The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  They paused in front of her door; his was across the hall. Jill's shoulders had become impossibly stiff. She felt as if she were about to betray him, which was ridiculous.

  He stared at her, his gaze intent, probing. Jill looked away, murmuring, "Good night."

  He didn't move.

  Jill's heart rate increased. Dramatically. "Oh, no," she thought, and realized her words were a whisper.

  Because he was staring at her, and somehow, the angle between their bodies had lessened, becoming very acute. "Jill."

  She wanted him. She was afraid.

  Alex suddenly tilted up her chin and touched his mouth to hers. Their lips brushed, once, twice, three times. And Jill felt his fingers tighten, she felt his lips firm, she felt his sudden, live-wire tension.

  Alex stepped back, away from her, unsmiling. "Yeah. Sleep tight," he said. And he turned. An instant later, he was inside his room, the door solidly closed.

  Jill stared at the highly polished wood. She remembered to breathe. She was shaking.

  Grimly—with disappointment?—she slipped into her bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it.

  Her mind refused to form coherent thoughts, and Jill did not know how long she stood there, holding the plate of pie, listening to the silence of the house and the night.

  She came to. He wasn't coming back, which was for the best. She set the plate down on the bureau, thinking now about her plan to break into his Libretto, feeling awful. He had just kissed her. Sweetly. If he were a liar, he would have pressed the issue, taken her to bed, there was no doubt about that.

  Jill paced, glancing at the clock every few seconds, torn.

  Finally her nerves snapped and she sat down. If she did not check his Libretto tonight, she might not have this opportunity again. She could not abort this damnable mission. Kate was counting on her.

  Jill realized the train of her thoughts and she stiffened. Kate was dead. No one was counting on her except for herself.

  She glanced at her bedside clock. It was a quarter to twelve. How long had it been since he had kissed her in the hallway? She thought maybe fifteen minutes or more had passed.

  Jill kicked off her loafers and approached her door, laying her ear against it. She did not hear a thing.

  She cracked it, straining to discern a sound. Again, the hall, his bedroom, the house, was absolutely silent.

  Jill stole from her room and down the hall. The hall lights had been left on, and it was brightly lit. Every time a floorboard creaked her heart went wild. She kept glancing over her shoulder, but Alex did not appear.

  Downstairs, she hurried through the dark house, breathless and suddenly aware of how huge it was and how empty it seemed to be. A handful of staff lived on the premises, she knew; the rest came to work daily, commuting from the town or a nearby village.

  Jill started to feel as if she were being watched.

  As she let herself into the library, her pulse elevated with

  anxiety, she told herself that was absurd. Unless, of course, ghosts were haunting the place.

  She shivered, turning on one small lamp beside the sofa where she and Alex had sat on the floor. Ghosts probably did exist, but only one ghost interested her. And even so, Jill suspected she would jump out of her skin if she ever glimpsed Kate Gallagher drifting through these halls.

  She settled down in front of the laptop, opening it and booting up. When the screen whirred to life, she was rewarded with a DOS prompt. That was the last thing she expected. She had assumed Windows would come on, or some kind of program with icons.

  Jill stared at the blinking prompt. Then she typed in "windows," quite certain that was not going to be helpful.

  The screen immediately spit back a message at her. It said, "Access denied."

  Access denied?

  Just what the hell did that mean? Jill stared at the message on the screen and the new prompt. She knew a few computer basics from her high school days. She typed in "Run."

  "Access denied." The same message appeared.

  "You need the password," Alex said from behind her.

  Jill gasped, her heart dropping like a boulder, leaping to her feet. She stared at him as if he were the ghost she had just wondered about. He was standing by the library door in nothing but his jeans.

  "I couldn't sleep," Jill said in a rush.

  "That's pretty obvious." He slowly launched himself off of the door and came forward. He did not look at the Libretto, but at her. Only at her. "What are you doing, Jill?"

  His tone wasn't friendly, and Jill froze. "What am I doing?" she echoed.

  He came around the sofa. "Are you hunting Kate, or me?" he asked coldly.

  Fourteen

  1 HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT," JiLL SAID

  tersely. She had not a doubt that her guilt was written all over her face. Her heart continued to slam inside of her chest. "I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd get on the Net and find the Trib—''

  "I doubt you could get on the Net, much less find the Trib —or anything else, for that matter." His jaw was flexed. His temples were ticking. Jill stared at him, realizing that he was really angry.

  "This isn't what you're thinking," she began nervously.

  "No?" He was cold, grim. She was seeing a side of Alex she had only witnessed once before—when they had first met, the day she arrived in London with Hal's body. He strode past her. The muscles in his thighs seemed to strain his denim jeans. He shut down the laptop, closed the lid. Then he faced her. "You know what? I don't think we should continue this discussion tonight." His eyes remained heated.

  Jill could not agree more. She heard herself say, "I'm sorry."

  He detached the modem from the jack and the Libretto, winding it up into a ball, his fingers far too efficient. He shoved it in his front pocket, picked up the small Toshiba machine. "Good night," he said as grimly as before.

  She watched him as he crossed the library with hard strides and left it, not bothering to close the door behind him.

  Jill was shaking. She realized, too late, that Alex was not someone she wished to alienate.

  She sank down on the faded gold damask sofa, her head in her hands, her heart finally slowing, a heavy weight of despondency settling over h^r like a grim, dark cloud. Now she would never sleep.

  Not only that, she was a fool.

  And then she wondered if Alex had left his laptop downstairs in order to test her.

  Jill was frozen. Her mind spun. Suddenly KC's warnings were there, loud and clear. There was a man, in her path,, whom she could not avoid—whom she could not tru^t.

  The realization was searing. Alex had been unavoidable until now. Not Thomas. It was Alex who had welcomed her back to London, Alex who had helped her begin her search for the letters, Alex who was with her at Stainesmore now.

  "No," Jill said aloud, trembling. The tray remained on the coffee table with Alex's piece of pie, the two port glasses, one empty, one mostly full, and two decaffeinated coffees, both ice cold by now. Jill took the port and drank it all. The bum as it settled in her stomach was welcome. Tears suddenly threatened to fill her eyes.

  She lay down on the couch, flinging one hand over her shoulder. She had very few friends. And in London, her only friend was Lucinda, except that now she realized that Alex had become a friend, too, in spite of her doubts and suspicions, in spite of KC's warnings. She did not want to lose his friendship. But maybe it was better if she did.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be able to think more clearly, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would figure out what to do.

  And as sleep instantly overcame her, it was Alex's image that haunted her mind, not Kate's.

  But not for very long.

  Kate's face was vividly, achingly clear.

  Her dark eyes were wide, her beautiful face so pale that her mole appeared black. Her hair cascaded freely around her

  shoulders but the curls were tangled, untidy. Kate stared at her with her huge eyes, unblinkingly.

>   Jill tossed, caught up in the dream, on some level of her subconscious knowing it was only a dream. But Kate was distressed. Her unrelenting stare was filled with .. . what? Anxiety? A plea? Fear?

  Jill moaned.

  Kate looked at her and began to speak.

  Jill tensed. Kate was speaking urgently, her mouth moving rapidly, forming words Jill did not hear. Clearly she was more than distressed, she was frightened, pleading for something, with someone. But Jill could not hear a single word, she did not hear a single sound. Jill wanted to wake up. Something was wrong, terribly so, and she did not want to dream about it, she did riot want to know.

  And then Kate's face was gone. Jill was confronted with stone walls, huge blocks of gray-black stone, soaring in front of her, so close that if she reached out she could touch the slabs and feel their coarse, unhewn surface ...

  Jill touched wet, grainy dirt.

  Her fingertips sank into rough earth, not stone, and she recoiled, bile filling her, wanting to step away, wanting to drop her hands, but instead, the dirt filled her palms, coarse clumps caught between her fingers, wedged between her fingernails. No, Jill thought frantically, but instead of moving away, she dug into the dirt, deeper and deeper still, the panic, the frantic urge, increasing.

  No, Jill thought desperately again, I do not want to do this!

  There was so much dirt! She looked down at her hands, covered with the dark brown earth, and then she saw the blood—blood everywhere ...

  Jill saw the tower then. It was a square stone structure, dilapidated and ruined, jutting out from above clusters of bent, misshapen trees, framed by a dull gray sky and a frothing sea.

  I have to get out of here, Jill thought wildly. But when she tried to get up off of the bed, her fingers dug into the earth.

  and when she looked down, she saw the blood, and when she looked up, she saw the impenetrable stone walls ...

  The scream filled the stone chamber. Sharp, piercing, inhuman.

  A death throe?

  Jill jerked upright.

  For one instant, as her dazed mind left the surreal dream for the actual reality of Stainesmore's library, she continued to hear the unearthly scream, echoing, resounding, around her.

  It was a scream of terror and despair.

  It was also filled with fury.

  Jill realized her fingertips no longer dug into earth, but the fabric of the couch. Her gaze swung around swiftly, from the couch to the coffee table to the small light glowing on the side table. She was in the library, at Stainesmore. Jill realized she was trembling like a leaf.

  She gulped in air. It was the worst dream she had ever had, it had been so terribly real, but it had only been that, a dream.

  It had not been anything more.

  But now she could see Kate's face so clearly, filled with distress, with fear. It was an expression that she was never going to forget.

  "Only a dream," Jill muttered, hugging herself. Shakily she got to her feet, glancing warily around at the dark shadows of the library, but Kate Gallagher was not standing there, or at least her ghost was not, thank God. Jill glanced at her watch, realizing she was wet with sweat, and that tears streaked her face. Then she recalled KC's dream.

  You became Kate.

  Jill was motionless, her heart galloping again. And she was cold, chilled from the sweat that covered her body. It was only a dream. There was no point in even trying to comprehend it.

  But what had KC meant?

  Jill glanced at her watch. It was five in the morning. Jill knew she would never be able to go back to sleep. She would find the kitchen and make herself a cup of coffee—after a

  shower and a change of clothes. She was afraid to sleep— afraid of what she might dream.

  Jill was reading the morning papers and sipping coffee when Alex appeared. She stiffened as he strolled into the library where she had planted herself earlier. It was only half past eight.

  "Good morning," he said, clad in his Levi's and a black cableknit wool sweater. His gaze was cautious.

  Jill set the newspaper down and stood. "I owe you a tremendous apology," she said nervously.

  "Yeah. You do." His gaze met hers.

  She scrutinized his face, staring into his eyes, trying to decide if he was trustworthy or not. His stare seemed hooded, blank. "I realize Fve come to count on you. .. I don't have many friends." She stopped. She wanted to add, But I'm afraid to trust you. Can you blame me? She did not dare reveal exactly what she was thinking, feeling.

  He was waiting for her to finish. Jill forced a smile, gave it up. "I should have asked permission to go through your files—"

  He cut her off. "You don't trust me. You think I deleted those files containing Kate's letters. Don't you?"

  Jill could not look away. His gaze was accusing. "I don*t know what to think," she finally whispered. "I was hoping we were friends. But can you blame me for covering all bases?" She hesitated. "I didn't really expect to find those files on your laptop."

  He ran a hand through his thick, short hair, appearing grim, but also rueful. "I guess I can see how, given the entire situation, it would be tough for you to trust any man."

  "Thank you," Jill whispered. "I won't snoop again." And there was something there inside of her, a small place, maybe in her heart, that was relieved and stupidly pleased that they had somehow gotten past this impasse.

  He regarded her. "You're a very tenacious woman," he finally said, "and it's one of the things I like about you. I don't expect you to change." He finally smiled.

  It lit Up his handsome face, his extraordinary blue eyes. Jill's pulse raced. He didn't quite believe her—she wasn't sure she believed her own assurances, either.

  "Jill."

  She met his gaze, her thoughts interrupted by the firm, commsinding tone of his voice.

  "You can trust me," he said. "I want to help you. We are friends."

  Jill nodded. She wanted to believe him. But last night, his controlled anger had been far more frightening than Thomas's open displays of rage. It occurred to Jill that Thomas really was the open one; that Alex was a master at controlling—and hiding—his emotions. If he was innocent, would he have become so angry with her?

  It was a horrible thought.

  "Coffee warm in there?" Alex asked pleasantly, as if all were forgiven and forgotten. He was referring to the big silver pot on the coffee table in front of Jill, filled with steaming hot coffee, courtesy of the friendly kitchen staff. It was set on a silver tray with icy cold milk, a bowl of sugar, and a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice.

  Jill wet her lips as he took her silence as a yes, pouring himself a cup of the fresh brew. His fingers were long and strong on the silver pot. And then she wondered. If he was innocent, why hadn't he offered her free run of his files? Ending her suspicions once and for all?

  Jill wished she'd never had either thought. She wanted to dismiss her doubts. She could not. "Alex? May I ask you something?"

  He was sipping the coffee, staring at her with his vividly blue eyes. "Shoot."

  "Do you think Thomas deleted the Gallagher files?"

  He lowered the cup, his gaze unwavering, but it was an instant before he spoke. "No. I do not." His voice was firm. "I think there was a power surge—a very unfortunate incident. The power was out in the apartment when I walked in, Jill. I didn't make that up."

  Jill's heart beat harder than before. Had he hesitated? Had she seen a flicker in his eyes? Oh, God! The problem was.

  she had come to like him as a person, and she was attracted to him as a man. If only she could be objective. Why couldn't she just, blindly, trust him?

  Because too much was at stake.

  Jill stiffened in shock, because the voice inside of her had sounded exactly like Kate's.

  "What is it, Jill? What's wrong?"

  She stared at him but did not see him. What was she thinking?! She had never heard Kate speak, and she never would. There was no way she could know how the woman's voice had sounded. "I
'm very tired," Jill said on a ragged breath. She pushed at her bangs again. "I fell asleep here last night and woke up at five." She decided not to tell him about the dream. It had been too disturbing, worse, it still haunted her, in a very frightening way.

  "You look tired. Maybe today's a good day for a nap." He smiled, with a glance outside at the heavy, gray skies. "We're in for a lot of rain."

  "Actually, I was hoping for a tour of the house and maybe the property, if it doesn't start to rain. I wouldn't mind seeing the town, too."

  Now he really smiled, and it was the old Alex whom she had somehow become attached to. "I was thinking the same thing," he said. "The house tour we can do in the rain. Why don't we dress warmly and I'll take you around the property for an hour or two, and then we can grab lunch in the village." His smile flashed again. "Unless it pours. It's too steep to drive down to Robin Hood Bay and we have to leave the car and walk."

  "That's fine, it sounds like fun." Jill was enthusiastic. Anything to put last night and the resulting tension behind them.

  Alex had suggested they drive, being as a fine mist had begun to whisper upon the countryside. Jill had agreed, and he had forsaken his silver monster in order for them to use the house's dark green Land Rover. Rocky, barren moors stretched endlessly to the north and west of the house, as they headed south, driving parallel to the coast.

  The narrow road twisted and turned as they left Staines-

  more, high stone walls and hedgerows enclosing the road, making it almost impossible to see what was beyond. They were driving inland, and Jill thought it amazing how quickly the landscape changed, becoming green and verdant and dense with thick trees, grass and weeds, and wild blooms again. It was raining now, thickly.

  Alex pointed out several cottages and farms, which were not visible from the road, but which small, whitewashed wooden signs with black lettering indicated. They belonged to tenants who had, for the most part, been on the estate for generations.