn’t catch your name.”
“Ty Harris.” Izzy shrugged out of his leather coat. “Specialty furniture importer. Offices in London and on Peachtree Road. Atlanta, Georgia.” Izzy flashed a grin and held out a business card. “Call me if you’re interested in some excellent reproduction Georgian furniture, Inspector.”
The policeman studied the card carefully and slid it into his pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Harris.”
His lips flattened as he saw Ian leaning against the wall, looking more drunk than ever. “Best to stay indoors tonight. The rain will be turning to ice before morning. Dangerous conditions for walking—or anything else.”
Ian nodded and smoothed his rumpled shirt. “No problem there. No intention of going out tonight, Inspector.”
At the door, the inspector turned. “By the way, there was no record of the name Woods listed as owner of this property. The house and grounds belong to the Viscount Draycott and his family, do they not?”
“So they do. Nicholas Draycott has gone off on holiday. I think he’d had enough of all the Christmas bustle and folderol. He asked me to pop around and keep an eye on things in his absence.”
The inspector nodded slowly. “I see. Then I will leave, with another reminder that you stay indoors tonight. You can reach me at that number on my card should you need me.”
Ian gave a leering laugh. “That I will, should anything turn up. Or if anyone turns up.” He clicked his tongue. “A female murderer. Beautiful, too. Gad, what is the world coming to, I ask you?”
But the man standing in the library ten minutes later looked anything but casual or inebriated. Ian’s face was grim as he watched Izzy set up a high-tech laptop computer and connect it to a freestanding hard drive.
“When she said the woman’s name, she told me that they had killed her. Maybe you’ll find a record of a crime in your database. But I warn you that she wasn’t making much sense. Given the rain and the cold, along with her wound, I’d say she was in shock.” Ian paced impatiently. “As soon as you get your search running here, I want you to have a look at her. She seems stable, but I’m taking no chances. If she needs to be seen at a hospital, I’m driving her there tonight.”
“Not possible. The conditions were bad when I came down, and they have already begun closing the major roads. We’ve got a nasty ice storm headed our way, my friend. You keep her immobile and warm, and I’ll handle the rest.” He looked up, frowning as Ian continued to pace. “Why don’t you go upstairs and start now? Be sure that she doesn’t get up. Keep her warm. Use blankets and hot water bottles, whatever you like. If she wants water, give her a glass with a straw to sip through. No food. No medicine. If she wakes up and is lucid, call me.” Izzy shook his head and went back to work. “You’re going to walk a hole in that carpet if you keep pacing that way.”
Ian frowned, unaware that he had even been moving. Why did the weight of responsibility hang on him so heavily tonight? He stabbed a hand through his hair and shrugged. “I’ll do that. Let me know what you find out about those police officers who arrived so conveniently.”
“Count on it. If that chatty one is an inspector from Hastings, then I’ll eat my hard drive,” Izzy said coldly.
The same suspicion had already struck Ian. He walked to the window and pulled back a curtain. The cars had gone now. Nothing seemed to move out in the stormy night. “Calan MacKay is due shortly. You know him, I think?”
“Well enough. Although I doubt anyone knows all there is to know about our Scottish friend. What you’re telling me is that he’ll be outside, keeping an eye on things? Even though we won’t see him.”
“Exactly.”
“Nice to know. If the police who might not be police come back, they won’t know what hit them.” Izzy flashed a cold grin. “Someday maybe you and Nicholas Draycott will tell me the whole story about your friend from Scotland.”
Ian walked to the door. “Some day perhaps.”
But it was a lie. Ian would never speak of what he knew about Calan MacKay. Calan’s story and tangled secrets were his own, to share or not to share.
Right now Ian had a different set of secrets to untangle.
Clouds raced before the ragged moon. Wind banged at the old casement windows and lightening flickered over the rooftop.
One shadow, darker than the rest, slowly took on shape. Polished boots gleamed beneath darkest velvet and white lace that fluttered at wrist and collar.
Danger stalked the abbey this night, and Adrian Draycott saw that danger clearly. The threads of memories trailed back for centuries. Not by accident did the players find themselves within the abbey walls again.
Fate had brought them here. Or love.
He had tried to help them centuries ago, but they had been betrayed. His eyes gleamed in sudden fury against the shadows.
He watched the sleek black car race through the rain toward the abbey’s gate.
Now the betrayal had come again....
Ian wasn’t sure what he expected to find.
She might have been pacing. She might have been exhausted and withdrawn.
Either way, he was going to keep her in that bed, safe and immobile for the rest of the night, just as Izzy had ordered. He nodded to Marston, clearly taking his guardian duties seriously. “Why don’t you go have a rest now, Marston? Things are quiet and our police friends are gone. If they come back, Izzy will pick them up on the security cameras.”
Marston nodded and stood up, rubbing his back as if it ached. “I won’t sleep, but a spot of tea would be nice. Can I bring you something while I’m in the kitchen, Commander?”
“No need. I’m going to try to rest here. If anything changes, I’ll use the house line to buzz you and Izzy.”
“Very well. I will be available, as always.” The butler nodded gravely and strode away to the back stairs.
Marston is too old for this kind of thing, Ian thought. But tonight they had to use all their resources at hand.
As he touched the door, Ian caught the sudden smell of roses. Rich and perfumed, the fragrance spilled around him, as if from a glorious summer afternoon.
He shook his head, fighting the old abbey’s tricks, and walked inside.
Firelight flickered over antique carpets and fine chintz furniture. Velvet curtains covered the tall casement windows. But Ian saw none of that. His whole focus was locked on the woman in the big bed, her hair a dark cloud on the white pillows. Her eyes were closed, but she stirred restlessly, whispering.
Ian moved closer, hoping for some kind of clue to help Izzy in his search.
“T-told you. Don’t go, Nina. Not yet. Wanted to meet him. Do some research. It all seems too fast.” Her voice broke. She stretched her hands out to the darkness and sat up sharply. “No. Don’t hurt her.”
In the silence her eyes blurred.
Suddenly she saw Ian, sitting in the little chair beside the bed. Her mouth opened in surprise. “Where am I?”
“Draycott Abbey.”
The woman frowned. “I remember that.” Her questions stopped when she reached up, feeling the outline of the bandage at her forehead. She winced as her fingers touched the corner of her eyebrow.
She was too pale, Ian thought.
She looked exhausted.
“Who are you?”
“Commander Sinclair. Metropolitan Polic
e Service, ma’am. I found you wandering on the abbey grounds in bad shape. You’ll be safe here. The roads are hellish tonight, with the storm getting worse, but if you need something, let me know. Marston has come up twice with soup and tea. He takes it as a personal affront that you’re not well enough to eat his specially made food.”
“Marston.” She said the word slowly. “Yes, I remember. He brought me here earlier. But there was something else. Something I needed to do—“ She blinked hard, frowning as if in pain.
“It can keep. Why don’t you lie back and get some sleep? I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
. “It’s so beautiful, this room. It’s been so long since I felt safe...”
Her breath eased out in a husky sigh as she studied the carved fireplace and the elegant portraits. “I’ve always loved this house.” Her voice was a mere whisper now. “Adrian—he told me that I should paint here in summer, with all his roses abloom. I finished the painting, but never had time to show him. We waited, he and I. But you never came back…”
“I?” Ian leaned down, frowning. There it was again, this odd delusion of hers that they had met before. “Who is it that you mean? I’m certain we never met.”
“Oh yes, but it was long ago. You don’t remember that afternoon, on the river near Oxford? My parasol snapped. You jumped into the water to retrieve it. You were the perfect gentleman.” Her lips curved, as she closed her eyes. “But you were less than a gentleman that night, in my coach as we returned to London. Your kisses were most ardent, as I recall, my love.” Her voice broke away in sudden coughing.
Ian sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands. “Your coach? In London?” None of it made any sense. It had to be a delusion from her state of shock.
But as Ian looked down, his hands seemed to move. His long fingers entwined with hers in a way that felt painfully familiar. He brought their linked hands to his lips and kissed the curve of her wrist.
So precious.
So achingly familiar.
Christmas at Draycott Abbey Page 4