The Darkest Frost: Vol 2 of a 2-part serial (TDF, #2)

by Tanya Holmes

  Now I wasn’t sure what to believe. When my gift was working, I had no way of validating Caryn’s claims since I couldn’t read ghosts. And at present, I couldn’t even read Braeden.

  “What motivation would she have to bring us together?” I asked. “If she wanted revenge, she could have gotten it at any time.”

  “Well, that’s a mystery for another day. There are more pressing things we need to discuss. Like why you’re still here. With me.”

  “I already told you. Because I want to be.”

  He gave his head a doubtful shake.

  “If you believe nothing else, believe that,” I said. “Today I tried to convince myself to leave you, but I couldn’t. I ended up right back here. Because I’m in love with you.” I stood and nodded a few times. “Sure, I came here on a pretext, but you know why I stayed? I sensed goodness in your soul. That’s what I fell in love with, Braeden. Your soul. It’s why I lied to the police. It’s why I continue to lie for you. Can’t you see? We’re connected somehow.”

  His face hardened.

  “Oh, come on!” I gestured wildly. “I’ve had plenty of opportunities to rat you out, but I didn’t. Today for instance. I met with two colleagues about your case. The one who tailed you that night even got pictures of Gubczyk, but I defended you. Like I’ve defended you from the beginning. You can trust me.”

  Braeden stood by the dresser; shoulder to the wall, arms folded tight, his biceps bunching, his posture as stiff as a flagpole. I stared into his eyes, not liking what I saw. They were cold and devoid of any measure of trust.

  “You entered my house on a lie,” he said, his voice toneless, “and you’ve been lying ever since. How am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

  “Because it’s the truth!”

  “Then tell me this, Miss Knight.” He stabbed a finger at the bed. “Did Rachel’s money pay for that too?”

  Heat exploded across my face. If he’d have slugged me it would’ve been kinder. “Did—did you just call me a whore?”

  The dark look he gave me was chilling. Brow lifted, he turned and stepped through the debris on the rug, kicking a hunk of wood hard. It smacked into the broken door as he disappeared into the hallway.

  “Braeden!”

  He kept going until I heard his door slam.

  * * *

  Denieve

  ____________________________

  Sleep eluded me for hours. I spent most of the night tossing, turning, and weeping. Xavier must have come by the house because I would’ve sworn I sensed his presence. But I didn’t get up to check. I couldn’t bring myself to face him. He probably knew everything now, which proved he’d been right about me all along. Dejected and angry, I reached out to Caryn, demanding an audience, but my psychic SOS went unanswered. She was either gone for good or too much of a coward to show.

  Whatever the case, I was on my own.

  And that’s when I realized Luke and Tommy were right. I wasn’t myself. I’d become this weak, irrational, crazy person. What ever happened to the independent and self-assured Denieve Knight? Two months under Braeden Frost’s roof, and I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.

  By the time I made it out of bed, I was exhausted, but resolved. I’d somehow found the courage to do what I should’ve done days ago. Provided I could work through the headache that greeted me at sunup, I hoped to be packed and gone by mid-afternoon. That’s if Braeden didn’t throw me out first.

  After I dressed, I put in a service call to the carpenter and I canceled the real-estate appointment I’d scheduled last week. Once that was done, I made a motel reservation for the next couple nights, then quietly uninstalled all the bugs and equipment downstairs, packed up my computer, and took everything out to my car. I’d gather the rest after the repairs.

  Mr. Colona arrived with one of his grandsons two hours later, tools in hand. The elder man seemed amazed he’d been called to fix yet another broken doorframe in the same house. All I could do was shrug and direct them to the second floor.

  As the sun peeked through the window over the kitchen sink, I sat at the island nursing a mug of coffee and my migraine. Chasing two Tylenol down with a generous swallow, I gazed, unseeing at the spot where Xavier and I had stood, side by side, with our fingers entwined beneath the warm, soapy water. My hand trembled in remembrance.

  Yes, I’d fallen for Braeden, yet I still had unresolved feelings for his twin brother. That was reason enough to get the hell out of here. For now, I intended to keep up appearances. If Braeden caught wind of my plans, there’d be another scene. He hadn’t spoken to me all morning anyway. So he probably didn’t even care. My resignation letter was tucked in my sweater pocket. I’d leave it in the foyer. No explanations. No goodbyes. No drama. Danielle Reed would just disappear into the ether.

  “Miss?”

  I looked up to see Mr. Colona standing by the entryway clutching a rusty old toolbox and a Trilby hat. A silver-haired gent with a weather-beaten face, Colona wore combat boots, a blue-and-black plaid shirt, and faded overalls.

  “That didn’t take long.” I pushed to my feet, with difficulty. The headache had gotten worse, and now I was dizzy. “All finished?”

  “Yup. My grandson should be done packing up in a couple minutes.” He gave me the once-over, his bushy silver brows bumping together. “You okay, Miss Danielle?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You look a little pale.”

  That’s what happens when you stay up all night crying. “I’m fine,” I told him with a weak smile. “Is there an invoice I need to sign?”

  “Nope.” He grinned, his graying dentures huge in his mouth. “Dr. Frost already took care of it.” Mr. Colona nodded at the window behind me and said, “Speak of the devil. I’ll show myself out.”

  I angled around to see Braeden outside wearing black jeans, gloves, a black turtleneck, and a gray lab coat. He stood at the top of the walkway, hands clasped at his back as a white BMW roared into the courtyard and screeched to a shaky stop right behind his Jag.

  The driver’s side door flew open and Ms. Pierce bounded out. Looking every bit the retro fashion plate a la Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s—wide-rimmed hat, form-fitting classic black dress, heels, and pearls—she raced over and threw herself into his arms. That he stiffened, then awkwardly returned her hug didn’t stop the jealousy knifing my heart.

  I drew closer to the kitchen window, noting every facial tick and gesture. Though she looked worried, behavior-wise, she seemed affable as usual. He, on the other hand, acted wooden and distracted, which for him was the norm.

  Mr. Colona met the pair outside. They spoke briefly as the man’s grandson spilled out of the front door and loaded the truck. When the two men finally drove off, Braeden and Ms. Pierce turned back to the house, her arm looped around his. Once inside, they headed straight upstairs to his suite. The involuntary reaction I had while witnessing all this upset me to no end. My blood pressure shot up, my migraine intensified, and acid scorched my stomach. I was flushed and cold. If I didn’t know better, I’d’ve sworn I was coming down with the flu or something. But I was just stressed out. Plus, I hadn’t slept. More proof that it was time to hit the road.

  I was standing in my room half an hour later guzzling Pepto-Bismol when one of the objects of my distress buzzed the intercom.

  “Danielle?”

  Ms. Pierce. She’d used my alias. Which meant Braeden hadn’t told her yet. I heaved a sigh and poked the console button. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “It’s good to hear your voice. How have you been, dear?”

  “Just fine,” I lied, then avoiding small talk, I said, “What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, yes, right.” She paused for a second. “Braeden and I have important business to discuss, so he won’t be taking calls. Can you bring us some refreshments?”

  Would that business have anything to do with me? Took some effort, but I kept my voice impassive. “What would you like?”


  “One moment,” she said. “Braeden?” His muffled reply was too hard to make out. “A fresh pot of tea for me. Lady Grey. A cup of matcha for Braeden. Sandwiches for the two of us, and do you have any cookies?”

  “Will mint chocolate be okay?”

  “Oh, that’s perfect.”

  Soon as she disengaged, I sagged against the closet door. I could leave. Just toss my stuff in my suitcase and walk out of his life forever. But I didn’t have any sense, and I was too curious and jealous for my own good.

  Masochist that I was, I had to see how this would unfold. Then after I’d sufficiently tortured myself, I’d burn rubber out of here.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE FROST ESTATE

  DEARBORNE, MARYLAND

  BRAEDEN

  ____________________________

  “Something is definitely off,” Angela said removing her hat.

  Braeden stood at the bar and yanked the stopper from a decanter of Hine Antique. With Angela, “something” always heralded a fishing expedition, followed by a tactical dissection of his every word.

  “All right.” He grabbed a snifter. “What is it?”

  “Two things, actually.” She kicked off her shoes and made a place on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. “First, you said everything was fine, but here you are, day-drinking. On top of that, you’ve yet to shave.”

  He tipped the decanter and poured with a deliberate hand. “Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me.”

  “How many of those have you had?”

  He kept pouring.

  “Fine. Don’t answer, but it’s obvious you’re not happy to see me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Liar.” Angela watched him curiously. “Care to know what else I think?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She ignored him. “You said you needed breathing room. Well, I gave it to you—two months’ worth. You’re keeping something from me, aren’t you?”

  Two months without her hovering and doting. It had been a welcome reprieve. He stared darkly into his glass. “I never said anything about ‘breathing room.’ As I recall, I suggested you take a vacation.”

  “Same difference.” Her brows drew together. “You also claimed things were under control. If I’d known otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone on the damn cruise.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Which is why you deliberately misled me. Had I not called Xavier, I’d still be in the dark.”

  “Well, that explains it,” Braeden muttered. The idiot always had been a tattletale. “What did he say?”

  “That you were in over your heads. That it was all my fault. Then he had the audacity to hang up before telling me anything. He did it just to make me suffer. Impertinent as usual.” She fingered the string of pearls around her neck. “You can’t imagine how worried I’ve been.”

  He sighed. “On the contrary. After four centuries I think I have some idea, Mommy.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Braeden rarely addressed Angela with any title remotely maternal. Like all Yoreck progeny, he’d been trained to use his parents’ first names, lest their secret existence be revealed. He’d never known his father. The man was murdered a month before Ian was born. Superstitious villagers stabbed him to death, tied him to a tree, and burned his body before he could resurrect. They accused him of “devilry.” Apparently someone witnessed him heal. Eight months pregnant and terrified, Angela, who was born mortal, barely escaped with her life. She found refuge in Asylum.

  Given their unconventional lifestyle, Braeden and Angela had transcended the traditional mother-and-son relationship; becoming equals, if not, best friends. That is, when she wasn’t obsessing.

  Or pining away for Ian.

  Angela massaged her temple. “On second thought, pour me one of those too. I think I’ll need it.” She leaned an elbow on the armrest. “So what’s the skinny? Tell me everything, and don’t spare any details.”

  He threw back a belt, set his glass aside, and tugged the stopper from the decanter again. “You sure you want to hear this? Because it doesn’t end well.”

  “It’s those dreadful experiments, isn’t it? First you mutilate yourself with that hatchet, then you stash your hand inside a pickle jar. What’s next?” She gazed suspiciously toward the lab. “You don’t have a zombie lurking around in there, do you?”

  Braeden pushed the drink into her hand. “Now you’re just being tiresome.”

  “Dr. Frost?” Danielle…er…Denieve’s voice blew into the room. “Your refreshment tray is ready.”

  His heart bumped his chest. He’d avoided her all morning and she’d done the same. Now he’d have to see her. Speak to her. With Angela as an audience.

  He closed his eyes, drew a sharp breath, and depressed the intercom button. “Fine. Come up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A familiar sense of doom washed over him as he stood at the bay window and stared out at the overcast sky. Were it not for last night’s knock-down, drag out, he might’ve believed she’d reverted back to formalities for Angela’s benefit. But he knew better. The chasm between them was immense.

  Rage and betrayal had simmered in his gut since her confession, leaving him to question everything. Was it all an act? The woman had lied from day one! Then again, with glass houses being what they were, neither of them was in any position to throw bricks.

  Braeden straightened when she knocked minutes later. “Come in.”

  Angela rose in typical graceful fashion and smoothed the wrinkles from her sleek black dress. She stepped into her matching heels just as Dan—Denieve entered the sitting room toting a silver tray loaded down with treats.

  Good God. She was wearing those hideous glasses.

  Braeden turned his head, watching both women through the reflection in the glass. Only his eyes moved while she set the food on a table. Like a gravitational pull, her gaze slammed into his and the tight knot in his throat slipped to his heart, squeezing it. Both stared longer than prudence allowed. A newfound awkwardness plagued them. She appeared tired, her complexion paler than last night. Was it the Fever or something else? Concern welled in his chest, but he banished the emotion from his face.

  With lifted brow, Angela observed the two of them for several taut moments until she shattered the silence by clearing her throat.

  Denieve was first to look away.

  Angela glanced suspiciously between her and Braeden. “It’s good to see you, Danielle.” Her voice brimmed with an annoying measure of severe interest.

  “It’s good to see you too.” Denieve’s smile appeared strained. “I didn’t know you were flying in.”

  “Too much drama for me to stay away. I had to check in to see how you were weathering the media frenz—” Her gaze narrowed. “Are you okay, dear? Your eyes are puffy.”

  Braeden tossed back a guilty belt as Denieve busied herself with the tray. She’d obviously been crying.

  “It’s allergies,” she said.

  If he hadn’t known better, he’d have believed her. He found the nearest chair while the two women exchanged awkward pleasantries. Their stilted chatter continued after he shook his head at the tower of cucumber sandwiches Denieve offered him. He gave the same wordless reply when a floral serving plate filled with mint chocolate cookies appeared beneath his nose. Neither complemented the cognac in his hand. His third, but who was counting?

  He’d be in a drunken stupor by now if not for his Yoreck metabolism. It took five times the normal amount of alcohol to inebriate him, which would work in his favor today. Given the important errand he had to run, he needed to be sharp. It was a matter of life and death, as was the situation with Denieve. He watched with veiled concern while she poured Angela’s tea, doing her best not to make eye contact with him. Once she’d finished, she tidied up the tray, her movements jerky.

  “If you don’t need anything else,” Denieve said, “I’ll be on my way.”

  Angela set her teacup aside. S
he snagged a cucumber sandwich and came up beside Braeden’s chair, bracing his shoulder. “Do you want something else?”

  He’d heard her, but he wasn’t listening. He was too preoccupied with the way Denieve’s gaze had followed Angela’s hand. He’d gotten so used to being alone with her that Angela’s presence had become an intrusion.

  “Braeden?” Angela leaned down, her tea-scented breath brushing his ear. “She asked if we needed anything else.”

  “No, that’ll be all,” he said distractedly.

  Denieve was still fixated on Angela’s nimble fingers. “Very well, sir.” She gazed at him again for a time, then… “Goodbye.”

  With that, she started for the door.

  “Danielle,” Angela said to her back. “I’ll be down in a little while to catch up, all right?”

  Denieve stopped, gave what appeared to be a guarded nod, and left, closing the door behind her.

  Angela came around Braeden’s chair with suspicion dancing in her eyes. In their last masquerade, she’d been a psychiatrist, which suited her maddening tendency to overanalyze everything. She also loved sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Nothing had changed.

  She strolled back over to the silver tray and dropped two more sandwiches and a few cookies on a small plate before taking a seat on the sofa again.

  “Okay, I’m listening,” she said, her attention rapt on the little white triangle pinched between her slender fingers. “No hedging. No half-truths. I want it all. And spare no details.”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and did as she asked. Twenty minutes later, she sat looking at him, face pale, mouth agape. She shook her head and said, “Now it makes sense.”

  “What?”

  “Her odd behavior—and yours. I knew something fishy was going on. That’s why I touched your shoulder. I wanted to gauge her reaction, and boy did I get an eyeful.” Angela grinned. “She was jealous.”

  Braeden got up and headed for the bar. “I’m glad you find this amusing.”