Preying Game (Decorah Security Series, Book #15): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel

by Rebecca York

  Yet he understood it didn’t matter what he told himself. Learning how far away she really was had given him a bad shock.

  oOo

  Arthur Hayward sat in his comfortable library drumming his fingers on the desktop. He was impatient for the hunt. Yet he couldn’t start until dark, lest a passing boater on the river could see what was going on at the estate.

  He stood up, poured a finger of Scotch and downed it in one swallow. His nerves were so raw that he had to force himself not to ring the gong that signaled the start of the game. He’d had Alice Davenport under strict control—like the other women he’d taken. Now the bitch was ruining his pleasure. Something had happened, something he couldn’t understand, and all he wanted to do was get rid of the little cunt.

  Previously, he’d drawn out the hunt. He’d let his prey think she had a chance to get away, and he’d watched her circle around the grounds, trying to find a way out. Not this time. He’d let Alice onto the playing field and let her have a few minutes to worry about escaping. Then he’d finish her off with a surprise strike and start looking for his next victim.

  oOo

  The dramatic ringing of a loud gong startled Alice awake. She sat up and looked around, instantly in a state of high alert.

  Hayward’s voice blasted out of the loudspeaker like an announcer at a boxing match. “Time for the game to begin. You will go upstairs and take the door to the outside that you will find open. Step out and close the door behind you. I will give you twenty minutes to get as far away as you can.”

  She got up, did some stretches, and went to the bathroom. After using the facilities, she splashed water on her face and took a drink.

  Although she wanted to reach into her pocket to feel the matches, she kept her hands at her sides as she walked down the hall and up the steps. The whole scene had feeling of unreality, like she was an actor in a play. But this scene was all too immediate.

  “Keep your head, and keep your nerve,” she told herself, knowing her only chance was to stay cool. Had the other women thought they could escape? Had they been paralyzed by fear and given up too easily? She certainly wasn’t going to do that. If the bastard was going to finish her off, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she saw the open door and stepped out. Instead of closing the door completely, she pulled it almost shut. Turning, she drew in a deep breath as she got her first taste of the outside since she’d arrived here. The sky was dark, but the moon was close to full, brightening the scene. The air was just a little chilly, and she was glad her shirt had long sleeves. Although it felt safer to linger in the doorway, she stepped away from the building, heading across a stretch of lawn. The grass felt dry and brittle under her feet, and she had the feeling that the rest of the summer had been dry.

  The trees looked like they were beginning to turn. The idea of climbing one crossed her mind, but then she’d be trapped. Instead she headed to the other side of several old boxwoods and pressed backward into the small-leafed branches, enveloped by the bush’s pungent aroma. When she had partially concealed herself, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the matchbook. Flipping open the cover, she found that only about half the matches were still in the pack. Well, that was better than nothing.

  Hayward had told her he’d give her twenty minutes to get away, which made her think that sticking around the house was a better idea.

  Listening hard, she tried to detect any evidence of the man moving around the grounds, but she heard nothing.

  Jonah, are you here Jonah? she called out.

  At first there was no answer, and she repeated his name, hoping against hope that he was nearby.

  Then the sound of someone calling her name made her almost cry out before she clamped her lips shut. She thought Hayward was trying to get her to break cover.

  Then she realized the word had not been vocalized. It was in her head.

  Jonah? My God, is that you? She had almost given up hope of seeing him tonight, but now he was here—calling her, and relief flooded through her.

  Yes, he answered.

  Where were you?

  I had a little problem, but I’m here. Thank God I heard you calling. That got me over the hump.

  What happened?

  He hesitated for a moment. I’ll tell you later.

  What? she pressed.

  It’s a long story.

  Something about the way he said it made her nerve endings tingle.

  Focus on me, he said.

  She did as he asked, and all at once he was standing almost beside her, his ghostly form shimmering in the moonlight. Like her, he seemed to be dressed in black. She reached for him, closing her eyes as she felt him move in close. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his body.

  I thought you weren’t coming, she admitted.

  I wasn’t sure I could get here. But it looks like I made it. For a long moment, she clung to him, wishing he could hide her from Hayward. But she knew that was only a fantasy.

  We have to get busy, he said before he eased away.

  What are we going to do?

  You stay here, he said. I’m going to see if I can locate the bastard.

  Wait! I have matches. I stole them from his desk.

  He drew in a quick breath. The fire.

  What?

  Stay here while I look for him.

  She pressed farther into the bushes, watching Jonah stride away. Was she really going to make it out of here alive? Maybe with Jonah’s help.

  Her heart pounded as she waited in the moonlight. Finally she saw Jonah coming back.

  He’s in front, but he’s coming this way.

  What should I do?

  I’m going to try the ghost trick again.

  oOo

  Jonah watched the bastard with the gun walk confidently around the side of the house. He seemed to be sure of Alice’s location.

  Shit. Jonah didn’t know what kind of tracking equipment was available in the fifties, but this guy must have something. He’d told Alice he was giving her a chance to get away, but on the face of it, that must be a lie. If she escaped, she could turn him in, and he had to avoid that at all costs.

  Jonah could hear something ticking as the man walked. The beeps got louder as he got closer to Alice. Christ, she must be wearing some kind of transmitter, and Hayward was following the sound. It was primitive by twenty-first century standards, but it was good enough to lead the killer to his victim.

  He ran back to Alice. Take off your shirt and pants. And your shoes, too.

  What?

  He must have planted a transmitter in your clothes.

  A what?

  Something that will lead him to you. Take off your clothes and leave them on the ground. Then get away from them.

  She stared at him, wide eyed.

  Do it. I’ll try to slow him down.

  He ran back toward the killer, praying that Alice would do what he asked.

  oOo

  Alice stared after Jonah. She didn’t really understand what he was talking about—but it made sense. There was a whole big estate where she could hide, and how would Hayward know in which direction she’d gone unless he had some way of keeping track of her? And hadn’t he been very specific about what he wanted her to wear for this hunt? With her lower lip firmly between her teeth, she pulled off her shirt and threw it on the ground, to the right of where she was standing. Then she unzipped her pants and threw them on top of the shirt.

  Her shoes followed. She had a heart-stopping moment when she realized the matches were still in the pants. Dashing out of the bush, she grabbed the pants and reached in the pocket.

  They were gone!

  No, wrong pocket.

  Quickly she fumbled on the other side and found them.

  Wearing only her bra and panties and feeling horribly vulnerable, she darted away from the clothing and into another clump of shrubbery, where she burrowed in as far as possible, thinking that with the d
ark clothing gone, she was going to stand out like a marble statue in the moonlight.

  Faintly, she heard a clicking sound. It grew stronger as the man came around the corner. He stopped short, then turned to the place where she had discarded her clothing.

  “Got ya,” he shouted as he charged forward, then stopped a few yards from the bush where she’d been hiding.

  “Son of a bitch,” he shouted when he saw the garments lying on the ground. Then he bellowed her name. “Alice, you cunt, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Jonah came up behind him and kicked him in the ass. He screamed and whirled around, pulling the trigger of the rifle he was holding. When it discharged, she silently screamed.

  Jonah.

  I’m fine.

  Hayward turned in her direction again, and she cringed back into the bushes. For a terrible moment, she thought he had found her. Then he walked past her, heading for the formal garden. Jonah followed him, leaping in front of the man and waving his arms like he was desperately trying to stop a speeding car from plowing over a cliff. When Hayward ignored him, Jonah punched him in the face. The man howled, but he obviously couldn’t see what had hit him. What did it even feel like? And would the killer keep heading for the garden?

  When they were out of sight, she debated what to do—head for the hills or head back for the house? Either option was risky, but she liked going back the way she’d come.

  She ran to the mansion and reached the door where she’d exited into the yard.

  It was now shut tight.

  Damn. She moved around the house looking for a way in, but all the windows were closed. When she tried some, she found they were locked.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn’t see Hayward.

  Are you still with him, she called to Jonah in her mind

  Yes.

  Where?

  In the formal garden.

  She headed to the other side of the house, looking up at the second story. When she spotted a window that was open about a foot, she looked for a way to get up and saw the drain pipe at the corner of the house.

  There was no way the old Alice could have climbed it. But Hayward had made her work hard to get in shape. She reached as high as she could, grasped the pipe, and pulled herself up.

  The metal held her weight. With the matchbook clamped between her teeth, she started moving upward, pulling with her strong arms and bracing with her feet. The metal dug into her bare soles, but she kept going.

  Stopping at the window level, she swung one arm outward, grasped the edge of the open lower sash and pushed.

  At first it wouldn’t move. Then she put more force into the upward motion, and the sash opened a few more inches, enough for her to wiggle through.

  When she climbed down to the floor, she saw she was in a bedroom. Hayward’s bedroom, she figured, since there were coins and a wallet on the dresser.

  She crossed to the closet, threw it open and saw shirts and suits hanging on a rack. Touching the man’s clothes made her feel sick, but she snatched out a blue shirt and put it on, rolling up the sleeves as she turned to the bed.

  Throwing back the spread, she took the matchbook from between her teeth, and struck a match. The first one she tried didn’t catch. Tearing off another, she pressed more firmly. It caught, and she held it against the top sheet.

  It immediately flared up, giving her a profound sense of satisfaction.

  A pile of newspapers was on the bedside table, and she crumpled up several sheets, holding them in the flames until they caught, then tossed them around, one onto the rug and one onto the drapes.

  As the flames leaped up, she exited the room and headed down the hall toward the stairs.

  Alice. Her name rang in her head. Alice, he’s coming back. Where are you?

  In the house. I got upstairs. I’ve set his bedroom on fire.

  Oh Christ. Get out of there.

  Which way is he coming?

  Toward where you dropped the clothes.

  The bedroom behind her was blazing now, with smoke billowing out the door and down the hall, making her cough. She bent over, running down the stairs to a formal entrance which she had never seen before.

  Jesus. Jonah’s exclamation rang in her head. He’s seen the fire. He’s running toward the front door Get out of there.

  She tried to comply, but smoke was pouring down the stairs now, making her dizzy. She dashed toward the back of the house and found the library where she and Hayward had talked earlier.

  Picking up a paperweight from the desk, she smashed it into one of the windowpanes. When the glass broke, she ran to the opening, gulping in the fresh air as she fumbled to unlock the sash.

  She had just gotten it up when Hayward came charging into the room, his eyes as blazing as the fire on the upper floor.

  “You bitch,” he screamed, raising the rifle.

  She snatched a large book from the desk and threw it with all her might, hitting him in the head. He staggered back, but raised the gun again, one eye closed as he tried to focus on her.

  Jonah was right behind him. In that instant, as he charged through the door, she saw him go from ghost to a solid figure.

  She had no time to marvel at the change. Everything was happening too fast.

  Hearing the running feet behind him, Hayward whirled.

  “Christ! I see you,” he shouted.

  “Then stop picking on girls and fight like a man.”

  Hayward bent low and leaped toward him, knocking Jonah off his feet, and the two men rolled on the floor. When a gun went off, she gasped, but it looked like neither one of them had been hit.

  A crackling sound made her look up, and she saw flames licking at the ceiling.

  “Get out,” Jonah shouted.

  “Not without you.”

  The killer was on top of Jonah. She dashed to the fireplace, picked up the poker and brought it down on Hayward’s head. He went still, and Jonah pitched him away, then struggled to his feet.

  She was already yanking at the drapes, tearing them down and using the heavy fabric to pull away the broken glass at the window.

  Jonah helped. When they had cleared away the shards, he shouted, “Go.”

  She hoisted herself up and clambered out, landing in a flower bed. Jonah was seconds behind her. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her away from the house. They were twenty yards away when she turned to see that whole second floor was burning, with the flames creeping downward.

  “Come on,” Jonah cried, tugging at her arm. He was still a solid form, and she let him guide her away into the gardens.

  She wanted to stop, but he made her keep moving, out of the landscaped area, across a field and into a small woods.

  “Where are we going?” she gasped out.

  “Away from this damn place.”

  oOo

  At the edge of the woods, Jonah stopped and turned. The whole house seemed to be on fire now, and he could hear sirens in the distance.

  Looking at Alice, he saw she was still dazed.

  “Sweetheart, focus on me.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “We have to get away from here.”

  “Yes, I know,” she answered, although she couldn’t know what he meant.

  He led her into the woods, then stopped. “Lord, I wasn’t sure . . .”

  “But we’re safe.”

  “Not quite yet. Come here.” She came into his arms, and he folded her close, feeling her lean into him. “I have to take you back where I came from,” he murmured as he stroked her back and shoulders.

  “Can’t we just run?”

  “It’s complicated. I came from farther away than you know.” He swallowed hard. “To get there with me, you have to join your consciousness to mine.”

  “How?”

  “Start by opening to me, like when we talk in our minds. Close your eyes. Make yourself part of me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. But you have to trust me
. You have to be part of me,” he repeated. “Like we talked in our heads. Only closer, deeper.”

  Trust me, he silently begged now.

  I do. As she said it, he felt her opening herself to him in a way that would have seemed impossible a few days ago. Now it wasn’t just words that bonded them together. He could read her emotions. He knew she was feeling his relief that he’d gotten her out of there and his joy in holding her. As she closed her eyes and leaned into him, he felt her coping with a jumble of his thoughts and her own. But he knew she could tell how important this was to him.

  Her hands clamped onto his shoulders as the psychic lines between the two of them blurred.

  He felt a dart of fear inside her. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m trying to bring you home with me. Relax. Don’t fight me,” he added, hearing a note of desperation in his own voice as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed and prayed that this would work.

  “Trust me,” he said again.

  “I do,” she answered, and he knew it was true. He clasped her more tightly, praying that he could take both of them back to his own time.

  He felt a strong wind buffeting them, as though the gap in their times was holding her back.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered, focusing on returning—with Alice.

  A thunderclap shook them, and he heard her cry out.

  His eyes flew open, and he looked toward the burning house. In the darkness, he could see nothing.

  “I think we made it.”

  Opening her eyes, she stared at him, then reached up a hand to touch his lips, his brows, his cheeks.

  “We’re here together,” he murmured, still taking it in, because until this moment, he hadn’t known it was possible.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” he answered thinking this was hard enough for him to comprehend, and that he had to ease her into this new reality.

  But first, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her into his arms.

  “You’re free.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  She turned her face up to him, and it was the most natural thing in the world to lower his mouth to hers. They clung together, kissing and touching, the reality of her escape sinking in. As he held her and stroked her, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life. But he knew this place wasn’t as safe as it seemed.