He looked down at his watch again. Almost eight now. He supposed he could hang around here and wait for Colin and Daniela or Susan to return, but he realized he didn’t actually feel like dealing with any of them right now. Probably better to just head off to the airport, which was about twenty-five minutes away. He could get something to eat there while he was waiting for Rosemary’s flight to arrive. At least that plan would get him away from here for a few hours. Right then, he didn’t want to deal with any more ghosts, or upside-down crosses, or whatever other distractions might come his way.
As he walked over to his rented vehicle, his thoughts again went to Audrey, wherever she might be.
He hoped she was hanging on.
Chapter 5
Audrey couldn’t stop staring at the door, thinking that at any moment the handle would turn, and he…it…whatever you wanted to call it…would come into her room.
All right, it wasn’t really her room, merely the place the Whitcomb-demon had dumped her. But right then, it was the only sanctuary she had.
All remained quiet, though. An antique clock ticked on the mantel, but otherwise she couldn’t hear anything at all. Maybe the demon had sat back down at the table and calmly finished eating his meal, since he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
Even though she knew the effort would be futile, Audrey went back to the window again and tugged in vain at the latch. About all she accomplished was to chip her supposedly chip-proof gel manicure.
“Damn it,” she muttered. In the grand scheme of things, a chipped fingernail was certainly not the end of the world, but she’d already experienced enough setbacks today. She needed to feel as if she had control over something.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have any control over that window, her manicure, or her overall situation. Shapes seemed to move in the darkness, and the skin crawled on the back of her neck. As her eyes strained to see something of what was going on out there, she realized that all she’d seen were flakes of snow falling.
So the Whitcomb-demon had been right about the weather. Somehow, knowing that fresh snow was piling up outside made Audrey feel even worse about her predicament. If it got deep enough, neither of them would be going anywhere.
With a sigh, she pulled the curtains closed again, then went back over and sat down on the bed. She had to hope this was only a passing flurry, and that the snow wouldn’t be too bad, but she couldn’t count on that, not with the way her luck had been going lately.
Once again, she glanced over at the door, but there were no footsteps in the hallway outside, no unseen fingers fiddling with the knob. For all she knew, the demon had made those revelations about Whitcomb’s wife exactly because he’d wanted to mess with her head, wanted to have her imagine the worst.
Well, so far he’d succeeded, because Audrey couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d threatened to do the same to her, and how she wouldn’t even remember because he’d make sure those memories were erased. Although she’d really eaten very little, her stomach felt acid with worry.
She took a deep breath. If you let him get to you like this, he’s won, she told herself. Do something constructive!
Exactly what, she didn’t know. But she made herself get up off the bed and look inside the closet. It was completely empty except for an extra blanket folded on the top shelf. She wasn’t even sure what she’d been expecting to find — a new wardrobe? — but it was obvious this room had never been used for much of anything.
Likewise with the drawers in the dresser and bedside tables. Once she was done checking in all those, Audrey went into the en suite bathroom and poked around as well. At least in there she did find a few useful items — a travel-size tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush still in its packaging, a little pack of facial wipes, and a package of small black combs, the kind a guy might slip into his back pocket, just as unused as the toothbrush. Had the Whitcomb-demon put all these items here, or had the previous owners left them behind?
No, that didn’t make any sense. From what the demon had told her, he’d owned this place since the early 1930s, and the items she’d found in the drawer were new, with modern packaging. She was pretty sure that no one had any Burt’s Bees facial wipes in 1932.
So he’d put them there for her, but hadn’t bothered to supply a change of clothes? Or was she not the first victim he’d brought here? She supposed she could see that as a possibility, although she really didn’t want to think about what might have happened to those other women.
Maybe if Michael were here, he’d be able to tell whether the house was haunted or not. Audrey didn’t think she had that ability, despite the few odd psychic flashes she’d experienced over the years, or the way she’d been able to work so closely with Michael to shut down the demons in the Glendora mansion.
That memory got her thinking, though. It seemed that the two of them shared some kind of connection, and so maybe instead of sitting there and stressing about whether her captor was going to come in here and assault her, she should try to reach out to Michael and see if she could give him any sort of clue about where she was being held.
Just a few days earlier, that would have sounded like an insane plan, but Audrey had seen enough recently to know that the universe encompassed far more than she’d previously believed.
Once again, she went over to the bed. She paused to take off her boots and set them down in front of the nightstand, then sat in the very center of the mattress and crossed her legs. Not quite a real lotus position, but hopefully close enough that she’d be able to maintain it for a while. Her hands resting on her knees, palms up, she closed her eyes.
It had been a while since she’d meditated, and that wasn’t really what she wanted to accomplish here. However, she cleared her mind as best she could — no easy feat, considering what was still downstairs, eating the rest of its dinner — and focused on Michael, on the piercing gray eyes with their flecks of gold, the shaggy dark blond hair, the wide cheekbones and straight nose. More than that, she thought of the sound of his voice, the way his lips had felt when he kissed her…the strength of his body as it pressed against hers in the darkness.
No anger for him anymore, only need. Only her soul reaching out to his, hoping against hope that his spirit would recognize hers, would realize that the miles between them were really nothing at all. She didn’t have much information to give him, but she provided everything she could — a Victorian mansion somewhere in the mountains. Snow falling. And her very real fear that if he didn’t find her soon, she might die here, no matter what false promises the Whitcomb-demon had made her.
Michael…Michael….
The pizza didn’t look half bad. Actually, as hungry as he was, probably a lukewarm burger that had been sitting on the back of the grill at McDonalds for most of the day would have seemed delicious. He hadn’t ordered a beer, because he had to drive Rosemary back to the B&B, but he’d been tempted. Now that it was past nine-thirty, the day felt as though it had dragged on forever. He couldn’t really look forward to bed, however, because he had a feeling his worry for Audrey would prevent him from getting any real rest.
He picked up one slice of his pepperoni pizza, took a bite. Yes, that was pretty decent, and not as greasy as he’d feared. Good thing he’d bought two slices, since he could tell he was going to devour this first one in record time.
Just as he’d taken another bite, then reached for his bottle of water to wash it down, an image appeared in front of his eyes, so real that for a second he thought he must have suddenly teleported out of the Tucson Airport terminal and reappeared in another century.
Long velvet drapes framing a tall window. Heavy Queen Anne–style antiques, the kind his mother used to sigh over every time she got a new issue of her beloved Victorian Home magazine. A high ceiling with a painted glass fixture in the center. Outside the window, snow was falling.
And then, clear as a flash, he saw Audrey, her expression pleading, her hands outstretched.
Michael…Michael….
>
“Audrey!” Almost at once, he realized he’d blurted her name out loud, and the other patrons of the food court in the Southwest terminal were staring at him like he’d just lost his mind.
Maybe he had.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Thought my girlfriend was calling.” He tapped his jacket pocket with his free hand, as if to indicate the cell phone in his pocket, and the people around him seemed to shrug and return to their meals.
But the image was gone. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to reach out, but the connection — whatever it had been — appeared to be gone for good. Still, he’d gotten a few pieces of useful information.
Audrey was all right. Somehow, he knew the vision had come from her, wasn’t something that his own worry and fear had conjured out of nothing. The details had been too sharp, too distinctive. She’d been trying to tell him where she was.
Quickly, he set down his slice of pizza, pulled a pen out of his pocket, and began listing everything he’d seen — the dark Victorian antiques, the tall window, the light fixture. Dark molding framing the ceiling, a crystal knob on the door.
And outside, snow falling.
He set down his pen and got out his phone, went to one of his weather apps. Most of the country was clear on this late February day, except for a storm system pushing its way through the eastern half of Colorado before moving on to Wyoming.
Colorado….
That made sense. A lot of quite impressive mansions had been built there in the latter part of the nineteenth century, spurred by the boom of the mining years. And Colorado, while a ten-hour drive from Tucson, would have been easy to reach by air in just a few hours.
None of this answered his questions about who had taken Audrey, or why. But he could look for those answers later. The important thing was that he had someplace he could start searching.
Relief made him even more ravenous, and he finished his first slice of pizza and ate the second one in record time. Just as he was swallowing the last of the water in the bottle he’d bought, he heard the announcement for the arrival of Rosemary’s flight.
Perfect. He picked up his tray and dumped his trash in the can, then dropped the empty water bottle in the recycling bin next to it. After that, he went to wait in the baggage claim area, figuring that was where Rosemary would emerge.
And there she was, wild hair nearly hiding the jean jacket she wore over her tank top. Sequins glittered from her long skirt, and she was the recipient of several stares as she walked up to meet him. Michael couldn’t tell whether she noticed or not; with her decidedly bohemian way of dressing and her elfin prettiness, she was probably used to attracting attention.
“What is it?” she asked as soon as she got near him.
While he knew she was a strong psychic, he was still a little startled by how she’d been able to easily detect that something paranormal had just happened to him. “A vision,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it was from Audrey.” Briefly, he explained what he’d seen, and Rosemary nodded.
“She’s trying to reach out. I’m kind of surprised she was able to get past the darkness that’s been surrounding her, trying to hide her. She must be a stronger psychic than either of us thought.”
“It seems that way,” he agreed. “But now, let me take you to the place in the parking lot where I’m pretty sure Audrey was kidnapped. I’m parked nearby, so we can put your luggage away first. In fact, why don’t you let me take that?”
He reached for the rolling suitcase Rosemary had been lugging behind her, and she sent him a wry grin, obviously not quite sure what to do about this show of chivalry.
“Sure,” she said. “Lead on.”
They left the terminal and took a quick detour to where his rented Grand Cherokee was parked. After they’d stowed her suitcase and the duffle she’d used as a carry-on, he closed the lift gate.
“Over here,” he told her. “It’s just in the next aisle.”
Other than that, he didn’t want to say much about the location of the parking space in question. He wanted to see if Rosemary would pick up on it, would be able to sense that something bad had happened there.
Clearly, she wasn’t faking her psychic credentials, because as soon as she got within a few feet of the spot, she stopped dead, hands going to her mouth as if to prevent herself from letting out a cry of dismay. In the weird, bleached illumination from the lights of the parking lot, it looked as though she’d gone dead white.
“Oh, God,” she said at last, the words almost a moan. “He took her…he came here and took her and they drove away.”
“He who?” Michael demanded.
“He wore the face of a dead man, but he’s not dead. Not really. He’s…other.”
Cold worked its way down Michael’s spine, but he made himself ask calmly, “Who did you see, Rosemary?”
She shifted her position, taking a step with her hands outstretched before she stopped again. “A man, tall, with black hair and eyes, heavy brows.”
Whitcomb, Michael thought. I don’t know how, but it sounds like him. “I think you saw Jeffrey Whitcomb.”
Rosemary stared at him. “Hasn’t he been dead for decades?”
“Yes.”
She was silent for a moment, eyes half shut as though mentally reviewing what she’d just seen, then nodded. “It’s a mask. He’s wearing him like a suit.”
“Who is?”
Her eyes shut, and she shook her head. “He won’t let any of us know his name. But he’s like the ones infesting the Whitcomb mansion, except older and smarter. He took her because he needed to stop you two.”
These revelations made Michael go even colder, but at the same time, he felt a certain grim satisfaction. At least now he knew who Audrey’s kidnapper was, although that knowledge only sharpened his fear. Why the demon had decided to wear the face of a man who’d been dead for decades, Michael wasn’t sure. That didn’t matter right now. What mattered was figuring out where Audrey was being held.
“Let’s go,” he said, then added, “You’re amazing, Rosemary. Now we have a real lead we can work with.”
“Well, it sounds like Audrey gave you one, too, but sure.” Rosemary’s face was still pale, but she smiled, looking relieved that she’d been able to help in such a concrete way.
She followed him to his rented SUV, and he backed out of the spot, then paused to pay the attendant at the booth before they headed north toward the heart of Tucson and the Thunderbird B&B. For a few moments, they were both silent. Then Rosemary spoke.
“I wonder how he got her to go with him. I mean, he would have tried to avoid a physical confrontation — that would have attracted too much attention.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t know, but then again, if we’re dealing with a demon who’s taken on a human form, then he has a much bigger arsenal to play with than an ordinary man.”
“Why do you think he looks like Jeffrey Whitcomb?”
Again, Michael had no idea. However, a suspicion began to form in his mind. He replied slowly, gathering his thoughts, “I’m not sure, but the evidence seems to suggest that Whitcomb was messing around with dark magic long before he moved to Glendora. If he’d opened himself to demonic forces, then they might have taken control early on. Maybe it’s just that the demon controlling him is used to using that disguise. It’s not as though there are many people left alive who would even know what Whitcomb looked like.”
That was the simple truth, as far as Michael knew. Somehow, he had a feeling that Jeffrey’s daughter would have done what she could to shield her own daughters from the truth about their grandfather, and any information still floating around probably wouldn’t have been passed down to their children. It was easy enough to lose track of those sorts of things, especially if the parties involved wanted to make sure the facts were safely buried.
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Rosemary said. She shifted in her seat and gave him a hard look. “Sort of like what you’ve done, right?”
Th
e non sequitur might have taken most people by surprise, but Michael knew all too well that Rosemary picked up on things others would never have detected. He wasn’t sure she could read minds directly…but, on the other hand, he wasn’t sure she couldn’t.
Still, he had to deflect as best he could. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
She tilted her head to one side, dangly silver earrings glinting in the illumination from the street lights they passed. “Come on, Michael. It’s so obvious that you’re hiding something…that you’ve been hiding something for a long time. I’m not sure what it is, but I bet I’ll be able to figure it out after spending a bit more time with you.”
That was the last thing he needed. He’d brought Rosemary here to help with the search for Audrey, not to pick his brain.
Since he hadn’t answered right away, she apparently took that as a cue to continue. “And it’s what made Audrey so mad at you, isn’t it?”
Damn. Sometimes psychics could be a real pain in the ass.
He found himself clenching his jaw, then relaxed it enough to reply, “What went on between Audrey and me is none of your business.”
Rather than be offended, Rosemary just laughed. “Oh, come on, Michael. Get that stick out of your ass. I like Audrey — I think we could be good friends — and she doesn’t deserve to have you messing with her head.”
No, she didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve anything of what had happened to her since he’d come into her life, but here they all were.
“I wasn’t messing with her head,” he said. “It’s just…complicated.”
“You’ll have to do better than that. Life is complicated. Deal with it.”
This pithy advice did nothing to improve his mood. The last thing he’d needed was for Rosemary to assume the role of Audrey’s protector, but he would also be the first to admit that she probably could use more friends in her life. She seemed to live a pretty solitary existence — it hadn’t escaped his notice that she’d only talked about having to make accommodations for her clients in order to film the show, hadn’t mentioned anything about plans with friends.
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