by Jo Goodman
"Shut up, Cory."
"And when you frightened her off, you had to have another whore. You couldn't wait to have that Dennehy bitch, could you? I was drugging her from the first just so you could get inside her!"
"I never—"
"That's it, isn't it? You never get inside! You only touch. What kind of man are you?"
Parnell's hand came up.
Corona's eyes blazed. "Don't you hit me," she bit out. "Don't you dare!"
Rather than let his hand hover in the air, Parnell raked back his hair in an angry gesture.
"You have to pay for them or drug them and you still can't do what a real man does. You'd have tried with her again tonight if I hadn't stopped you—and you'd have failed."
"Go get your things, Cory. We're leaving this place. It's over. If there was a treasure, it's not going to be yours."
"It's because you still want me, isn't it?" she asked baldly, needling him. Her voice was husky and quiet, a throaty whisper. "Just like when we were children. I've spoiled you for other women. You didn't only touch me. I let you do other things. I let you do anything. Is it because I'm your sister? Is that what made it different for you?"
"Stepsister," he said quietly. "You're my stepsister."
"I know. But Mother still said it was wrong. Do you remember when she—"
This time when Parnell raised his hands, he put them over his ears. "I'm not listening to you," he said tightly.
"What a child you are," she whispered. "It's small wonder that you need me to show you what needs doing."
Parnell turned away and went to his armoire. "I'm leaving here, Cory. You can go or stay as it pleases you. I'm taking half the money." He yanked open the door to the wardrobe. "And you can have—"
Just like Alice-through-the-Looking-Glass, Skye Dennehy fell forward into the opening. She tried to scramble out of the way, but Parnell was too quick. His fingers caught the shoulder of her shift and he pulled hard. To prevent him from ripping the material, she was forced forward on her knees.
Corina threw up her hands. She was very close to tears. "Can't you do anything?" she demanded. "I thought you said she couldn't get out! You should have killed her!" She glanced quickly over her shoulder to the open doorway. "You know what this means, don't you? He's out, too."
Parnell's hand moved from Skye's shoulder to her hair. He twisted his fingers in it and jerked her to her feet. "Is that right?" he fairly growled. "Walker's out?"
Skye remained mute.
"Of course he's out," Corina snapped. "I hope you did a better job with Annie and her brat." Her full mouth flattened and then became a sneer. "Or can we expect more company?"
Parnell slipped his forearm around Skye's throat. He kicked the wardrobe door shut. "I think it's safe to assume he won't be coming at us that way," he told Corina.
Her voice raised an octave. "He shouldn't be coming after us at all!"
"Do you have your pistol?"
She shook her head.
"Get it."
"What if he's out there?" she asked. "What if he's waiting for me?"
Parnell's laughter was short and without humor. "It's not so easy being the one to take the risks, is it? Well, dear sister, I have my protection. What are you going to use? Walker Caide was never much interested in your cold charms."
"Bastard."
The pressure on Skye's throat made every word a struggle. "If you let her go, she won't come back," she told him. "And not because Walker will find her. She'll betray you again."
Parnell's arm didn't loosen. It tightened on Skye's throat as if he could force answers from her. His cold blue eyes had narrowed on Corina. "Explain you," he said. "What betrayal?"
Corina shook her head. "It's a play for time," she snapped. "I'm going to get my pistol."
"Don't let her go," Skye told him quickly, imparting urgency into her warning. "She'll leave you."
"Stay where you are, Cory. I want to hear what she has to say."
Corina ignored him. "Walker must be somewhere else," she said. "She's just trying to give him time to get here." She hesitated on the threshold, looking up and down the hall before she hurried away to her own room.
"You've lost her," Skye whispered hoarsely. She brought her hands up to Parnell's forearm and tried to get him to ease his grip on her throat. She managed to turn her head slightly to one side and draw a deep, cleansing breath. "She's been playing you for a fool. You must have suspected."
Parnell gave Skye a small shake before he urged her toward the door. "Talk to me," he said. He emphasized his words by forcing her up on tiptoe. Had he pressed further, her feet would have left the floor.
Skye sought purchase on the forearm that held her securely against him. Her fingers bit into Parnell's shirt and the hard muscle beneath. "All the time she's been making you dig in the cellar, she's been looking for the treasure above stairs."
"Where? Here, on this floor?"
She could only choke out a single word. "Higher." Parnell moved Skye into the hall and toward the main staircase. When they stood on the precipice of the landing, he paused. Skye held her breath; afraid he meant to push her. "On the servants' floor. She went up there at night... when you were..."
"With you."
"With me," she agreed. "She wanted you to be with me. She had an opportunity to get rid of me and she didn't take it." Skye knew she had Parnell's complete attention. His arm loosened slightly to let her breathe. "Corina covered for me."
"What are you talking about?"
"I went into the cellar. Annie locked me in and Corina figured it out. Instead of exposing me, she drugged my milk that night and later went back to the cellar and locked the door I used to get out. She never told you. I was valuable to her as long as I proved a diversion."
Parnell placed a hand at her back and forced her to take the first step down. "Cory says I shouldn't have let you read the Granville history," he said quietly. His mouth was very close to her ear. "But you know why I wanted you to have it."
Skye did know. Parnell had wanted to convince her it was Hamilton Granville's ghost making nightly visits to her room. He wanted her to be seduced by the idea of the ghost, a little afraid, a little intrigued, and thoroughly in its thrall. "Did you do the same thing to the housekeeper before me?"
He didn't answer her question and his hold tightened so she couldn't ask any more of her own. She was effectively silenced, unable to cry out to Walker, unable to warn him of their approach. Parnell urged her forward over the lip of the next step.
Skye didn't immediately understand Parnell's intent. At first she thought he meant to move her out of the house entirely, using her as a hostage to make his escape. It wasn't until he turned her in the direction of the library that she realized her mistake. She had forgotten about the money, had never considered where he might have kept the fortune from his investors. Parnell wouldn't have entrusted it to a bank, not with bankers among the businessmen he had deceived. Parnell would have kept it close by so that he could look on it occasionally, have it close so he could take it on a moment's notice.
The doors to the library were closed. He made Skye open them. The arm at her throat was cutting off her circulation. Her fingers felt numb and clumsy because of it. Even her thinking didn't seem sharp any longer. She should have found a way to warn Walker.
The room was empty. Parnell made certain of it by turning himself and Skye in a slow circle to investigate the area. He pushed her to the desk and forced her into the chair behind it. He shoved the chair forward, caging Skye between the desk top and the chair arms, and stood over her, behind her, and made her open the panels under his direction.
One by one the pocket drawers were sprung open and each in turn revealed nothing. The contracts and money had all disappeared.
"Damn her!" he swore. His fingertips pressed whitely into Skye's shoulders. "She's taken it all! Taken everything!"
Skye gasped at the pain. Her hands slipped from the top of the desk to her lap. From his hiding pla
ce under the desk, Walker placed a loaded gun in her palm. Her fingers closed over it.
Parnell yanked the chair away from the desk and hauled Skye to her feet again. This time, when he turned her toward him, he found himself facing the barrel of his cutaway trigger Colt. He took a step backward without any urging from Skye. Her two-handed hold on the weapon was steady. Walker crawled out from beneath the desk.
"Keep it on him," Walker told her. "If he moves, shoot." Then he hunkered down at her bare feet and tore a strip off the hem of her shift. Skye didn't flinch. Walker straightened after he produced a second strip and held one in each hand. His next order was for Parnell. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back." There was hesitation. Walker added calmly, "Shoot him, Skye."
The movement of her finger was almost imperceptible, but Parnell saw it. He spun on his heel and presented his hands behind his back. Walker tied him quickly, then forced Parnell to kneel and added a length that bound his wrists to his ankles. When he was done, he pushed Parnell's shoulder so he toppled on his side. Watching Walker work, Skye realized Parnell had to be considering his own mistakes in binding both of them. Walker's method of securing Parnell made it impossible for Parnell to move his hands forward as Walker had done.
"I'm going to get Corina," said Walker. "I want you to stay here."
Skye relaxed her grip on the Colt. "You'll need this. Corina went for her gun."
He shook his head. "Keep it. And don't think twice about using it."
"I won't."
It wasn't Skye who responded. Both Skye and Walker turned toward the open doorway. Corina Reading stood there. Her small hands held her gun as steadily as Skye and she was aiming it squarely at Walker. Sixteen feet separated Corina and her target. Her delicate features were sharply set, her sloe eyes coldly focused.
Skye's own weapon remained leveled at Parnell's chest. She eyed Corona's gun critically. "That's a single-action pocket revolver," she told Walker. "A Smith and Wesson .32. The range is fair; the accuracy is poor. She has only one shot. She has to be very good or very, very lucky."
Corona's flinch was centered in her eyes. "I only want the money."
Skye's position hadn't changed. Even with her gun pointed in another direction, she remained perfectly poised and said; "I can get the drop on her."
A faint smile curved Walker's mouth as he held Corona's eyes with his own. His words were issued with the slight edge of a challenge. "You heard her, Corina. She says she can get the drop on you."
Corona's hands tightened.
Skye elbowed Walker aside and pivoted in the same motion, squeezing off a shot as the lead ball from Corona's revolver split the air. She felt the Colt's recoil charge her muscles and shudder her bones and the infinitesimal sensation of something hot and hard whispering past the curve of her shoulder. In the same moment Skye saw Corina Reading's feet leave the floor and her shoulders heave backward. She was thrown against the far wall of the hallway, her features registering both surprise and pain as she remained suspended there for a second. Her collapse followed, her body folding forward like a rag doll until she lay face down on the hardwood floor.
The single-action Smith and Wesson slipped out of her hand and skittered across the floor.
Silence held them all still. Parnell's limbs were rigid against his bonds. Skye's extended arms were locked in the action of firing. Walker's frame remained in the half crouch that Skye had forced on him.
Walker was the first to recover. He straightened slowly and removed the gun from Skye's hands. He laid it on the desk. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. Her face was pale and her heart was slamming, but she was all of a piece. "I'll see to her," she said quietly. "Watch Parnell." Skye crossed the room to Corona's side and knelt. Blood was pooling on the floor near Corona's shoulder and Skye was gentle in turning her over. She opened Corona's bodice and eased it off her wounded shoulder. Ripping more of her shredded shift, Skye bound the injury. "We need to take her to a doctor," she said.
"It's a clean wound?"
"All the way through."
"What about Annie and Matt?"
Skye glanced at Corina. Her color was ashen but her pulse was steady. The flow of blood had slowed and was no longer dangerous. "There's time. It's not life threatening." Corina moaned softly as if to object, but Skye paid the theatrics no attention. She pointed to Parnell. "He can help you find them."
Parnell struggled to sit up. "Hank drove them to Baileyboro."
"He's lying," Skye said. "I heard Corina say that she hoped they couldn't get out. They argued about it. Annie and Matt are trapped somewhere in this house."
"You need me to find them," Parnell interjected quickly.
Walker ignored the interruption and looked at Skye. "Do you know where they might be?"
She shook her head. "One of the locked closets... a passage I've never had time to investigate... another cellar. I couldn't find them quickly. Young Matt..." Skye's bright green eyes glistened as tears rose unchecked. "Annie will be so frightened."
"Then we need this bastard," Walker said.
Skye didn't look at Parnell. "Be careful."
Parnell jerked at his bonds. "You'll have to untie me. I won't tell you anything unless you untie me."
Walker hunched down beside him. His eyes were sharply splintered, cold in their remote indifference. "I can make you tell me anything I want," he said softly. He watched a bead of sweat form on Parnell's upper lip. Walker had made his point. "In the interest of time, I'll let you up."
"Is it the money?" asked Parnell. "Is that what you want?"
Walker took a letter opener from the desk and used it to undo the knots securing Parnell's ankles. "My uncle was Jonathan Parnell," he said. "That's what this is about, Mr. Curran. A good and decent man is dead, buried in a shallow grave below this house, and you'll have to answer for it." He paused a beat, releasing the last knot and tossing the opened letter back on the desk. He hauled Morgan Curran to his feet. "Does that sufficiently explain my purpose here?"
The man who had been known for months as Parnell was reeling. "You know who I am?"
"I've always known."
"The threats on my life?"
"I'm the only threat on your life."
His throat was dry. Morgan Curran didn't have enough saliva to spit. He thrust his chin in Skye's direction. "Is she your partner?"
"She is now."
"Your uncle's death was an accident. The tunnel collapsed."
Walker was unmoved. "He shouldn't have been in there."
"That was Corona's idea. She thought the Granville fortune was buried at the end of it, just like some damned pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."
"And you always follow your sister's lead."
Curran blinked. "My stepsister," he corrected. "But yes, I follow her lead. She's a very forceful woman. Not easily subjugated." His eyes shifted pointedly to Skye again. The stare she returned was filled with loathing. Curran's reply was delivered with a mocking sneer. "Some women are more easily mastered."
Skye could not remain quiet. "You drugged me!" she accused him. "I wouldn't have let you—" Too late she realized the danger. Walker's attention had shifted in her direction, and Morgan Curran's conversation had had a purpose. The bonds on his wrists were loose now. "Walker!"
Walker sidestepped Curran's lunge only to realize that he hadn't been the intended target. Curran meant to have the gun.
Walker and Curran laid their hands on the Colt simultaneously. They wrestled for control of the weapon, sliding across the desk, toppling the chair and an un-lighted oil lamp. Broken glass ground into Walker's back when they rolled off the desk and onto the floor. Curran came away with the weapon and scrambled to a crouching position. Walker's foot shot out, but Curran retracted his hand in time. He fired in Walker's direction, missing by inches when Walker pushed the fallen chair at him and upset his balance. It was enough time for Walker to come to his feet.
Curran reacted immediately, swinging his aim
toward Skye to hold off his adversary.
It was a mistake. Walker's rage was a controlled explosion. From perfect stillness he became a blur of motion. He leapt feet first. Curran fired as his wrist was struck while Skye flattened herself against the floor. The shudder she felt didn't come from her own body. The cry she heard didn't come from her own throat. She looked up in time to see Walker's sharp hand blow send Curran to his knees. A second thrust, delivered with the heel of his hand, pushed Curran's head backward. His shoulders slammed against the floor. Walker's foot made contact with Curran's chest, pulling back at the last possible second, breaking two ribs instead of bruising his heart. Curran groaned painfully as he tried to draw his next breath.
Walker stood over him, winded more by the strength of his anger than by the struggle. He glanced at Skye. She was rising to her knees, her hands attending to Corina, not to herself. "Is she—" He didn't have to finish his sentence.
Lowering her eyes, Skye shook her head slowly, the message clear.
Walker heard Curran's anguished moan as he understood what was left unsaid. It was then that Walker's splintered glance shifted downward. Unmoved, his voice was quiet, intense. "Annie and Matt," he said.
Skye listened, her heart easing, as Walker, true to his word, made Morgan Curran tell him everything.
Epilogue
For the second time in their short marriage Walker Caide carried Skye across a threshold. Although she made a small protest that the deed had been done before, she did so while looping her arms comfortably about his neck and snuggling against him.
"It's not the same," he said. "That was the St. Mark. This is our home."
Skye liked the sound of that. Her lips brushed Walker's cheek as he set her down in the entrance hall of the Granville house. He turned his head so the kiss could settle more fully on his mouth. The contact was brief. Skye drew back, smiled, and gave him a knowing glance. "This way," she said. She was eager, slightly breathless. Taking his hand, Skye pulled Walker toward the wide staircase. He barely had time to kick the front door closed behind him.