by Rebecca York
“So you seduced her. Why didn’t you marry her?”
“I would have, if I could. But I was already married!”
Sara struggled to assimilate the information. She’d made certain assumptions, assumptions that weren’t quite right.
“Dora, my wife, was sickly. She couldn’t give me children. She couldn’t give me much of anything. My life was a wasteland. Then I met Jenna and fell in love with her. But I couldn’t give up my responsibility. I couldn’t leave a sick woman on her own.”
She could only stare at him, trying to take it in, her mind forced to reject old assumptions. If he was telling the truth.
From behind her, Delacorte cleared his throat, and she turned briefly to look at him. She’d forgotten that anyone else was in the room with her and her father. “You’re the one who got the child out of the cabin,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You saved her life.”
Sara’s head was swimming as she listened to the conversation.
Adam stepped toward the man who he’d thought was one of the witches. That was the biggest irony of all, Sara thought. He was no witch. He was her father.
“Do you have something to do with Sara’s coming back to town?” Adam demanded.
Montgomery gave a tight nod.
“What?”
He dragged in a breath and let it out. Addressing himself to Sara, he said, “I funded the grant to Granville Pharmaceuticals. I made sure they contacted you. I convinced Austen Barnette it would be good for the town to let you work in the park. And, of course, he liked the idea of making some money by renting Granville that cabin nobody in town wanted.” When he finished he looked relieved, like he’d finally gotten a burden off his chest.
“You?” Sara breathed.
“I wanted the association kept secret.”
“Why did you bring me back here—to that house?”
He lifted his hand toward her, then let it fall back to his side. “So you could realize your full potential. I knew you had your mother’s heritage. I kept pretty close tabs on you. As close as I could. The Westons were good for you. But I was afraid they had failed you in one important way. I was pretty sure they had made you turn away from…from your special abilities. So I arranged a job that would bring you to Wayland—to the cabin—because there’s something in the swamp—something that brings out the paranormal powers in people who have them.”
Delacorte made a sound of agreement.
Adam jumped back into the conversation. “So you wanted her back here. But you picked the wrong time. Others, with a similar heritage, have come back, too. To get revenge on the town. And she’s caught in the middle of it.”
The old man blanched. “No!”
Delacorte faced the old man. “If you know who they are, I want you to tell us.”
Her father—she was still having trouble thinking of him in those terms—looked helpless. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“The only one of…the people with power you knew was Jenna?” Delacorte asked.
“Yes,” he answered in a shaky voice. “She kept to herself. She didn’t like them. Then, when she was killed, there was only that one little article in the paper. And some bastard cut it out of the volume down at the historical society. But I put it back. I wasn’t going to let them wipe her out of existence.”
Suddenly, it was all too much for Sara to take in. She felt no affection for this old man. He had never acknowledged her. He had given her up for adoption years ago. Then he had brought her back to town and spied on her, without telling her who he was.
“I need to get out of here,” she whispered, turning and stumbling out the door.
ADAM followed her, hurrying to catch up, drawing her close, as she paused at the end of the front walk.
Shivering, she leaned into his warmth.
He wondered exactly what to say. “It must have been a shock, meeting him.”
“He brought me back here, but he still couldn’t be straight with me.”
“He was trying to do what he thought was best.”
“Are you defending him?”
“I feel sorry for him.”
“Why?”
Adam’s voice was raspy now. “He lost the woman he loved. And he gave up his child. He thought that was for the best.”
“For his best,” Sara answered, pulling away because she needed to be alone now. “Take me back to the park.”
“Yes.”
Delacorte came out.
“Did you get any more out of him?” Adam asked.
“No.”
“Keep us posted if he comes up with any more information.”
“You do the same if you find out anything more about…the situation.”
They both nodded, and Adam helped Sara into the car.
The sky was lightening as they drove back to Nature’s Refuge. Adam was thinking that tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day. Maybe he could snatch a nap sometime in the afternoon. Otherwise, he was going to be wasted by closing time.
In the gray light, he shot Sara a glance. She sat rigidly in the front seat, her hands clasped in her lap, unable to rid herself of the tension that was coursing through her.
A few miles out of town, both of them sat forward in their seats as they spotted a figure stumbling along the shoulder of the road.
It was a man running toward them, waving at them to stop.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
ADAM SLOWED, STARING at the wild man. He was black, dressed in a dark suit and shiny dress shoes, totally inappropriate for an early morning jog, and it took only moments to realize who he was.
“It’s James,” he said, pressing on the brakes, his mind scrambling for explanations. What the hell was Austen Barnette’s butler doing looking like a wild man out here?
“Yes. I remember him from the other day, from that command performance with Barnette.”
Adam screeched to a stop on the shoulder, and Austen Barnette’s butler came staggering toward them. He stopped beside the SUV, his eyes wild, his breath coming in gasps. His mouth working for several moments before he was able to speak.
“Praise the Lord it’s you! They got Mr. Barnette.” James sounded frantic. “They drug him off into the swamp.”
“Did you call the police?” Adam asked, climbing out of the SUV and going to the man’s side.
James shook his head violently. “No. They said they’d kill him if I did.” He went on breathlessly. “They cut the phone lines. They did something to my car,” he puffed. “I had to come down here to the road. Cars went by, but nobody would stop. Black and white, both. Damn them.”
The man looked like he was on the verge of having a heart attack. Adam opened the back door of the SUV and helped him in. The butler flopped onto the seat, leaning his head back for several moments before sitting up straighter.
Adam squatted beside the open door. Sara knelt in the front seat and turned around so that she was facing James.
“Okay, take your time. Tell me what happened,” Adam said.
“I was in my little room off the kitchen, where I relax in the evenings waiting for when Mr. Barnette calls. I didn’t know anything was happenin’.” He stopped and swallowed. “I looked up, and outside the window I saw…” He glanced at Sara.
“Tell me what you saw,” she encouraged.
In the illumination from the dome light, his dark skin turned ruddy. “A…a naked woman. With war paint all over her body.”
Sara kept her gaze steady.
Adam felt a jolt of recognition. Naked people with war paint. That sounded a lot like the witches in the swamp. “A white woman?” he asked.
“I only got a flash…you know.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “But, yes, she was white under all that paint. Then somebody came in and hit me over the head.” He reached up to gingerly touch the back of his head. “I guess I was out cold for a while. I came to all hog-tied—lyin’ on the floor.”
“What about the security guard
s?” Adam asked.
“Dead.”
“Oh, God,” Sara breathed.
“How long ago did this happen?” Adam asked.
“An hour ago, I reckon. It took me a while to get free of the ropes. Then I ran around the estate looking for the guards.” He stopped and swung his gaze from Adam to Sara and back again. “What am I going to do?”
“Call the sheriff.”
James jolted upright. “No! I told you. They’ll kill him if we call the law.”
“They told you that?”
“They left a note on the table in the front hall.” His gaze focused on Adam, and he blinked. “Inside it was addressed to you, but I had to read it!”
Adam touched his shoulder. “Of course you did.”
“They said that if you called the police, they would kill Mr. Barnette. They said they wanted half a million dollars. They said you should handle it.”
“Let me see it!”
James pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and Adam snatched it away. “Why me?” he asked.
“Maybe ’cause you run the park for him.”
He still didn’t know why he’d been singled out, but he scanned the message quickly. “Money?” he muttered, wondering what the hell was going on. Were these people planning to collect a ransom and leave town? It didn’t fit in with the image he had of them. He had been assuming they’d come to Wayland to make the old-time residents miserable. But he supposed he could have gotten it all wrong. They could have been planning to disappear and live high on the hog off Austen Barnette’s money.
“I picked up the note, and then I didn’t know what to do,” James was saying. “I jumped in the car, but it wouldn’t start. So I ran down the drive.”
“We can’t keep this a secret. We have to call the cops.”
He could see James’s teeth chattering. “They’ll kill him.”
“They may kill him anyway!”
“How can we take the chance?” the butler demanded.
Adam didn’t know. He saw Sara reach back and put her hand on James’s arm. Softly she said, “They took Mr. Barnette off somewhere. They won’t know we called the sheriff. They were just saying that to give themselves a free hand to do what they want.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
Adam looked at James. “I’m going to make the call. Okay?”
“Don’t put it off on me,” James muttered. “The note was addressed to you. You take the responsibility.”
Adam felt his throat tighten. But he knew that they couldn’t handle this by themselves. And he was pretty sure Mrs. Waverly down at the historical society wasn’t going to be much help. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed the number that Delacorte had given him. The sheriff answered on the second ring.
“Delacorte here.”
“This is Adam Marshall. I just picked up James Lucas along the road. He says that Barnette has been kidnapped. Taken into the swamp.”
“The swamp. Jumping Moses! Where are you?”
“About a quarter mile from the estate. And I took the responsibility of calling you. The kidnappers left a note addressed to me, saying they’d kill Barnette if the police got involved. They said they want money, but I don’t know if it’s true. So maybe you’d better come in some kind of unmarked car. And we’d better meet you up at the house, so we can get James off the road.”
“I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
“Good.” Adam turned to James. “He’s coming in an unmarked car.”
Starting the SUV, Adam headed up the road, then turned into the private drive that led to the house. There were dead men up there, and he didn’t want Sara to see them. But he needed to know what had happened, and he couldn’t leave her down on the road.
They pulled up in front of the house. “Anything inside that Sara shouldn’t see?” Adam asked.
James caught his meaning immediately. “The house is okay.”
They all went in. James showed them where he’d been sitting. The remnants of his rope bonds lay on the floor. It looked like the kidnappers had done a half-assed job of tying him up. Apparently, they’d just wanted it to last long enough to give themselves a head start.
Down the hall in the master’s den, there were signs of a struggle. Small items from the desk were scattered across the floor, and the desk chair was overturned.
Adam heard a car engine outside and tensed. “Stay here,” he ordered.
When he saw a pickup truck pull up in front of the house, he looked around for a weapon. But the man who climbed out was the sheriff, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. A baseball cap was pulled down over his eyes. Adam glanced toward the tree line. If somebody was spying on them, it wouldn’t look like the law had arrived.
Delacorte jumped out and trotted toward Adam. “Lucky your coming along and finding James Lucas,” he said.
Adam wondered if there was some kind of hidden meaning in the comment. He chose to answer with a tight nod.
“What do you think happened here?” Delacorte asked.
“Barnette’s gone.” Adam hesitated for a moment, then gave his theory. “I think the witches kidnapped him.”
“The witches? Why the witches?”
“James saw one of them through the window. He described a naked white woman with war paint. That’s a pretty good description of the group I saw in the swamp the night they came after me.”
Delacorte nodded. “It could be somebody imitating them.”
“Could be. But who would do that? Who would know enough to do it?”
Delacorte shrugged. “If it’s the witches, what do they want with him?”
“Well, they asked for a ransom. But that doesn’t fit what we’ve discussed about them.”
Delacorte nodded again. “Anything else you want to tell me before I talk to James?”
“He says the security guards are dead. He says one’s out on the grounds. The other is in the guest house where they were living.”
“Hard to get the jump on guys like that.”
Adam nodded.
“Okay. I’ll get some deputies up here to secure the area.” He spoke into the microphone attached to his collar as he followed Adam into the house, then down the hall to the sitting room, a location that the witches didn’t seem to have invaded.
Stepping back, he listened to the sheriff question the butler. James recounted the same story that he’d given them. Under Delacorte’s careful questioning, a few more details emerged.
Barnette had been nervous that evening. He hadn’t been out of the house for several days. He had called his lawyer for some kind of consultation. James had gotten the impression he was making a change in his will.
“For what?” Delacorte demanded.
“I have no idea, sir,” James answered with dignity.
“It sounds like he was afraid something was going to happen to him,” Adam muttered.
As they spoke, two deputies arrived, also dressed like the sheriff. They fanned out to search the area.
“Does Barnette have any relatives nearby?” Delacorte asked.
James shook his head. “No. But he’s got a sister in Atlanta.”
“Are they close?”
“No, sir.”
Delacorte scowled. “Then there’s probably no point in getting her all riled. But we need to set up recording equipment, so we can monitor the phone if they call with a location for dropping the ransom. And it looks like it will have to be here. I’ll leave two deputies with you. That’s all I can spare.”
“They won’t know the phone is tapped?” James asked.
“No.” Delacorte answered, then gave him some instructions for what to say if he received a call. “Try to keep them on the line as long as possible. Try to get them to let you talk to Barnette. Tell them you want to make sure he’s okay.”
Adam listened, growing increasingly restless as the conversation progressed, because he didn’t really think the ransom was the point.
He was pac
ing back and forth across the room when he finally reached the end of his patience.
“The longer we wait, the less chance there is that we find Barnette alive. I’d say we can risk two guys in the swamp if they look like they were out there for a nature walk or something.” He nodded toward Delacorte. “You and me. Your clothing is good. But a green shirt would work better. Or a camouflage outfit. I’ll wear something similar.”
The sheriff considered the plan, then bobbed his head. “Okay, we’ll use cell phones. If one of us finds Barnette or one of the…” He stopped short and started again. “If one of us finds the kidnappers, he calls the line I’ll have set up for information. But it’s a lot of territory for two guys to cover.”
“Not that far. They’re limited to the distance Barnette can walk. Or they can carry him.”
“What about by boat? They could go to one of the islands.”
“Let’s assume they aren’t into boats. They didn’t use them the other night. I think they’re not comfortable deep in the swamp, that they’ll stick to the fringes.”
Adam turned and focused on James. “I work for Mr. Barnette. I want to help find him. But I can’t go looking for him unless I know Sara is safe. I think the people who took Barnette have been threatening her, as well. Are there some relatives of yours in town where you can take her? That’s the last place where the kidnappers would look for her.”
James blinked. “You went to take Dr. Weston down to the east end of town?” he said, referring to the black community.
“I’d be honored to go there,” Sara said.
Delacorte looked thoughtful. “Yeah, it’s a good idea.”
FALCON stepped back and looked at the old man whose hands were tied around the back of a tree. Austen Barnette pressed his shoulders against the trunk and stared wide-eyed at the group of naked, painted figures around him, then brought his gaze back to Falcon. He was trying to keep his voice steady as he said, “Your name is John Ringell. You work for me. How dare you do this.” The words were imperious, but the tone was faltering.
Falcon laughed, conscious of the clan members in back of him. “You’re not the lord of the manor out here. Yeah. I go by that name sometimes. But not today. Today you can call me Falcon.”