Tonight? She wished he could leave sooner.
Her phone rang and she picked it up, expecting to hear Wes’s voice, but it was his sister Hayden.
“Hey girlie, I’ve got to get out of town for a few days. Wes is pretty upset about the club thing.”
Sophie grinned. “He’s mad, huh?”
“Yeah. He’s acting like I’m some sort of depraved lunatic for going there. This coming from the man who is dating one of the subs from the Cuff, and he goes there practically every weekend. I swear he should have ‘hypocrite’ tattooed on his forehead.”
Hayden’s husky laugh cheered Sophie up.
“So you’re leaving?”
“I figured I’d take a quick vacation. We have a house on Lake Michigan and I thought I’d go and spend a week there, let him cool off before I come back. You don’t need me here, do you?” Hayden’s tone turned odd and almost worried.
“I’ll be okay.” She hoped to God that was the truth. Although she and Hayden had only known each other a couple of weeks, she felt connected to the other woman and their growing friendship was deep.
“You don’t sound too sure. I guess if it was me I’d be nervous if left alone with all these men. Talk about a testosterone overload. Emery can be a dominating tyrant, Royce just a dominating ass, and I won’t even get into what my brother is.”
Sophie laughed, surprised at how easily Hayden could make her feel better. She’d never had many girl friends. She’d always been a loner and had never understood most of the women back in Kansas. Hayden was like her, different somehow.
“I think I can handle them, Hayden,” Sophie assured her.
“Okay, well call me if you have any problems. I’ll set them straight.”
“Thanks. Have fun on your trip.”
“Don’t worry, I will. Bye, Sophie.”
Sophie started to say good-bye but the line disconnected. A deep-seated ache settled in her chest and she felt suddenly very alone. It had always been hard to connect to people in general. With the dark history of Rachel’s abduction always looming large on the horizon, she’d stayed clear of people, except to write stories. As a journalist she could talk to people, interview them and stay distant. Emery, though, was her own personal sun—intense, overpowering—and he pulled her into his orbit. It was only a matter of time before he burned her up. She wanted nothing more than to be in his arms and turn to flames as long as his lips were on hers, his body pressed flushed to hers.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the bedroom door opened and Emery stood there, dressed in his dark suit, a blood red tie against his white shirt. Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered that same tie around her own neck, his hands smoothing it down her bare chest between her aching breasts. It had been the only thing he’d allowed her to wear except for her cuffs, in their bed. And it had been so erotic, decadent, to wear something that was so uniquely his.
His immaculate clothes were his armor; she knew that now. Her eyes dropped to the screen of her computer for a second, seeing Fenn’s face and a pain knifed through her ribs. She forced herself to feign a casual manner as she smiled at him, logged off her computer, and set it down.
“Hey.” She hoped her face showed more warmth than her suddenly rough voice.
“What’s wrong?” He crossed the room and joined her on the bed, curling one arm around her shoulders. He cupped her cheek and turned her to face him. “Talk to me.” Emery dropped his hand to her hands, his fingers gliding over the gold cuffs still locked around her wrists. They didn’t match her clothes, but that wasn’t the point. They were his mark of erotic ownership and she wanted to show them to the whole world.
“It’s just everything that’s happened. I think it’s starting to set in, you know?”
“You’ve been in shock. It’s only natural.”
Sophie shivered as guilt slithered up the length of her spine where it nested at the base of her neck and sank its fangs there, making her shoulders tense. Why did he have to be so perfect and understanding? It made her silence about Fenn seem so much worse. She did the only thing she could do to keep her lips sealed. She kissed him, praying he wouldn’t taste her betrayal when her trembling lips met his.
Finally he drew back and cupped her cheeks. “I want to take you somewhere.” He dropped his hands and took hold of her arm.
“Where?”
“A place I go to think sometimes.” He led her from the room.
* * *
Hayden zipped up her suitcase and checked her phone one last time. No new messages. That was good. Her brother Wes had arranged a flight to Colorado tonight. She’d called their family’s private pilot and gotten him to take her to their destination first, beating her brother’s request by a mere minute. She smiled with glee. Her bug on Wes’s phone was still intact and she knew everything that he knew.
Including the biggest news of her life.
Fenn Lockwood was alive, in Colorado, and in danger. She was going to get to him before Wes. She was tired of being his little sister and not her own person. No one liked being a shadow, especially not her. She would prove she was a woman to be reckoned with. She would rescue Fenn and bring him back and earn the respect of the community she’d been raised in. Returning to Long Island with the long-lost boy everyone believed dead, she would in a way return the innocence of her world. The northern shore of the island had suffered greatly after the kidnapping because the Lockwoods, a strong social and economic force in Weston, had withdrawn almost completely from life for at least a decade after losing Fenn. The golden gleam of promise that the mansions had basked in had long since been shrouded in the mists of the tragedy and it was time she burned away the heavy cloak of fog.
Maybe then her parents would stop pressuring her into situations that would leave her married to a wealthy man, who would start sleeping with a mistress the second their vows were spoken. Every girl she’d known in prep school seemed stuck in a bitter, loveless marriage and suffering the plights of mothers with spoiled children. Such would be a fate worse than death for Hayden. There had to be a purpose to her life, something that motivated her. She only wished she knew what that was.
She dropped her phone into her purse and gripped the handle of her luggage to lift it off the bed. She was ready to get out of here. Colorado would be a blessed change of scenery from the choking closeness of the elite community on the island. She loved it with all of her heart, but the people in it seemed determined to drive her insane with their petty concerns for money, clothes, and pride. Hayden would be happy to do without the glamour.
Twenty minutes later, she was easing back in the cushy seat of her family’s private jet. Her brother, Wes, wasn’t due to leave until an hour after her, thanks to her flight. The pilot was sure he could get her to Colorado and then get back in time to pick up Wes without her brother ever suspecting she’d gotten there first. He’d figure it out eventually, but she’d take the advantage of the head start while she could. If the pilot didn’t get back in time, Wes might have to fly commercial. Hayden sniggered at the image of her brother trapped in standard first class.
Hayden loved her brother, but as any person with siblings understood, you could love someone who drove you insane half the time. Wes was overbearing and overprotective. She had every right to explore her passions at the Gilded Cuff, just as much as he did. She was twenty-four years old, old enough to make her decisions and live her own life. If it took rescuing Fenn Lockwood to prove to Wes she could handle herself, then so be it.
Her head fell back against the pillowed headrest and she shut her eyes. She tried to imagine what Fenn would look like. He was probably as handsome as Emery was. She prayed he wouldn’t be as stubborn and frustrating as his twin. Sleep crept in at the corners of her consciousness as the exhaustion of the previous day caught up with her. Her images of Fenn were soon tainted with flames, the roar of an exploding brewery, and the terror of thinking Emery was dead. She had to find Fenn. She couldn’t watch Wes endure through that pain again.
She hadn’t even been born when the kidnapping occurred, but she’d grown up with beneath the cloud of sorrow and the distance her brother put around himself because of losing his friend. She shivered and slipped deeper into dark dreams of Fenn and the fate that awaited him if she couldn’t get there in time.
Chapter 18
POLICE ATTEMPTED TO GET THE SURVIVING CHILD TO SPEAK OF HIS CAPTIVITY, HIS BROTHER, AND THE THREE MEN WHO HAD HELD HIM. THE BOY WAS UNRESPONSIVE TO ALL INQUIRIES. PSYCHOLOGISTS BROUGHT IN TO EXAMINE HIM HAVE STATED THAT EMERY LOCKWOOD IS SUFFERING FROM SHOCK AND WILL LIKELY SUFFER FROM POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. AT THIS POINT, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO DETERMINE WHETHER EMERY WILL EVER BE ABLE TO SPEAK OF WHAT HE ENDURED.
—New York Times, September 30, 1990
The graveyard was a few miles from the Lockwood estate, nestled in a secluded part of the woods well away from paved roads. Sophie sat next to Emery in the front seat of his car of choice, a dark gray Porsche Cayman. Its engine purred seductively low as he turned the vehicle off the road and onto a gravel path heavily infiltrated with rebellious grass. The smooth ride turned jarring as they rumbled along. Sophie rolled her window down, letting the wind tug her hair wildly in different directions as she studied the surroundings. Thick copses of trees dotted the sides of the path, making it impossible to see much beyond the forests to any part of the land beyond them.
Wherever they were going, it wasn’t a place frequented by cars, or people. Emery kept his gaze straight ahead, his jaw set as he switched gears in the Cayman, slowing it down to a gentle roll. The thick scent of rain and wildflowers teased her nose. Turning the car around a narrow bend of trees, Emery stopped in front of a massive wrought-iron gate. Dead ivy vines clung to the gate’s elaborate scrollwork-styled entrance. A massive padlock hung around the gate’s connecting points.
Emery shut the engine off and unclicked his seat belt. “We’ll walk from here.”
Sophie joined him at the entry. Through it she could see about a quarter of a mile of land serving as a private graveyard, with a large, light gray stone wall sealing it away from the wilds that surrounded it.
“What is this place?”
“My family’s private cemetery. The Lockwoods have been here since the pilgrims set foot on North American soil.” Emery pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. He made quick work of the padlock and let it drop to one side of the gate as he opened it. The hinges creaked loudly, protesting the movement, but he pushed hard and they opened enough for them to slip through.
A chill settled into the base of Sophie’s skull and that ancient animal instinct of awareness that she was not alone took over. She slowly turned her head, seeking the eyes she felt were focused on her and Emery, but she saw no one in the woods. Only trees and shadows.
“It’s this place,” he whispered. “You always feel as though someone’s watching you.” He reached over and took her hand, gripping it firmly in his.
“Did I ever tell you about my Granny Bells?” she whispered back. Strange as it was, she felt safer whispering, as though it wouldn’t wake the dead.
“I know very little about your family, Sophie.” His eyes met hers as they walked. The implied I’d like to know more came with a gentle squeeze of his hand around hers.
She sighed. “I’m so used to asking everyone else about their lives, I forget to share my own.”
“I can see that,” Emery chuckled. They were walking down a worn path in the grass where dirt was more prominent from hundreds of years of feet stamping along a singular route.
“Well, I was born in Kansas. That’s where my dad’s family’s from. They’re farming folk, lots of brothers, sisters, hardworking types. My mother’s family is a little more blue-blooded. East Coast based. My mother’s mother, Grandmother Belinda—everyone called her Granny Bells—moved out with Mom to Kansas when she married Dad.” She couldn’t help smiling at the memory. Her father hadn’t been all that eager to share his wife with his mother-in-law, until he met Granny Bells. She was, as her father put it, a rare and unusual breed of cat, which was a polite way of saying the woman was a bit on the crazy side but more interesting than disruptive.
“And you liked her, your Granny Bells?” Emery’s eyes were warm as he paused in their walk. He leaned back against a tall monolithic tombstone and pulled her close so their waists and hips pressed together. He wrapped his arms around her, his fingers locking loosely at the small of her back.
“I loved her. She was a queer sort of woman and many people thought she was crazy, or that old age had made her that way. But I don’t think so. She used to tell me about our ancestors, the ones who lived in Salem at the time of the witch trials.” Sophie remembered the light in the old woman’s eyes when she spoke of magic and spells. “We used to talk, Granny and me. She’d tell me things that would sound crazy to repeat out loud, you know? But I swear, deep down I think they’re true. Like I was born with a sixth sense that sometimes surfaces when I need it to. I always knew which man was guilty of a crime when I started investigating. The police would have me come down to the station to see the suspect and I could just tell who it was. I’d get this feeling, like spiders were crawling all over me, and I’d just know. The police would have to have more than a gut feeling to find proof, but I didn’t. I’d do some digging of my own and then find a way to get the police involved when I found enough evidence, since I wasn’t bound by the law like they were.”
Sophie, who’d been looking away as she spoke, turned back to Emery. He was studying her, curiosity and understanding mingling with interest on his face.
“Sounds crazy, right?” she joked, but it came out a little forced.
He shook his head. “No more crazy than if I were to tell you that Fenn and I used to talk to each other in our heads. Not with words exactly, but more like images, sensations. I…” This time he looked away. “I never told my parents about it. But that’s how I knew he was dead. I felt that connection die the night I escaped.”
Sophie inhaled a breath. The old prickling on her neck began again, as it often did when she was close to a revelation.
“What is it?” Emery asked, his gaze astute on hers.
“So you can’t feel him anymore…Do you ever get a sense of anything, though? Something you don’t recognize?”
“Well…yeah…” He stared at her, hard, as though his brain was sifting through the evidence of something important. “There have been times when I’ve had these…I guess you could call them glimpses. I see myself in a mirror, but it’s not me, or I hear something that’s not actually hearable. I’m not explaining this well…” His cheeks turned ruddy.
“Emery, what if there was an explanation for that?” It had to be Fenn he was seeing and feeling. God, she wanted so badly to tell him the truth. His brother was alive.
“Oh, there is. I’m going crazy. It’s probably some form of PTSD or something.” His self-deprecating laugh sliced her heart.
He gestured for them to start walking again. “This way.”
He led her through a maze of both ancient and modern grave stones until they reached a place at the back of the cemetery. There was a lovely little area surrounded by three willow trees. Their long branches swayed low, rustling over the soft grass. Despite the breeze moving through the trees, there was a stillness to the place. Sophie shivered, very aware of the spirits that still lingered in the earth below her feet.
There was something ancient in the way the willows drifted, as though their branches were alive. Even when there was no wind, the trees would often seem to move of their own accord. The power that dwelt in nature was so often overlooked or drowned out by the modern rush of the day. But here, in this moment, it was impossible to ignore the rhythmic pulse in the ground and the trees speaking in hushed whispers of secrets belonging to the earth and the earth alone. Sophie remembered something her Granny Bells used to say. “Man has no power here, where spirits of the soil dwell.”
Sophie shuddered and the knot of tension in her stomach g
rew tighter.
There was one large tombstone in the center of the willow trees. An angel had been carved so that she was kneeling behind the headstone, her arms folded over the top of the grave marker and her forehead resting on her arms. Her wings were spanned out but the tips touched the ground, making her look like a wounded dove with injured wings. The scene was powerful, the angel looked as if she was weeping against the headstone, showing her deepest grief for the bearer of the stone.
FENN LOCKWOOD.
BELOVED SON AND BROTHER.
AND THE DEAD SHALL RISE…
“We never had a body to bury. I couldn’t bear to lead my parents back to the place where they kept us. I doubt we would have found him, even then. The men probably buried him somewhere else. My parents had to have a place for him, though. Funny, they never come here. I do, though. I talk to the stone sometimes. Other times, I don’t talk; I just remember.”
The gravity in his voice made Sophie’s eyes burn with tears. He reached out and touched the stone angel’s head.
“It’s nice to think angels are weeping for him, that he was loved in this life and the next. But nothing eases the guilt in here.” He tapped his chest above his heart. “I cost him his life. Me. It doesn’t matter that I was only a kid. He’s dead and I’m not. Survivor’s guilt or not, his blood is on my hands.”
It won’t be for long. She wanted to say the words, but she bit her tongue and held back. She had to, or he’d rush off to find his brother and get killed. She had to be patient, or else she’d lose him too.
Just hang on, Emery. Soon you and Fenn will be together. She vowed it in the deepest part of her soul. She would reunite them with her last breath if she had to.
* * *
Emery was sick of being in the hospital. The sickly sweet smell of death and illness filled his nose and the chill of the cold halls made his hands clammy. It made his skin crawl and horrible memories kept shoving to the forefront of his mind. He forced them back down, buried them as deep as he could. They’d come crawling back to the surface, refusing to stay dead. But everything was changing, after so many years of silence, and worrying about it all coming out in the open. People he cared about were getting hurt. He had to stop it, but how could he? It wasn’t as easy as just handing himself over to the man who’d kidnapped him. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to just surrender to the sick creep that had obviously come back for more.
The Gilded Cuff Page 26