by Tarah Scott
She squinted. What the—a secret passageway. And it was opening! Margot grabbed the mouse, and hit the button to close out the Blackberry window. The scraping grew louder and a sliver of light struck the desk beside her. She closed the hidden files window and yanked the retractable USB cord from the computer. The cord snapped back into the case with an audible snap as Margot dropped to the floor.
She scrambled under the desk and hugged the Blackberry to her breasts as she pressed into the corner. If Cat was returning for another tryst with Franklin Williams, Margot would shoot herself. The door swung fully inward. Cat stood in the entrance. Margot’s pulse jumped. On a desk behind Cat sat a laptop. A hidden computer.
She was an idiot. She’d wondered where secrets would be kept in a three hundred year old Scottish castle, but hadn’t considered a hidden room. Some cop she was. This was one mistake she’d never recount to the boys back home. Cat stepped from the secret room and half a dozen flickering white candles on a silver tray came into view on a table to the computer’s right.
Margot’s blood chilled. The candles illuminated a small, white doll dressed in a pale blue dress that leaned against a silver box in front of the candles. Hair made of thin strips of white paper hung to the doll’s shoulders. Black eyes and a red, heart-shaped mouth were clearly visible on its face even across the thirty feet that separated Margot from the doll. White netting tied with white ribbon around the doll’s waist surrounded it. Margot froze at sight of the purple pin on the doll’s breast. She’d seen this doll, that pin, back home.
The overhead light went out, but Margot’s gaze remained glued on the doll, its tiny face illuminated by flickering candlelight. Her chest tightened. The clock chimed. Margot clamped a hand over her mouth, barely stifling a cry. A second chime followed, then silence. That damned clock would get her killed.
Cat edged around the armor and stepped from the alcove onto the carpet. She pressed a finger against a stone to the right of the alcove, and the door began a slow swing closed. Cat faced the desk and Margot tensed. If Cat sat down at the desk and stretched her legs, they would hit her. Cat walked around the desk and passed out of sight. The pad of feet on carpet paused, and the door opened with the barest of creaks. Another low creak followed, then the click of the lock.
Margot counted to ten, then scrambled from beneath the desk. She took two steps to the alcove and paused. A sweet aroma lingered in the air. Perfume? No, it was more like incense—or the scented oil used to cast spells.
She felt along the wall where she’d seen Cat press the button that had closed the door. A smooth spot the size of a dime caught her attention and she pressed it. The door began a slow swing inward until the doll came into view.
Candlelight flickered in the draft, and two black eyes stared as if the doll welcomed any challenger who dared enter her realm. Margot sidled past the armor and into the room. She groped along the left wall until she located a light switch and flipped it on. Light flooded the room and she crossed to the table. Behind the candles lay a black, fabric bag tied with a piece of string. A black feather stuck out of the bag.
Revenge gris-gris.
Disgust turned her stomach and Margot set the Blackberry on the desk beside the computer. She started to sit at the chair, then stopped. What had Cat used to make the gris gris? Margot picked up the bag, tugged open the top, and peered inside. Anger tightened her mouth. No benign new-ager herbs, oils, or stones for Cat. No. A true southern voodoo witch laughed at such magic. Cat had used the backwater Louisiana variety of contents: hair, bones, nails and—Margot fingered the bottom of the bag and discerned something through the fabric that felt like dirt. A chill coiled deep inside—goofer dust; grave dirt—if the dirt was consistent with the other magical items.
Who had pissed Cat off?
Margot retied the string and set the bag back behind the candles, then picked up the Dream Doll. She rubbed a thumb across the heart shaped mouth, then down along the purple straight pin attached to the doll’s breast. Different color pins were believed to induce different kinds of dreams. Purple evoked psychic dreams. She recalled the three dreams in the last two days. What reason did Cat have for using voodoo on her?
Margot grimaced. Damn voodoo dolls didn’t have the power to induce dreams. But that fact didn’t change Cat’s belief in the magic. So what revenge was she exacting, and why? Margot’s pulse accelerated. Had Cat used voodoo on Donny? Hell yes, she’d used voodoo, the most powerful voodoo a woman had: lust.
Margot placed the doll back on the table. “You shouldn’t have invited me to Scotland, Cat.”
Chapter Fourteen
Margot stared at the computer screen. Cat had stepped off a cliff and was plummeting a thousand miles an hour into the abyss of insanity. Spells, ghosts, and the search for a treasure that made the Holy Grail look like child’s play. The Scottish Templar armor in the alcove connecting the two rooms was real—had to be real. But the modest fortune the armor would bring wasn’t enough for Cat. She wanted the entire Templar fortune—and believed a ghost would lead her to it.
Not a ghost, Margot amended. A ghost was the spirit of a person who had died. According to the legend recounted on Cat’s computer, Lord Colin Morrison, the man who enticed women into Castle Morrison in hopes one could free him from the witch’s spell, was alive and well inside the painting that hung in the room Margot occupied.
A chill prickled up her spine. This was some damned strange business—and she’d seen strange things back home. Most of those oddities could be accounted for by science, greed, or sex: undiagnosed chemical imbalances that accelerated into mental illness, potions that induced the victim to vomit out so-called demons of alcoholism, or belief in spells that could kill.
Margot glanced at the gris-gris. Regret brought a pang of sadness. When had things gone so wrong with Cat? Memory rose of Donny’s shy smile whenever he looked at Cat, then the lifeless eyes as they had been the day they pulled him from the lake. Anger shoved aside regret. Cat wanted power. Let her rule Hell alongside Satan.
Margot leaned toward the computer screen in order to read the diary of Lord Colin Morrison’s mother. Ainslee Morrison had given birth to twin boys. Colin, the eldest, and Logan, the second born. When their father died, Colin took his father’s place as Earl.
Ainslee wrote: Now that the earl is dead, I fear for the treasure our house has guarded these centuries. Colin cares nothing for the faith, for our past, or the future of our faith. If only Logan had been first born. Colin is preparing to set out for the east and refuses Logan’s council. If his journey is successful, our house, the Templar’s hope, all that we hold dear, will die.
The Colin Morrison of Ainslee’s diary sounded far more rational than the legend. Despite the fact the Templars had been outlawed seven hundred years before Colin lived, the Morrison clan had remained Templars. But he realized that expending energy to guard the secret location of the treasure was a waste of time. Unlike Cat, he probably knew the treasure would have been picked clean long before his time.
According to Ainslee, the two brothers vanished after their thirty-fifth birthdays. Had Colin’s trip east taken the two men’s lives? What had that trip been? Whatever happened, Colin’s disappearance had likely played into the legend that he had been enchanted by a witch. A soft ding sounded from her Blackberry. The three-fifty alarm. She’d set it before starting out to make sure she didn’t lose track of time—which she had.
Margot opened the window that displayed the files copied to her Blackberry. The Morrison genealogy, Ainslee’s diary, and a file marked Astro had all transferred, and she’d already emailed the password protected Astro file to Bobby. She disconnected the USB cord, slid it back into the case, closed the window, and cleared the history on the computer.
She still had no clue why Cat had invited her to Scotland, but she had learned why Cat bought the castle. Once Bobby broke into the password protected files, maybe she’d discover how Cat planned to find the Templars’ mythical treasure.
****
“Cat.” Margot brushed past a man leaving the stables and hurried inside after her. The smell of pine filled her nostrils. She glanced down and was surprised at the clean pine shavings that padded the wood floor. She caught up to Cat. “Where’s the manure? I thought stables stunk of manure, not a fresh Glade pine scent.”
“The bin out back,” Cat replied. “The stables are mucked out twice a day.”
Margot slowed and reached out to touch a long, blond horse tail that hung over the lower half of a stall door. The tail switched and she snatched her hand back.
Cat was two stalls down and Margot jogged to catch up. “Where’s the fire?”
“A mare is about to foal.”
“You’re kidding?”
Cat shook her head. “She’s early, and the vet isn’t here. I can’t risk losing the foal. I spent a fortune on stud service.”
“Now you are kidding.”
“Nope. The father is a four time National top ten winner. I had his semen specially flown in.”
“Flown in?”
“I’m a businesswoman and horses are a good business.”
“A business that brings respectability?” Margot asked.
Cat nodded. “I’m not that small town girl you knew back in Mississippi.”
“You’re not that white trash, you mean.”
“I can elevate myself just like you did—even though you didn’t have to.”
Margot grabbed Cat’s arm and swung her around. “What the hell does that mean?”
Cat hesitated, and Margot thought she wouldn’t answer, then Cat said, “It wasn’t enough that your family is the richest in Wilkinson County, you had to make yourself deputy sheriff.”
“What?” Margot burst out. “That money isn’t mine. Hell, it’s more yours than mine. And I went into law enforcement because I care.”
“The beauty queen cares.” Cat’s eyes hardened. “Will there be anything else, deputy?”
Margot startled, then realized she still gripped Cat’s arm. Margot released her. Cat turned and she reflexively followed, heart pounding, mind racing. She’d suspected Cat begrudged her connection to Donny’s family, but how long had Cat hated her?
Cat stopped three stalls down and Margot’s breath caught. A man knelt beside a golden brown horse whose coat almost glowed. Not a single flaw marred her sleek lines. A swath of white ran down the middle of her head. Large brown eyes stared at Margot with such anxious emotion that she wanted to stroke the mighty head and tell her everything would be all right.
“My God,” Margot breathed. “She’s beautiful.”
Cat squatted near the mare’s head. “How’s she doing, Angus?”
“Just fine. Early doesna’ necessarily mean bad.”
“Hollis is on the way. Think you can deal with things until he arrives?” Cat asked. “He’s at least an hour and a half away.”
Angus nodded and ran a hand down the mare’s back. She whinnied softly. “She’s not close yet. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Cat nodded, but was clearly unconvinced.
“Is there anything I can do?” Margot asked.
“You might consider staying in tonight instead of spending the night at a hotel with a stranger.”
“Goddamit, Cat, you’re the one who suggested I fuck him.” Angus’ head jerked in her direction, but Margot ignored him. “We raised a lot more hell than this back in Wilkinson County.”
Cat stood. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t Wilkinson County.”
“I’ve noticed all right. Just like I’ve noticed the stick up your ass.” Frustration shot through Margot—along with the realization that her chances of finding evidence against Cat were going up in smoke. She softened her voice. “I’m sorry. I know how important this is to you.”
Cat studied her as if assessing whether or not she could believe her. Margot pulled her into a hug, forcing her body to relax into the embrace. This acting job was the hardest she’d ever had. But she would fuck the Devil if that’s what it took to give Donny the peace he deserved. Memory flashed of the episode in the dungeon, and she startled at the odd thought that she nearly had fucked the Devil.
Margot released Cat. “Now, Angus says you don’t have anything to worry about, and I have no plans to go out tonight. I’ll be here if you need me.”
Cat gave her a thin-lipped nod and squatted beside the horse.
A chime from Margot’s Blackberry announced an incoming message. She glanced at Cat, saw she was already engrossed in caring for the mare, and stepped from the stall as she pulled the Blackberry from her back pocket. The icon in the lower right hand corner of the screen indicated she had an email. Margot tapped the screen and a message opened.
I’ve attached file Astro. Take a look NOW. I don’t know what’s going on over there, but you’d better get the hell out. What kind of weird have you gotten yourself involved with?
Call me.
Bobby
Chapter Fifteen
Margot slowed her walk along the garden pathway. The words What kind of weird have you gotten yourself involved with vanished as the Astro document opened on the Blackberry. How much weirder could things possibly get? She caught sight of the birth date and time in the upper left hand corner of the document. What the hell—Margot stared.
Just how much weirder could things get?
Half an hour later, Margot straightened from the bench overlooking a small fountain in Castle Morrison’s gardens. She rolled tension from her shoulders. She’d sat too long against the hard wooden back. She released a slow breath and returned her attention to the Blackberry cradled in her left hand. Weird had taken on new meaning. Significance of the numbers, data, and elaborate astrological wheel displayed on the screen eluded her, but the birth date and time in the upper right hand corner was hers, and the longitude and latitude listed beneath the birth data was her birth place, Woodville, Mississippi.
The astrological chart was based on her life.
A second chart based on Colin Morrison’s birth date filled another document, along with a chart marked Composite Chart that compared the synastry between her and Colin’s charts. Scribbled notes interpreting the data that surrounded the bi-wheel boiled down to one point; Cat believed that Margot was the woman destined to free Colin Morrison from the three hundred year old spell that kept him imprisoned in the painting.
How could an astrological chart lead Cat to believe such insanity? Hell, how could she believe a man could be enchanted inside a picture in the first place? Those questions jumbled with a dozen others, all of which paled beside the wonder of how Cat could think Margot would willingly fuck a serial killer.
And the price Margot would pay…
Kicker number one: The sacrificial lamb is promised the fuck of her life. “It’s the promise of passion that entices a woman.”
Kicker number two: This sexual encounter would be the last one of the woman’s life. “She must enter his lair knowing she will sacrifice her life for his freedom.”
Margot’s jaw tensed. Cat had forgotten who she was dealing with. Margot would burn the damn painting before she would let a serial killer touch her.
A soft chime from the Blackberry caused her to jump. “Sweet Christ,” she muttered.
The chime indicated a text message. Why was Bobby texting instead of emailing? She tapped the icon and the text appeared on the screen.
Margot, can we meet? I’ve come across something you want to see.
Charles
*****
Margot rested against a tree trunk and squinted at the sunlight that glinted off the blue water. The inlet where she’d agreed to meet Charlie was a twenty minute bike ride from Castle Morrison. Tall grass swaying amongst white dunes made her wish she had come for an afternoon nap instead of a mysterious meeting.
When she asked McNeil what he wanted to talk about, he’d only asked where they could meet. A quiver radiated through her stomach. She hadn’t seen him since leaving him at midnigh
t with the excuse of a 5:30 a.m. breakfast date with Cat. The quiver twisted into a knot. Her shock at discovering Cat’s delusion that Margot was Colin Morrison’s savior had dominated her thoughts on the bike ride. Now, memory of how she immediately sought Colin’s picture after leaving Charlie’s bed resurfaced.
Bobby had it right. What kind of weird had she gotten herself involved with?
Balmy air fanned her skin. The day was the warmest since her arrival in Scotland, and the wind calmer that it had been when she’d been here before. The quiet solitude had relaxed her then. She wasn’t so lucky this time. Charles McNeil was a flesh and blood men who set her body on fire and made her wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him twenty years from now. So why dream about some dead phantom Scotsman? Dreaming, hell, she’d conjured him in her waking hours…and confused him with McNeil. How could she possibly mix-up the two men?
Margot’s mind snapped to attention. She hadn’t been certain why Cat was angry about her seeing McNeil. But now…Margot swallowed. Cat didn’t want Margot interested in any man except Colin Morrison. Sweet Christ, Cat truly belonged in an institution.
The crunch of tires on gravel caused Margot to jerk her head toward the top of the hill. The door of a nondescript gray compact opened and McNeil got out. He started down the hill. Margot rose onto shaky legs.
He reached her side and grasped her arm. “What’s wrong?”
The harsh note in his voice cleared Margot’s mind. He could see something was wrong and like a good SAS agent…maybe like a good lover, wanted to save her.
She flashed a tired smile, and she was so very tired. “Long day. Where’s the Alpha?”
He looked as if he might press further, but said. “Let’s walk, shall we?”
She nodded. He clasped her hand in his larger one and started forward like lovers on an afternoon stroll.