Laurel Heights (Haunted Hearts Series Book 1)

by Denise Moncrief

  Laurel shook her head. “But—”

  “You were leaving, right? So, if anyone ever asks...which I’ll make sure that they don’t...you left before all this happened. I was coming up here to warn you, but I found the place this way. Head out the opposite direction from Fairview. Do you understand?”

  Grayson’s emphatic instructions stalled further questions.

  Laurel bit her tongue and glanced at Chase. He didn’t move, so she grabbed his arm and tugged.

  “Come on. We need to do what his says.”

  Chase finally reacted. “Why are you doing this for us, Grayson?” Suspicion resonated in his question.

  “If you tell anyone your story, they’ll lock you both up in a psychiatric ward. Let me handle this.”

  “But what if it goes wrong for you? What are you going to do then?”

  Chase apparently wasn’t through arguing.

  Laurel pulled him another couple of inches down the hall toward her door. They were wasting time discussing the details. She sensed the urgency in Grayson’s demeanor, probably better than Chase did. Was he as stunned by what had just happened to them as she was? Maybe that was why his reactions seemed slow.

  Grayson laughed. “It’s not like I haven’t already got a few black marks in my file. My career won’t implode because I cover this up.”

  His forced laughter and self-deprecating sarcasm rang around them.

  She didn’t want to hear any more. Laurel released Chase and headed toward her room. Let him stand there.

  “Where are you going?” The fear in Chase’s voice slowed her but she kept moving.

  “Getting my suitcase. I’m ready to leave.”

  She rushed back to her room before he could stop her, grabbed the handle of the case, and turned toward the door. From the corner of her eye, she caught just a glimpse of white mist forming near the window. It coalesced and took the rough shape of a woman so quickly it took her breath. She couldn’t make her feet move. The urge to flee overwhelmed her sensibilities in a rush of adrenaline. Her blood seemed to cease flowing. Her heart pounded.

  “Celeste?”

  Laurel shivered. Where had that come from?”

  A soft voice whispered in her ear. “Laurel, my baby.”

  She closed her eyes. Tears welled in the corners. She’d called Cooley her baby. James was her baby. The one she wanted to keep. Celeste had tossed Laurel away. Had Celeste ever looked back or regretted her decision? Laurel might never know.

  “I’m not your baby. You didn’t want me.”

  The air around her chilled until bumps formed on Laurel’s arms.

  “So sorry...wrong.”

  Nothing the ghost of Celeste Standridge could say—if that was what or whom she was facing—would make the pain go away. The damage had been done years ago.

  “I’m leaving, so you don’t have to try to scare me away any longer.”

  Laurel forced herself to move just as the mist passed over her. She struggled to get free, the cloud of white sticking to her like flypaper or superglue.

  Another soft whisper, fading, yet still clear enough to understand. “Please...don’t leave me.”

  Was she kidding? After Celeste had given her away? Apparently, everyone Celeste had cared about was gone.

  “Can’t you just go back to hell where you came from? The ones you cared about are probably waiting for you there.”

  Chase burst into the room. “Hurry up, Laurel.”

  The mist vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  “I’m coming.”

  Over her shoulder, she glanced at the spot where Celeste’s ghost had appeared. In her heart, she knew one day she’d be back to confront the ghost of Laurel Heights, but until then, she needed to get as far away as possible. For her heart. For her soul. For her sanity.

  Chase held his hand out to her and she took it, willingly. He was the only person in the whole world who had ever really cared about her. She knew the truth. Chase would stick with her no matter what happened. Why? She couldn’t be sure. Was there anything about her that would keep a man like Chase with her forever?

  She’d never leave him, nor would she ever ask him to go. And she wasn’t certain why she wanted to be with him. He wasn’t her type. But then, maybe she needed a new type.

  Maybe that’s what love was really about. Loving someone even if you couldn’t explain why. She glanced at Chase, knowing that her heart would forever belong to him. Did he feel the same way? She hoped he did. Desperately needed him to feel the same way she did.

  Because she loved him, and she just wasn’t sure why.

  He pulled her toward the door, and she left with him willingly, ready to put Laurel Heights behind her.

  In a heartbeat, she was in the truck with him and zooming down the road. The highway zipped beneath the tires as they headed toward the Buffalo River. Her heart didn’t stop racing until they were miles away from the house.

  “Chase?”

  “Huh?”

  He seemed focused on the road ahead, hadn’t spoken since he urged her to hurry up in her bedroom.

  “Where are we going?”

  Chase ran his fingers through his hair, loosened the tight ponytail elastic. His head was still pounding.

  “California.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Why?”

  “I’m going to give Rand the codes.”

  She blinked. Couldn’t speak.

  Chase continued his thoughts before she could object.

  “After all we’ve been through… Too many people have died. I need to try to save his life. He doesn’t deserve it…after what he did to Angie. After what he did to you… He damages everything he touches. But I can’t be like him. If I give him the codes and then something happens to him anyway…well, then I’ve done all I can do to save him. Maybe he’s unsavable.”

  She licked her lips. “I don’t think Rand sent Tino. I think Tino gave me the travel drive knowing he’d come looking for me and get it back from any way he could. He was as horrible as Rand.”

  “I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

  She wasn’t shocked by Chase’s lack of regret for what happened to Tino. He had fallen to his death, but she was certain that neither of them had pushed him over the rail.

  “What happened to him?” She had been afraid to ask, but now she had to know.

  “I think Celeste’s dragged him over the rail.”

  Maybe the event was Celeste’s twisted way of protecting her, of somehow making up for the mistakes of the past. She couldn’t force any more questions past the huge lump in her throat.

  “No one else but you will ever understand what happened back there.”

  He blinked. “I’m not sure I understand it.”

  “But we went through it together.”

  He nodded. “That, we did. I’m glad it’s over.”

  He exhaled. Had he been holding his breath, waiting for relief?

  “Please, don’t leave me. I don’t think I can stand—”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled it against his chest. It seemed she could feel his heart beat ninety to nothing below the skin and bone.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Laurel. If someone wants to hurt you, they’re going to have to go through me. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  Was he trying to be her big, brave hero again? It had taken both of them to survive, but she was reluctant to point that out. Later, she might tease him about his macho attitude. Much later.

  He slowed, drove onto the shoulder, and shoved the gear into park.

  “Then, let me be clear.”

  He curled his hands into her hair and pulled her face forward until their lips met. The kiss was long and deep, the kind of kiss that expresses pent up desire, the love of life, the thrill of surviving. Already weak from experiences she couldn’t quite remember and might never be able to fully explain, she was certain if the kiss lasted much longer, she would pass out.

 
She pushed him back a little to catch her breath.

  “So...what are you trying to say?”

  He smiled, a tired expression, weary yet filled with hope and relief and longing, all rolled up together.

  “This might be a bad time to get into details, Laurel. You’re in shock. You might not remember what I say in the morning.”

  Her heart nearly stalled. “Try me.”

  Say it, Chase. Please, say it. I need to hear it. So, so badly.

  He pushed her hair behind her ear.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you. When we were in the middle of...all that, you took my breath... You were so brave... I know what you did for me even if you don’t remember it.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You drew Zeke down the tunnel and away from me. You risked your life to save mine.”

  She smiled, finally. Zeke? Tunnel? What was he talking about?

  “And how do you know that because I don’t remember any of it? You could just be telling me a tale, and how would I ever know the difference?”

  Of course, she would try to save his life if it came to that, but she really didn’t remember the incident. Not at all. Maybe in time she would, but she would have to take his word for it until she did.

  “You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  Had he read her mind again? He was good at that.

  She touched the bandage that still clung to his head. “You know, you took a hard hit. You might not remember things so well either.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But how I feel about you is...more than that. I know...” He patted his chest. “You have my heart, woman. You took it and you refused to give it back. What am I supposed to do? I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. I know that sounds kind of... Can you handle that?”

  She drew closer to him, her lips only centimeters from his. “I can handle it, as long as you don’t ever leave me.” She placed a light kiss on his waiting lips and leaned back once more. “I love you, too.”

  Time and space disappeared from her consciousness as he held her and kissed her, miles away, down the road from Laurel Heights.

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Denise is a Southern girl. She has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and scrapbooking.

  Accounting is a skill she learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote he first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She’s been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.

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  OTHER TITLES BY DENISE MONCRIEF

  Deceptions Of The Heart

  The End

  Cross Examination

  The Memory Catcher

  Victoria House (Haunted Hearts #2)

  Ashley Ridge (Haunted Hearts #3)

  Shaw’s Landing (Haunted Hearts #4)

  An Impostor in Town (Colorado #1)

  Purgatory (Colorado #2)

  Twin Rivers (Colorado #3)

  Crisis of Identity (Crisis #1)

  Crisis of Serenity (Crisis #2)

  COMING SOON

  Crisis of Security (Crisis #3)

  Chelsea Land (Haunted Hearts #5)

  BONUS MATERIAL

  VICTORIA HOUSE

  Haunted Hearts Series: Book Two

  Chapter One

  Lake Jefferson, Arkansas

  April 1924

  The small boat slipped across the gentle waves, oars dipping into the dark water only making the slightest noise. The rower kept his eyes fixed on the overgrown end of the peninsula ahead of him. Behind the thicket hid a door to a tunnel that would allow him entrance into the home of the woman he hated more than he loved life. His goal was in sight. Revenge would be sweet. She would die on the anniversary of the night his soul had died.

  Through the thick branches of trees, a lone light glowed from the second story of Victoria House. Was that her room? Was she still awake? Would she die with the horrible realization that he was the man who had executed a swift punishment for the crimes of her past? She was no saint, but then...he was no sinner. He was a dark angel of retribution.

  The woman who had become mistress of Victoria House was the last of the men and women who had stolen his future. He’d made everyone who ruined his misbegotten life pay for his or her sins against him. Five souls. Five souls had paid for their cruelty and selfishness with their lives. Each had passed into the afterlife with a horrified expression of understanding spreading across their faces. Hers would be the sixth offering to appease his need for vengeance. Sooner or later, the law would catch up to him. Maybe sooner. But that was all right. Once he had her blood on his hands, he didn’t care what happened to him afterwards. His life had been over for a long, long time.

  The hull of the boat thumped against the thin lip of shoreline. He jumped onto solid ground, caught his balance, and dragged the craft into the thick tangle of brush that covered the secluded end of the peninsula. His tread crunched ground cover as he peered into the dark, searching for the path that led to the door of the tunnel. Bringing a lamp would have been foolish. The owner of the house had trained men guarding him, day and night. The slightest flicker of a flame might have alerted old man Hamilton’s bodyguards to an unwanted guest on the premises.

  The man smiled with satisfaction. The brutes would soon discover they had been guarding the wrong Hamilton. He hadn’t come for Alfred’s blood. No, it was Victoria’s life he wanted to drain away. Her skin growing paler. Her eyes turning glassy. Filled with the horror of sudden realization when he pulled the mask away from his face as she gasped her last breath.

  His fists clenched and unclenched. He opened his hands and spread his fingers wide, forcing himself to relax. A quick pat of his pocket assured him the knife was still where he’d stashed it. He pushed aside limbs, but the semi-darkness made it hard to detect landmarks. Where was the path to the door? The tunnel entrance was supposedly set into a hillside only a few yards from the shore.

  The pale half moon cast long shadowed fingers between the branches of trees swaying and twisting in the wind. Eerie night noises swirled around him. His breath rasped in and out of his chest. As he dove further into the thicket, the moon slipped behind a cloud and the air became heavier, almost cloying with the scent of decaying vegetation. When his eyes finally adjusted to the deeper level of darkness, he found he had stumbled upon the entrance to the tunnel. Perhaps the gods were smiling on him after all.

  The door was already open a crack. He peeked inside, straining to detect any movement. He attempted to draw in a deep breath, but only ragged hacking and coughing followed the effort. He slapped his hand over his mouth, fearful of premature discovery. Steadying his nerves, he pulled the black bandana over the lower half of his face. Did his eyes sparkle with malice over the edge of the cloth? He hoped so. Oh God, he hoped so.

  He slipped along the dirt floor of the tunnel one slow step at a time. If he met one of Hamilton’s men down the long corridor, his life would end. No questions asked. No one would ever find his body. Hamilton would make sure of it, but he wouldn’t handle the task himself. No. He had men to do his dirty work for him, never allowing his hands to be soiled with the details of his enemy’s demise. Many men had disappeared, presumably murdered on Hamilton’s orders. The residents of Hill County whispered rumors of revenge and death behind their hands, but no one dared
speak of his criminal activities aloud.

  Dim lights were set into recesses in the wall at regular intervals, so that the tunnel was never totally dark. Of course, Hamilton could afford to light his house and his grounds. Hamilton ruled the county, financially, socially, and criminally.

  The dim corridor seemed to go on forever until the man came to another door just like the one he had entered. This entrance was unlocked as well. Either Hamilton and his men were incredibly lax with their security or something else was happening at Victoria House that night.

  He stepped back from the open door. Perhaps, his timing was off. Perhaps, another night would be better. Maybe someone else would do what he intended to do and all he would have to do is sit back and laugh. No, no. This was his justice. His wrongs to right. He couldn’t let anyone else do what he needed to do, even if someone else’s agenda played out in Victoria House that night as well.

  He moved past the door into the dim interior of what he presumed was the basement. Above him, the house stood quiet. One swift glance around the large space told him all he needed to know. The room was used for various illegal entertainments. Gambling and drinking. A speakeasy. Across the way sat a long bar with a mirrored wall behind it. An assortment of shiny glass bottles lined a shelf against the glass. He’d heard there was a club on the peninsula, and if he had thought about it long enough, he would have assumed Hamilton had control of it.

  Against his better judgment, he proceeded toward the stairs in the far corner of the room. The wood treads creaked as he ascended toward the first floor of the house. For a second—just a slim moment—he studied the fine woodwork of the stair banister. Hamilton had chosen only the best for his castle, even in his basement.

  The man had memorized the layout, although he’d never actually been in the house. He’d acquired his information from someone who hated Hamilton as much as he hated Hamilton’s wife. He almost laughed aloud. The old goat had named his brand new house for his brand new third wife. Victoria House. The man had heard the house was beautiful. His informant had told him that Hamilton wanted the mansion to be as elegant and sophisticated as Victoria. The baron of Hill County obviously didn’t know his wife very well. When the man was done with her, there would be nothing elegant or beautiful about the new Mrs. Hamilton.