Labyrinth

by Tarah Scott

  “Does Ms. Bower know about our rendezvous?” he asked.

  “I didn’t tell her. I rode the bike, something I’ve done every day since my arrival. Of course, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t something to discuss via text. If she discovers we met, tell her I couldn’t go the day without seeing you.” He flashed a smile. "It's not untrue."

  A pleasant flutter eased the knot in her stomach and she leaned into him. If anyone noticed them walking along the dunes, they’d report she and McNeil met for a little afternoon delight. She wished it wasn’t a lie.

  “Ms. Bree Cullen disappeared twenty months ago,” he said without preamble. “She was twenty-eight, hair past her shoulders, a beautiful young woman.” He glanced at Margot. “She worked at Gearrannan Blackhouse Village as an assistant housekeeper before she disappeared.”

  “What’s the connection?”

  “Her slipper was found at Castle Morrison.”

  “A slipper,” Margot repeated. “That’s a strange article of clothing.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Sweet Christ, I told you Cat would—” Margot broke off and released a slow breath. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped to stop Cat before she killed again. I guess…well, I don’t know what I guessed.” She sure as hell hadn’t guessed Cat would be on a hunt for the Templar treasure, or that she would mark Margot as her sacrifice to obtain that treasure.

  “Don’t make any hasty judgments,” McNeil said.

  “What do you mean? You don’t think there’s a connection?”

  “It bears looking into,” he replied. "Which is why I turned over the information to John.” Margot opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. “If Ms. Bower is connected, he’ll find out how.” A corner of McNeil’s mouth lifted. “If he knew I was here, I might get that discommendation.”

  Margot halted. “You’re here against orders? Why Mr. McNeil, only two days ago you were under orders to keep me under surveillance.”

  “A task I’ve thoroughly enjoyed.” He began walking again.

  A gust whipped hair across her face with stinging force. “So, you don’t want me doing anything. Then why tell me about Bree Cullen?”

  “Because if there is a chance Ms. Bowers is involved in Ms. Cullen’s disappearance, you could be in danger.”

  A tremor rippled through her. How much danger was she in?

  “How did you find out about Bree Cullen when Gordon hadn’t?” Margot asked.

  “Pure luck. I asked a friend at Scotland Yard to run a check.”

  Margot scowled. “I knew they would get involved somehow.”

  “Be glad they did. His initial search didn’t turn up anything more than John did, but he’s a creative fellow and expanded the search back six months before Ms. Bower purchased Castle Morrison.”

  “Six months? Cat didn’t arrive in Scotland until four months before she bought the castle. Dammit, she can’t be connected.”

  He shook his head. “Wrong. Ms. Bowers arrived in Scotland seven months before she purchased Castle Morrison.”

  “What? She lied to me. “Margot’s pulse accelerated. “Cat killed the girl.”

  “Slow down, Margot. You’ve been in law enforcement long enough to know not to jump to conclusions. Ms. Bowers could have any number of reasons for lying—especially to you.”

  Well, damn, he was right. "Do the cops have any idea why Bree was killed?"

  He shook his head. "She had no enemies. She also had no money, which makes her an unlikely candidate for Ms. Bowers. And as far as anyone can discover, the young woman didn't know her."

  They reached an incline that led to the water’s edge and stopped. Wind gusted across the blue expanse.

  “I suppose we’d better get back,” McNeil said.

  Margot nodded. She glanced back at the car a hundred feet away and startled at seeing an elderly man standing beside the right fender watching them.

  “We’ve got company.”

  Charles twisted and looked in the direction she stared.

  “You know him?” she asked.

  Charlie slipped an arm around her back and faced forward. “No.”

  He started down the hill. They reached an outcrop of hard sand about halfway down and she dropped to the ground, pulling him with her. He drew her close and she snuggled against him beneath the overhang where they weren’t visible from the hill.

  “He’ll think we’re having a quickie.”

  Margot stilled when McNeil traced a finger along her cheek. “Is that all it would be, Margot?”

  She tilted her head upward and met his gaze. He stared, eyes dark with desire and something more that caused her stomach to flip.

  “I—” she began but his mouth covered hers before she could finish the sentence.

  She grasped his shoulders and pulled him deeper into the kiss. He didn’t hesitate, his body coming down on hers. His hungry demands sent a shiver through her.

  “We haven’t much time,” he said against her lips. He trailed kisses along her cheek to her ear. “I don’t want Ms. Bowers getting suspicious.”

  Margot answered by slipping a hand between them. She tugged open the button on his jeans and reached past his underwear. His hard length filled her palm. He shuddered and thrust into her fingers. Margot squeezed. He groaned and reached for the button on her jeans. He kissed her again, and swept his tongue inside her mouth with an urgency that sent a shockwave between her legs. The button loosened and the downward slide of the zipper sent gooseflesh up her arms in anticipation of his fingers touching, teasing then, finally, plunging inside her.

  He broke the kiss closed his mouth over a nipple, sucking through shirt and bra. Pleasurable friction tightened the nipple, puckering its twin along with it to marble hardness. Margot moaned. The zipper halted and his fingers slipped beneath the purple boy shorts and moved feather light over her curls.

  “Sweet Christ,” she whispered.

  “Indeed,” he agreed.

  The long digit brushed her clit, then gently massaged. Her sex quivered, and she pulsed against his hand. He slid his finger into her folds and thrust inside hard. Her breath caught. Pleasure rammed through her. His shifted his mouth to the other nipple. She arched with the first suckle. His free arm slid beneath her, pulling her deeper into his mouth, harder against his finger fucking her.

  Margot braced her feet on the ground, bucking against him in a sudden frenzy. She became aware of the hard cock, still cradled in her hand and rammed her hand downward against his groin. The hard length stretched beyond her palm, the mushroom tip thrusting from his white briefs. McNeil groaned, the sound reverberating through her chest in a slow roll. He abruptly yanked his finger from inside her. He straightened and yanked the sweater over his head.

  McNeil tossed the fabric onto the sand beside them, jerked her jeans down her legs, then dropped onto the shirt and pulled her up and onto his lap. She shoved aside the thong as he lifted her up. Margot didn’t wait for an invitation, but slammed down on him, sheathing his cock so deep, pleasure mixed with pain in a breath-stealing second of delirium. He sucked in air, his grip on her hips steel, and lifted, then slammed her back down again. She grasped his shoulders. A thrill rocketed through her when the hard muscling bunched beneath her fingers. She rose and fell, the orgasm that had nearly crested seconds ago rising on a title wave of pleasure.

  Margot threw her head back. Wind gusted through the alcove, sending gooseflesh racing down her legs. She rose and fell. He plunged deeper with each stroke. Orgasm burst through her, milking her walls around him. He stiffened, thrusts frenzied inside her cream filled channel. He yanked her close, hugging so tight her body was frozen as his cock plunged in and out of her. He abruptly reached between then and flicked her swollen sex with a finger.

  Sensation spiked and another pleasurable spasm tightened her pussy. McNeil groaned and buried his head in her neck, orgasm pumping seed into her until he collapsed back onto the sand, ta
king her with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Margot reached Castle Morrison half an hour later and stored the bike in the gardener’s shed where it was kept. She headed for the stables located in the rear of the grounds. Her heart pumped with the memory of Charlie’s ardent lovemaking—and the prospect of connecting Cat to a murder in Scotland. Once Margot figured out why Cat would murder a young woman with no money, the connection between the two women might become obvious.

  Cat’s words that first night at dinner rushed to the forefront of memory. The woman must be pure of mind, have a heart of gold, and the body of Aphrodite.

  Margot halted on the path. “It’s not possible,” she whispered. But knew it was. Cat had killed Bree Cullen in an insane attempt to free Colin Morrison from his enchantment.

  Another, even more chilling thought struck. Had Cat’s delusions convinced her the dead Scottish lord was the murderer of her victims? But why kill Bree Cullen when Cat believed Margot was destined to free Colin? Cat was psychotic, her reasoning would never make sense to a sane person. Margot’s throat tightened. It hadn’t occurred to her Cat would kill a woman.

  Dammit, after Charlie had told her about Bree Cullen, she should have given him the astrological charts. The files were evidence. Withholding them could stall the investigation, and Cat had to be stopped. Margot slowed as she pulled the Blackberry from her pocket and forwarded the files to Charlie.

  Minutes later, Margot arrived at the stables. Charlie hadn’t replied, and she now wanted like hell to see what he thought. She stopped in front of the stall to find the mare lying on her side in the stall. Cat knelt beside her head; a man Margot assumed to be the vet knelt behind the horse, an arm buried elbow deep inside her.

  “Sweet Christ,” Margot breathed.

  The mare gave a half-hearted whinny. Margot shifted in order to see better. The mare’s large brown eyes appeared glazed.

  Margot’s heart lurched. “What’s wrong?”

  Cat ran a slow hand across the mare’s belly. “She’s in distress. She’s been down for half an hour now, and the foal hasn’t been active. If the water doesn’t break soon, they could both be in serious trouble.”

  Margot lowered to her knees and stroked the mare’s nose. She didn’t nudge back as she had earlier. The vet withdrew his hand, picked up a towel, and began wiping arm and fingers. Cat looked at him, and he shook his head. She bent her head close to the mare’s nose and rubbed her cheek against the velvety skin beside Margot’s hand.

  “Can you break the water sac?” Margot asked.

  “By God,” the vet muttered in a thick Scottish accent, and Margot cried out as an ugly reddish bag expelling from the mare’s vagina.

  The vet twisted, reached inside a black bag sitting behind him, and pulled out a scalpel. Margot stared as he quickly cut a long incision in the thick bag. The ugly mass deflated with an audible whoosh. He tossed the knife onto the towel beside him and pulled the ugly balloon from the mare’s vagina. She started to lift her head, but Cat eased her back onto the straw while making soft shushing sounds.

  “What’s happening?” Margot demanded.

  “The placenta has separated from the uterus.” Cat said.

  The terror in her voice startled Margot and she laid a hand on Cat’s shoulder. “She’s obviously in good hands.”

  Cat looked at Margot, eyes wide with an anguish that brought a rush of memory. Their senior year, they were out on the old highway with two dozen high school friends. Cat sat with Eric Olsen in his olive green 1972 Chevy Nova with a stock 350 V8 and thumper cam. Eric was the tri-county champ. A Louisiana boy had crossed the state line with two car loads of friends and issued a challenge that couldn’t be ignored; pink slips to the driver who circled the old Larson barn two hundred yards down the road, then made it back to the start line first.

  Margot had been given the honor of starting the race by waving the pair of red lace panties she’d worn. The summer sun hung half-hidden by the tree-lined horizon behind her. She stood between the cars, legs spread, skirt rustling just enough that she figured the Louisiana boy would get a good look at Mississippi pussy. She held the panties out in front of her and the crowd hooted, pounded car hoods, and voiced cat calls.

  The door to the Louisiana boy’s 1967 red Mustang convertible unexpectedly shoved opened, and everyone went silent when he got out and rounded his car, headed toward Margot. When he reached her, he wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close, and planted a wet kiss on her lips. He broke the kiss, clasped the hand that held the panties, pulled it to his face, and inhaled deep of the lace. The crowd went wild. Some girls in skirts stripped off their panties and waved them over their heads.

  The boy released her, and everyone quieted as he said, “I get those as a souvenir after I win this race.”

  “Sure thing, sugar,” Margot replied. “But it’ll be a consolation prize, ‘cause you’ll be walking back to Louisiana.”

  A deafening roar of shouts drowned out the car engines as the kid walked back to his car and got inside.

  Margot held the panties straight out in front of her. “Ready!” The cars jumped with the rev of engines. She lifted the panties above her head. “Set!” She cast a glance at Cat, whose left arm entwined Eric’s arm. Her right palm cupped the cock that strained against his tight jeans. He pulsed his hips three times against her hand, and gave Margot an I’m ready look.

  Margot laughed and sliced the panties downward through humid air. “Go!”

  Tires squealed on asphalt, and smoke rose from the rear tires as the cars caught traction and jettisoned forward. Wind caught her dress and blew it waist high. Hot draft blasted through her curls, then between her legs. Margot whirled and waved the panties in a frantic cheer before slipping one foot, then the next inside the leg holes. Heart pounding, she shimmied the elastic up to her hips as the cars grew smaller with each passing second.

  Silence fell on the crowd. The two cars remained neck and neck as they neared the old barn. Margot counted off three seconds before they started into the tight turn that took them off the road and around the building, Eric on the inside.

  Suddenly, Eric’s car flipped, tumbling over the Mustang’s trunk as the Nova rolled side-over-side. It made one final roll, then rocked to a stop on its roof. Margot lunged forward in unison with the first female screams. A collective instant of shock froze the boys, then some began to run, while those with cars leaped behind the wheels. Engines roared to life, and the boys who had been running jumped into any nearby car.

  Margot reached Jimmy Phillip’s Pontiac Grand Prix as he started forward and she banged on the trunk. He hit the brake and she sprinted to the passenger side door and jumped inside. His terrified gaze met hers for an instant, then he jammed the accelerator to the floor and the car shot forward.

  They reached the Nova seconds behind two other cars and Margot shoved open the door as Jimmy brought the car to a rocking halt. She raced to the passenger side door where two boys knelt, and fell to her knees. She screamed and recoiled at sight of Eric plastered against the rear passenger side window. Cat. Margot jerked her gaze in through the front passenger side window. Cat lay on her stomach, cheek pressed against the thin fabric that covered the roof interior.

  Her frantic gaze latched onto Margot’s. Blood covered one side of Cat’s cheek and disappeared into her black hair. Her right arm lay at an odd angle at her side. Margot started to scramble inside after her, but strong hands seized her waist and yanked her back.

  “Let me go,” she hissed, scratching wildly at the muscled body that dragged her upright and hugged her close.

  He gave her a hard shake. “Margot, let the boys get her.”

  She struggled another second, then stilled as the two boys reached inside and carefully pulled Cat from the car. They gently laid her on the ground and Margot clawed at the arms encircling her. He released her and she dropped to the ground, already crawling toward her friend.

  “Eric,” Cat rasped.

  Margot
brushed trembling fingers over Cat’s forehead. “He’ll be all right, honey.”

  But Margot had known that was a lie, just like she knew that Eric had crashed the car because Cat had given him the final orgasm of his life. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, too late to stop the internal bleeding. They’d been kids, stupid kids, and a friend had died because of their stupidity. That day, when they faced the police and confessed what happened, Margot decided she was going to be someone who helped stop other kids from making stupid mistakes. The day after her eighteenth birthday she went to Hicks and told him she wanted to be a police officer. He told her to get an education and come back when she wasn’t a dumb kid anymore.

  She did.

  “The foal is trapped inside.”

  Cat’s voice yanked Margot back to the present.

  “The foal,” Cat repeated. “It’s trapped inside.”

  Tears trickled down Cat’s cheeks. Tears that hadn’t been there when Margot broke the news that her handsome young husband was dead.

  Margot’s attention riveted onto the vet as he lowered himself onto the straw beside Cat, a syringe in hand. The rise and fall of the mare’s distended stomach quickened.

  “If we don’t get the foal out, it’ll suffocate,” Cat said in a choked voice.

  Margot swung her gaze back onto Cat’s tear stained face. “Suffocate?”

  “He has no oxygen,” Cat said.

  The coroner ruled Donny’s death a drowning. Suffocation by water.

  Margot fell back a pace.

  Cat’s gaze returned to the mare. She brushed the golden brown hide with the care of a mother…or wife.

  Margot turned and raced from the barn.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Margot showered and changed into a yellow cotton dress. Mercifully, the trembling she feared would buckle her legs had subsided to a quiver. She lowered herself into the wingback chair in front of the fireplace in her room. Heat bathed her legs from embers that burned red hot, but the warmth didn’t reach her heart. Castle Morrison held no charm for her. Blood money tainted everything here.