“Wow, two calls in one week… I’m shocked. Pleasantly surprised.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got a situation here in Devil’s Den, and I thought you might know something that could help.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine.”
“Okay… is this about that formula we talked about yesterday?”
“Yes. Does the name Sebastian Wells ring a bell?”
Pause. “Yeah, it does. We went to medical school together.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Good guy. Why you ask?”
“You guys were friends?”
“Sure, met at the bar a few times after class. Not best friends, but we kept in touch through email over the years.”
“Really? What do you know about him now?”
“Not much. He travels a lot now. I haven’t heard from him in years, especially since he bought a beach house in South Africa with a buddy of his.”
A tingle shot up Weston’s spine. “A buddy?”
“Oh, let me see if I can remember…” Pause. “Ah yes, a man by the name of Benedict Prescott.”
CHAPTER 19
Weston skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. “Did you say Benedict Prescott?”
“Yep. Studied anthropology, I believe. Retired now. Heard he got into some business dealings in Africa.”
Business dealings.
“Thanks, Dad.” He shoved the truck into reverse and did a U-turn. “Gotta go.”
“Son?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s meet up soon, okay? I’ll come down there. I’d love to see your house and walk around this haunted town you live in now.”
He clenched his jaw. “Okay. Dad, I gotta go.”
“Bye, son.”
Click.
Benedict Prescott.
Son of a bitch was right under their nose the entire time.
He dialed Roxy’s number.
No answer.
He tried again.
No answer.
His pulse picked up.
One more time—nothing.
He pressed the gas, and the anxiety he’d felt minutes earlier began to intensify. Why the hell wasn’t she answering her phone?
His heart thrummed as he sped through the mountains.
He tried her cell phone again—no answer.
Come on, Roxy, pick up.
Five minutes later he barreled down the Black Rose driveway and slid to a stop behind the house. He jumped out, ran to the back door and swung it open.
“Roxy?”
He looked at her bag sitting on the counter.
“Roxy?” He jogged to her office—no sign of her.
He went back to the kitchen. “Roxy?”
His gaze landed on the trap door, which was open.
Open? They always kept it closed.
He maneuvered through the mess, kneeled down and yelled into the darkness below.
“Roxy?”
Nothing.
One more time, “Roxy?”
He frowned, stood, and a gust of wind whipped past him. Wind? He looked at the window, and his heart stopped—a bullet hole pierced the plastic that was flapping in the breeze. He yanked the gun from his belt and jumped into the tunnel.
“Roxy!”
Goosebumps ran over his skin—she was here. He knew it.
But was she alive?
He gripped his gun, took a quick inhale and silently began walking down the tunnel. As the darkness engulfed him, he closed his eyes for a moment, heightening his other senses. He stopped, listened. He felt the air around him.
Stillness.
Suddenly the faintest whoosh.
He ducked, spun on his heel, dodging whatever the hell had just tried to attack him.
Pop!
Pop, pop, pop!
He flattened on the ground as bullets flew past him, ricocheting off the beams that walled the tunnel.
Holy SHIT.
He pushed up, his head whipping toward the direction of the shots.
Fucking son of a bitch.
He crouched, then lunged forward, slamming his body into his attacker. A loud moan sounded as the man hit the wall, followed by another thud on the ground.
Weston dove toward the sound, grabbed the gun from the dirt just as a boot slammed into his face. Blood seeped into his mouth. Rage flooded him.
With a snarl, he jumped up, swung the gun and connected with bone.
“Fuck!”
He jumped toward the voice, pinning his attacker against the wall.
“Benedict Prescott,” he snarled.
“That’s Dr. Prescott to you.”
A knee struck his stomach and the gun tumbled from his hand.
Shit!
Seeing red now, he found Benedict’s throat, squeezed and began pummeling his face with his other hand, again and again, until the body under him went limp.
Chest heaving, he released his grip and Benedict slid down the wall.
He spun around. “Roxy?”
He stood still, holding his breath, listening.
“Weston!”
Relief flooded him. He turned toward the sweetest, softest voice he’d ever heard in his life and jogged through the darkness.
“I’m here, Roxy.”
He stopped, reached forward and felt her hand, reaching for him. The moment they touched, she lunged forward and fell into his arms.
“You’re okay now.” He held her as she wept. “You’re okay, you’re safe now.”
CHAPTER 20
Weston watched from behind the two-way mirror as April grabbed a tissue and dabbed the black mascara from her cheek.
She was a blubbering mess.
Zander leaned forward. “Did Dr. Prescott tell you why he wanted you to print the layout of Miss Knight's office?”
She nodded, sniffled. “Oh, yes, I asked because I thought it was kinda a weird request, and he said he needed to get an idea of the depth of the tomb… and something about soil moisture to help him analyze the bones better. Something like that.”
Zander shook his head and glanced at the mirror. He looked back at April. “How did you get it?”
She blushed. “I know the intern that works at the firm the Knight sisters used. We… uh went out on a date a few months ago. Anyway, I just asked him for it. It didn’t seem like a big deal.”
“And then what?”
“Dr. Prescott told me that it would help him if I kept him in the loop if I heard anything regarding the bones. I said yes, not thinking anything of it.” She started sobbing.
Zander pulled a few more tissues from the box.
She continued, “When I was on my date with Jimmy, we were talking about the recent house fire, and he casually mentioned that Weston and Roxy were out investigating some clues about some bones they’d found. So, I sent Dr. Prescott a text telling him that Roxy might have some information for him.” She wailed, tears falling from her eyes. “I didn’t know he’d go try to kill her!” She wiped her tears.
Just then, Chief Moretti poked his head in. “Zander, we need you.”
Zander pushed out of the chair and met Moretti in the hall.
“FBI’s here. Conference room two.”
“Perfect.” He looked back at April crying uncontrollably in the room. “Let her go. We’ve got everything we need from her. Benedict conned her, played her. He wanted the damn blueprints so he could find the easiest way to break into Roxy’s house and search the tomb. That’s it.”
Moretti nodded. “Go to the conference room. I’ll be right behind you.”
Five minutes later, Weston sat around a long black table with Zander, the chief, and two prickly men in suits.
Moretti made the introductions. “This is Special Agents Hughes and Murphey with the FBI.” He looked at the agents. “This is Lieutenant Zander Stone, and Fire Chief Weston Cage, who has been an intricate part of this investigation.”
They shook hands.
Agent Murphey leaned forward.
“As I’ve already told Chief Moretti, Benedict Prescott has been on our radar for years, for potentially working with Lubanzi Biobaku and the SALL militia group in Africa in a large-scale prescription drug smuggling scheme. A few months ago, we intercepted a call from here in Devil's Den to one of the members of the group, informing them that he was related to Dr. Leland Richmond and was in possession of the formula for a revolutionary drug that could cure Marburg and Ebola. The caller asked for a half-million dollars for the formula. That person was Adam Richmond. The SALL member immediately contacted Benedict, informing him of the development. You see, they thought Leland had destroyed the formula, years ago."
“How did Adam get the formula?”
“His father, Cliff. Apparently, before his death, Leland had the paperwork mailed to Cliff right after Benedict had approached him about buying the formula from him, on behalf of SALL. We assume Leland suspected he was getting himself into trouble, which is why he mailed copies of everything he had regarding the drug. When Cliff died, Adam found the paperwork and seeing dollar signs, he did a little investigative work of his own. He was able to track down the group members, via their liberation website.”
“So the papers have just been sitting with Cliff for forty years?”
“We can’t even confirm that he opened them. He and Leland had a very strained relationship.” Murphey shrugged. “He could have just tucked it away, or if he did open it, he either didn’t care or didn’t even understand what the papers were about. Either way, the formula was buried, until Adam brought it back from the dead.”
“And Benedict found out he had it, and killed him for it.”
“Right.”
“Just like he killed Leland and his wife.” Weston shook his head and leaned forward. “How does Sebastian Wells tie into this? Why was he giving Adam money?”
“He’s as clean as a whistle. Leland and Sebastian were friends for a while until they drifted apart. Quit talking over the years. Sebastian didn’t even know Leland was dead until we told him when we interviewed him this morning. When Sebastian heard about Leland’s brother’s death a few months ago, he tried to contact Leland. After many failed attempts, he got worried and tracked down Adam. And after an hour-long phone conversation, Adam cried to Sebastian about his money troubles and asked for money, which Sebastian obliged.”
“Heart of gold.”
“Yep.”
“What about his connection to Benedict Prescott?”
“He only knows Benedict through the medical circle—met him a few years ago. Got into a casual conversation about their love for big-game hunting and went in on a timeshare in South Africa with him. That’s it.”
“Which is where Benedict met Lubanzi Biobaku and got involved with SALL?"
“Exactly.”
Weston’s fists clenched under the table. He looked at Agent Hughes. “I need you to tell me that Benedict Prescott will never see the light of day again.”
The stoic agent almost laughed—almost. “You don’t have to worry about that, Chief Cage. And neither does Roxy Knight… although something tells me she wouldn’t need to worry about a thing, regardless, with someone like you in her life. She’s lucky you were around, Chief.”
He shook his head and stood, “No, I’m the lucky one.”
Three hours later, Weston took a step back, put his hands on his hips and admired his work.
Nice.
Nicely done, Weston.
He cocked his head—wait. He stepped forward and moved the heart-shaped candle a half-inch to the left, and then turned the vase of roses to showcase the biggest bloom.
Perfect.
He heard the door close downstairs and clicked on the Jacuzzi jets. The smell of lavender and eucalyptus perfumed the air as he turned the lights off. Dozens of candles twinkled off the walls, and thirty-six red roses lay scattered around the tub.
He took one more look around and squared his shoulders. He did damn good.
He jogged across the room, down the hall and the moment he hit the foyer his eyes locked on hers, and a smile crossed her lips.
“Stay there.” He ran across the foyer and took the bag from her shoulder.
“Put your arms around my neck.” As she did, he took the crutches from her hands and swooped her off her feet.
She smiled, kissed his cheek. “Would you think less of me if I made sure my ankle never healed?”
He turned and started down the hall. “So you can hang onto me like a damsel in distress all the time? You bet.”
She laughed. “Thank God it wasn’t my right foot.”
“Yep, what would you do if you couldn’t drive? You’d be stuck in this horrible shack for weeks.” He grinned. “How’s everyone?”
“Good. About to head home for the evening. Well, Fiona’s headed to the library—
He squeezed his eyebrows together. “The library?”
“Yeah, returning some books she checked out.”
“Actual books? Not e-books, downloads?”
“Nope. Actual books. She was researching some medical journals regarding the creepy corpse case.”
His jaw clenched. “The case that’s behind us now.”
She nodded, nestled into his chest. “Yes.”
He was surprised at his nerves as he stepped into her bedroom. She lifted her head off his chest and sniffed.
Her eyes widened as she looked at him. “I smell… roses… and…”
He rounded the corner to the massive bathroom.
Her mouth dropped open as she looked at the romantic scene. “Weston… I cannot believe you!”
He smiled, carefully set her down, and cupped her face in his hands. Before he kissed her, he said, “This is going to become a regular thing. You, me, bubble baths.” He kissed her nose. “I’m going to relax you if it takes the rest of my life.” He kissed her lips. “I’m going to take some of that weight off your shoulders. I’m going to break down your damn walls.” He kissed her again and smiled. “I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
Her eyes twinkled as she stared back at him.
He started to pull away, and she grabbed his shirt. “You might want to take this off.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re joining me in this bath.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
CHAPTER 21
With a stack of books in her arms, Fiona glanced up at the moon, peeking out from behind the clouds as she scaled the library steps, two at a time.
A warm breeze swept through her long, brown hair. Spring was in the air, and she couldn’t wait.
She glanced at her watch—almost eight o’clock. Six more minutes and the library would be closed—she’d barely made it. It had been yet another evening working late at the office. But that was okay, she had a box of Italian sausage sent to her all the way from Italy, courtesy of her grandma, waiting for her at home.
Maybe she’d make a creamy Tuscan pasta with it. No—she’d fry up some fresh veggies, peppers, onions, tomatoes, squash, with it.
Yes, that’s exactly what she’d do. That, with a nice bottle of red.
Her mouth started to water as she pushed through the double doors.
The three-story library sat at the end of a long dirt road just on the outskirts of town. Built hundreds of years earlier, the building was a staple in Devil’s Den, and as with most old buildings in town, it was rumored to be haunted. And after Fiona had seen it for the first time the afternoon before, she could certainly see why.
Worn, scuffed hardwood floors ran throughout the decrepit building, which was filled with endless tunnels of books. Antique-looking lights with exposed wiring hung from the ceiling, some of which didn’t even work. Cracked stone walls supported wooden shelves that held thousands of books that stretched all the way up to the roof. Dirty, stained-glass with creepy depictions of characters from old stories that she’d never heard of filled the few windows that sparsely lit the space.
; But perhaps the biggest reason for the haunted rumors was the old librarian, Mrs. Thorne, who walked around with a scowl on her wrinkled face, wearing the same black dress and boots that she supposedly wore every day. Fiona would never forget meeting her, because of the chill she’d sent straight up her spine.
The smell of leather and mold filled her nose as she stepped inside and immediately noticed that the building seemed darker than it should. She frowned and glanced up at the lights—half had already been turned off for evening. She looked at the clock on the wall. Five ‘til eight—they shouldn’t be closed.
“Mrs. Thorne?”
She stepped forward.
The library was dead silent—not even the clicking of a computer, or the hum of a fan.
Nothing.
A flutter of nerves had her glancing over her shoulder.
“Hello?” She walked to the front desk, set the books in the basket and—
Bang!
Her heart jumped in her throat as she spun on her heel and looked toward the back of the building.
What the hell was that?
“Mrs. Thorne? You alright?”
She hesitated, took another glance around.
“Mrs. Thorne?”
She slowly walked toward the back, weaving through the rows of books, every now and then pausing to glance through the shelves to make sure no one was following her.
The lights grew dimmer as she reached the back of the building.
A chill crept up her spine—this was officially one of the creepiest places she’d ever been in her life.
The gurgle from an old water fountain had her whipping around, scaring her half to death.
Dammit, Fi, get ahold of yourself.
She frowned, squinted, and cocked her head.
Was that…
Just beyond the fountain was a narrow wooden door with a dim light twinkling through the cracked slats.
“Mrs. Thorne?”
She walked to the door, slowly put her hand on the brass knob and turned. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a short stone staircase. A blue light danced on the wall.
Humph.
She chewed on her bottom lip gazing at the steps—maybe she shouldn’t…
She rolled her eyes. She knew she was going down that damn staircase, so why stand here and pretend to think it through?
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