by Dawn Brown
She swallowed hard, but the knot remained as if it were permanently lodged there. A good cry would probably release the tension, but she’d cried enough, thank you very much. She needed to keep pushing forward. Get this book done, go home and forget she’d ever met Des.
When she’d stepped outside and spotted his car at the edge of the trees, a tiny thrill had ignited in her chest, only to be snuffed out when reality had set in. He was a liar. A user. And she had walked right into his scheme.
Still, he’d seemed sincere earlier.
And what if she was wrong? What if she trusted him, and he lied to her…again?
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
She wouldn’t let herself be sucked in. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he wasn’t. She couldn’t say for certain, and that alone should be reason enough for her to stay clear of Des.
She got out of the car and reached into the back seat for her camera bag. Anything she needed from town for her book, she wanted to get done today. She still had a few more interviews planned over the next week, but after that she’d be done, and she could head home. Well, to her parents’ home. Still, in a few weeks she’d have her money and she could start over. Fresh.
Funny, the idea didn’t please her as much as it had before coming to Dark Water.
Oh for God’s sake, it was a fling, not true love. That their relationship had blown up the way it had was probably a good thing. What did she think? That they’d get married and live happily ever after? The idea was laughable.
But she didn’t feel like laughing.
Even if they had tried to make a go of it, where would a serious relationship have gone? Did she want to be related, even through marriage, to the likes of Heddra Grey or any of the other crazies in his family? And speaking of family, he was only twenty-eight. Having a family of his own might not matter to him now, but what about once he was in his thirties and his barren, older wife couldn’t give him one. He’d be out finding a Sandy of his own, and she’d be right back where she started.
And why was she even thinking about this? They were done.
She gave her head a shake, hoisted her bag over her shoulder and marched to the house. She stopped, snapped a couple of pictures, then started around the side. She didn’t bother with the front door. It had been locked when she’d last visited, and that likely hadn’t changed in a week.
The trees and undergrowth were thicker around the side of the building. The canopy of colored leaves overhead filtered the morning sunlight, casting an eerie gloom over the forest. Tangled ferns and vines wrapped around her ankles and she had to kick her way free.
The back door had long since fallen from its hinges and lay broken, half-buried beneath piles of dead leaves and pine needles. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped through the dark opening and into the remnants of a kitchen. The dirt-encrusted linoleum closest to the door had worn down to mossy wood boards, bubbling and curling farther into the wide room. Shayne gingerly put her weight on the floor. The boards creaked a little, but didn’t bow or shift. They seemed solid.
Carefully, she moved deeper into the room. Filthy, stained wallpaper, the flowered print barely visible beneath the layers of grime, clung in torn strips to the crumbling plaster walls. Slat and lath peeked out from a huge hole above the stainless steel sink. The few remaining cupboards hung crookedly. Flecks of what little paint remained—probably yellow at one time—dotted their surfaces. The space stunk of mold and rot. Shayne concentrated on breathing through her mouth.
This had been the room Julia and Des had made their escape from all those years ago. Likely, through the door she’d come in. A chill danced along her spine as she imagined the terror of living through that night.
Get your pictures and go.
She snapped another half dozen shots from different angles before leaving the kitchen. There were two doorways from the kitchen into the rest of the house. One opened into the front foyer, the other into a small square hallway with a closed wooden door on the left and an opening into what had probably been the dining room at one time on the right.
Shayne opted for the foyer—the room where Robert had allegedly shot his wife and stepson. After shooting a few pictures, she stood by the front door, lowered her camera and frowned.
The distance between where she was standing and the kitchen was maybe twenty feet. How had an eight-year-old girl managed not only to escape from the house, but also elude her father in the woods, and with a toddler in her arms? Anderson should have been able to close the distance in seconds. Even if he’d hesitated before going into the kitchen, maybe examining Gwen and Christian to be sure they were dead, he still should have caught her easily outside.
The walls creaked from the wind outside. She’d worry about that later. For now, she’d get her pictures and get out of there before the whole house collapsed on her head.
A narrow staircase rose up opposite the front door, and two openings mirrored each other on either side of the front hall. One doorway opened into what looked like the living room, the other a second entrance to the dining room. She took pictures of each room, then tried the stairs. They groaned a little, but held up.
By the time she’d finished taking pictures of the crumbling bedrooms, a sick feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach and sadness weighed down on her like a wet blanket. A heavy sort of despair hung in the air as if the emotions from that night were permanently imprinted on the house’s rotting walls.
She could hardly wait to get out of there.
But as she stepped from the last stair into the foyer, Shayne stopped her in her tracks. The outline of a pick up truck parked next to her own car was barely visible through the grime-covered window beside to the door. Her heart pounded, hard and fast. Cold dread knotted her stomach.
“Hey there, girlie,” a man’s voice called from somewhere in the house, horribly familiar and laced with dark merriment. “Looks like I finally caught you alone.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Heddra Grey had no idea the endless barrage of scare tactics she’d orchestrated to bully her daughter into submission would act as a trigger, and inevitably would lead to the murder of daughter and grandson.”
—excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds
Des flung open the front door to his uncle’s red brick Victorian. The dark wood banged off the pink wall so hard the stained glass window rattled in its mounting. He hardly noticed as he stormed through the house looking for his aunt. Spiteful bitch. If anything happened to Shayne…
He found her sitting at the table in the kitchen, wrapped in a faded pink bathrobe, her dry hair sticking out like dirty straw. She stared wide-eyed, and the coffee cup in her hand shook.
Was she afraid? She should be. For the first time in his life, he could connect with whatever impulse had driven his father that fateful night. Christ, maybe Heddi was right. Maybe he was just like the man, after all.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he snarled.
“Get out of here,” Vivian snapped. She stood and clunked the table with the cup. Coffee splashed over the rim and pooled on the glass. “I’ll call the police. I don’t care who you are. I’ll have you arrested.”
Her eyes darted around the room as if searching for a way out. Unfortunately for her, he blocked the only exit. “Why would you tell Shayne about my deal with Heddi? You of all people should know what Heddi’s capable of.”
She set her hand on her hips and cocked her head. “You should have told me where Ian was, instead of protecting him and humiliating me.”
“You did this to get back at me?” he asked, furious and stunned all at once.
“I know he’s seeing someone.” Vivian’s words spewed fast and angry. “He meets her secretly. He has for months, and it’s always the same woman. I know because I always see the same phone numbers in his phone. I haven’t done the things I have for him, put up with what I have, to be cast aside now. I won’t be left with nothing
.”
“I don’t know who Ian’s seeing,” Des exploded. He could still barely wrap his head around the idea Heddi might do God only knows what to Shayne all because of some petty revenge scheme. “What do you think Heddi will do to you once she learns you interfered with her plan? You didn’t think about that, did you?”
Her face paled, and yesterday’s smudged makeup stood out darker around her eyes. “She won’t care. I heard her talking to Kate. They didn’t think you were holding up your end of the bargain. Heddi was going to pull out of the deal anyway.”
His anger deflated like an old balloon, cold fear creeping in to take its place. If his aunt was telling the truth, there was a very good chance Heddi had already spoken to Tic and Shayne was already back on his radar. “When did you hear Heddi and Kate talking?”
Vivian blinked as if confused. Maybe by the sudden shift from angry to urgent in his tone.
“Yesterday morning,” she said hesitantly.
Before or after Kate promised to buy him more time?
“Mother, get dressed. I need to speak to Des,” Kate said from behind him. How long had she been listening? Probably from the start.
Vivian scurried past, giving him a wide berth like a dog she didn’t trust. He turned his attention to his cousin. “You never planned to give me more time?”
Kate blew out a soft sigh and strolled across the kitchen to the coffeemaker. Her high heels clicked on the slate tile. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Bull. Shit. You could have told me.”
“I know your chance to get out of paying the money back has been ruined,” she said with her back to him as she poured a cup of coffee. She turned and leaned against the counter, mug in hand. “Maybe we can come up with some other way of getting Heddi to write off the debt.
Coffee?”
“The money? Do you actually think I care about the money?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice low. “What if something happens to her? What if Tic kills her?”
Kate’s face pinched in disbelief. “You’re angry because of her? The writer? You have to be joking. She was using you, Des.”
“No, Kate, I was using her, because that’s what Greys do. We’re parasitic. We latch onto a host and feed until we get what we want, then we move on without a thought to the damage we leave behind.”
“I am sick of your crap.” Kate banged the cup on the counter “This tragic, put-upon act you’ve got going makes me sick. Poor Des, having to act against his better nature. Like you’re somehow morally superior to the rest of us. Do you think you’re the only one? Do you think I like what I’ve had to do for this family? Grow up. We all make our choices, and you made yours. There’s no point in bitching about it now.”
She folded her arms over her chest, one corner of her mouth lifted in a smug smirk as if daring him to disagree. Despite the black hate bubbling inside him like hot tar, he almost laughed. He agreed with her, wholeheartedly.
“You’re absolutely right, Kate,” he said, his voice soft with a pleasant sort of menace. “I have done things I’m not proud of. But I’ve made a decision that makes me very happy, and I want you to repeat it word for word to Heddi. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”
Kate’s smirk remained fixed in place, but her brows rose.
“You tell her if anything happens to Shayne, if she so much as chips a goddamned nail, I’ll tell anybody who will listen Heddi was involved.”
Kate’s smile dimmed and her eyes narrowed again. “No one would believe you, and you couldn’t prove a thing.”
“True. Still, I’d go to the police, and every newspaper I can think of. Even without proof, her grandson’s claim that the two of you have been involved in such nasty dealings would probably make for an interesting story. Hell, and while I’m at it, maybe I’ll spill every sordid family secret I know.”
Kate’s smarmy expression vanished, now she looked…concerned. Dark delight burst inside him like the sun’s rays burning through black clouds.
“You wouldn’t—” she started.
“Yeah. I would. I like Shayne. I don’t like any of you.”
“You’d better be careful, Des. I promise you, Heddi doesn’t take threats lightly, and neither do I.” She nipped her lip, her eyes unusually bright. Oh, the wheels were turning, that was for sure. And he’d probably just painted a huge target on his back. So be it. As long as he’d taken the target off Shayne.
Oh, shit. Tic.
Fear burst inside Shayne. Her knees almost buckled and she grabbed the wobbly newel post to stop herself from crumpling to the floor.
Without thinking, she gripped the knob for the front door. Locked. Her damp palm slid over dust-coated brass and tried the smaller knob for the bolt. Her sweat-slicked fingers slipped on the smooth metal. She rubbed her hand on her jeans and tried again, but the bolt wouldn’t turn.
Behind her, the floor creaked and heavy footfalls thudded her way. She gave up on the door and ducked into the dining room. Maybe she could double back on Tic and slip out the door in the kitchen. She tiptoed as quickly and quietly as she could to the small hall off the kitchen, but came to an abrupt halt. Her heart lodged in her throat. A tall, skinny man stood with his back to the room, facing the foyer where Tic had gone.
“Do you see her?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Tic replied. He sounded like he was near the front hall. “But she’s here all right. I can smell her.”
A sick shudder rippled through her. She had to get out of there. Should she try for the back door? Make a run for it? If she was quiet, she might be able to slip past Tic’s friend. As if sensing her train of thought, the man glanced back over his shoulder.
Shayne’s breath caught, and she jerked sideways, out of sight. Sharp pain blossomed in her hip. She bit her lip to keep the yelp from escaping, and glanced down at the brass knob digging into her side.
What was behind door number one? A pantry? Closet? Somewhere to hide?
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Tic’s voice boomed, filled with mirthful menace. His heavy footfalls grew louder.
Shit, he was in the dining room, headed her way. The blood in her head rushed to her toes. She grabbed the cold brass knob, turned and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked softly, and she winced, holding her breath waiting for both men to pounce. Neither spoke, and Tic’s pace didn’t increase. Maybe they hadn’t heard.
She glanced into the darkened opening. A rickety set of wood stairs led to a shadowy cellar. Crap. Would they even support her weight, or crumble into dust the moment she took her first step?
She didn’t have time to debate.
Gritting her teeth, she stepped onto the first stair. The wood creaked, but held, and she pulled the door closed behind her.
Breath lodged in her lungs, she pressed her ear to the rough wood. Tic’s footsteps stopped outside the door. Her heart ceased to beat.
“Maybe she saw the truck and took off before we came in.” The skinny man’s voice through the thick wood sounded muffled.
“I’m going to check upstairs. You watch the door.” The dark humor had vanished from Tic’s voice, leaving his tone icy and, if possible, more menacing.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. She had to get the hell away from this nut job, before she wound up a victim in someone else’s book.
She eased down the stairs. Drapes of cobwebs brushed against her head and cheek. She shuddered and raked her fingers through her hair, imagining eight-legged critters creeping along her scalp.
Once on the hard-packed dirt floor in the basement, she reached into her bag for her cell phone to call the police. “No Service” flashed across the screen. Her stomach sank. The stone walls were probably blocking the reception. She’d have to find a way out or a weapon.
Faint, watery sunlight seeped through tiny gaps in the tangled foliage pressed against dirty, narrow windows mounted high in stone walls. Were the windows wide enough to pull herself through? Maybe.
She crossed the
room, dropped her bag and camera to the ground, then gripped the ledge. Something small with many legs scurried out from under her fingertips. She let out a high squeak, pressed her lips together and tensed. She stood frozen, straining for any sound or indication the men above had heard her.
Nothing.
She let out the breath she’d been holding and hauled herself up, pushing against the stone wall with the toe of her sneakers for leverage. The rubber soles slipped on the gritty surface, but she managed to prop an elbow on the ledge and push against the dried wood window frame with her free hand. It wouldn’t budge.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered through gritted teeth. The house was rotted and crumbling, but the damn window frame was as secure as ever.
She let go of the ledge and dropped to the ground. She’d have to break the glass. But what if they heard and grabbed her before she could pull herself through? Maybe she should try one of the other windows first.
The doorknob at the top of the stairs rattled. The hinges creaked. A wave of panic crashed inside her. She grabbed her camera and bag, and darted to the far side of the basement, behind the stairs. She needed a weapon something to fight back with. She scanned the area, but there was nothing…
Her gaze fell on a two-foot gap between the wood rafters and stone wall.
A way out?
She squinted to see better in the dim light. An old cistern. About five feet long, three feet wide and who knew how deep. Maybe not a way out, but a place she could hide.
Used to store water before indoor plumbing, Shayne had no idea if the cistern had been closed off or was still functioning. She tossed her bag and camera over the wall. They landed with a thud. Didn’t sound like there was water in there. That was good, though who knew what else she’d find? Bugs? Wild animals?
Well, she liked her odds with insects or a rabid raccoon better than facing off against Tic.
She grabbed the edge, not quite as high as she was tall, and pulled herself up. Inside, a thick layer of spider webs covered the bottom like a carpet. Oh God. She hesitated, heebie-jeebies scuttling over her back like the arachnids were already crawling along skin.