“The doctor couldn’t determine the cause. Mr. Walton was stricken with grief so deep he could not get up in the morning. I tried to tend to him, but he refused all comfort. He wouldn’t take food or water. Within a few weeks, he too was dead.”
A sick feeling came over me as I listened.
“I returned to Raleigh, where the Waltons and I were from, to bury them both. Aiken came to the funeral. He told me then that he would have me, and I realized what he’d done to my Elizabeth. I accused him, but I had no proof. The doctor had seen no wrongdoing. I was a Negro woman in the South accusing a white man of murdering my friend.”
She shrugged as if nothing else needed to be said. In truth, nothing else did. My horror was so overwhelming I couldn’t have responded anyway.
“He told me I would regret not taking his offer. I told him I would not.” She looked down, and I saw tears in her eyes. “The next morning we found my nine-year-old brother’s body on our porch. He’d been dragged by a horse until there was nothing left of him to recognize but the shoes on his feet. I have five other brothers and one sister. When Aiken came again, I went.”
CHAPTER 19
Gracie dozed in Reilly’s arms for awhile, lulled by his even breathing. He’d fallen into the kind of sleep that made her think of the shadows under his eyes and the exhaustion she’d seen on his face. She suspected it had been a long time since he’d really slept.
Her body was sore in places she’d forgotten existed, and she wanted to stretch like a cat and snuggle into his warmth and sleep as well, but fear of being caught in Reilly’s bed—naked, no less—kept her awake. The last thing she wanted was for Analise to awaken and come looking for her.
Face aflame at the thought, Gracie carefully eased from his side. Reilly shifted but didn’t wake, thank God. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, doubts began to crowd in, and her brain—which had disconnected the moment they’d kissed—began a barrage of reasons why his bed was the last place she should be.
Quietly, she searched for her clothes and dressed. Juliet watched from the door where she’d been asleep, too, and lumbered to her feet when Gracie tried to open the door.
The hall outside was as silent as it had been when Gracie had made the monumental decision to knock on Reilly’s door. She crept to Analise’s door and peeked in. Both Analise and Brendan were still sleeping. Tinkerbelle and Romeo still lay behind the beanbag. Their heads popped up but neither moved.
Alone but for her sentry, Juliet, Gracie tried not to think too much about anything as she entered Grandma Beck’s room. Especially Reilly and what they’d just done. That was hard to do when his scent was on her skin, tantalizing and mysterious as the man himself. She kept discovering a tremulous smile on her lips and misplaced hope in her chest.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror over the heavy dresser and stared, hardly recognizing her own reflection. Gracie Beck may have been a foolish young girl, but she’d grown to a responsible, if staid, adult. Not the kind of woman who jumped into bed with a man she hardly knew—regardless of their history. But she had, and despite her misgivings, she was pretty sure she was glad she’d done it.
“It was just sex. Nothing more,” she said under her breath.
But she couldn’t align the words just and sex in the same thought with Reilly. Everything about him exceeded just. He could light her up with just a glance and she’d still be burning hours later.
After all this time.
And now that she knew he hadn’t abandoned her, all those self-defense mechanisms she’d fostered were failing. He’d been protecting her. If Grandma Beck had told him where she was, he would’ve come for her. But her grandmother had lied to them both. And Mrs. Graham, who’d taken her in and cared for her, had obviously been an accomplice, stopping her mail from coming or going. How else could she explain why no one knew where she’d gone? Why no one had written her back?
She sighed, fishing her cell phone out to check the time, wondering how different her life might have been if Reilly could have simply texted her back then instead of relying on house phones and the post office.
She needed to call Young’s Mortuary to find out when her grandma’s body would be released and arrangements could be made for her burial, but there were still no bars, no signal of any kind, on her phone. She’d also need to call Mr. Lassiter who handled all the legalities of the Diablo. He was the only lawyer Grandma Beck had ever trusted, so Gracie couldn’t imagine that she’d used anyone else for her will.
She also needed to get a tow truck out to haul her car out of that ditch, but the booming thunder and torrential rain mocked that idea and told her it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. She wouldn’t risk driving in this weather, anyway.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The box she’d brought upstairs earlier waited on her bed beside the stack of newspapers. Faced with going downstairs and having to deal with Chloe and her consorts, making funeral arrangements, or staying here and packing Grandma Beck’s possessions, she decided to go with the latter. Maybe it would give her some insight into the enigma who’d been her grandmother.
She had her back to the door when she heard a tentative knock. She turned, heart thumping as she braced herself to face Reilly, but it was the priest she found hovering just at the threshold with an apologetic look on his face.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms. Beck, but I wondered if I could speak with you for a moment?”
Gracie nodded, but her reluctance must have shown on her face.
“I won’t keep you from your packing,” he said. He had a kindly smile and warm eyes. Had he not arrived with Chloe, Gracie might have liked him on sight. He came in, turned the straight-backed chair at the desk around, and sat. “I wanted to offer my services.”
“I’m not a very religious person, Father. I don’t need—”
He held up a hand. “Call me Michael. I am not ordained by any church. I am a man of God, though, and I wear this collar to remind myself of that.” He looked around him for a moment, as if unsure how to continue. Juliet padded over to him, sniffed his feet, and then flopped on the floor, completely at ease with his presence. Michael reached down and scratched her behind the ear before continuing.
“My father was a Baptist reverend and my mother an Episcopalian priest,” he said. “There were always heated conversations in my house about theology and worship, but never about some things. Never about faith or God. And it was a given in my house that people like Chloe Lamont, people with psychic abilities, were nothing more than heathens. The devil’s children. There were no exceptions. When I realized that I was one of them, that I had those same abilities, I believed that made me an abomination. While I don’t often see eye to eye with her, Chloe taught me that we have a gift, not a curse. She helped me come to terms with what I do while still considering myself worthy of God’s love.”
Gracie didn’t know why he was telling her this, but the gentle sincerity of his words kept her quiet and listening as she wrapped frames in newspaper and put them in the box.
“You see,” he said, “my gift is that I can see things that happened a long time ago. And sometimes I see things that haven’t happened yet.”
She looked up. “And this is the service you’re offering me? I appreciate the gesture, Michael, but I’ve had a glimpse of my future. I think that’s all I can take right now.”
“The baby?” he said.
She nodded, beyond questioning how he knew.
“Ms. Beck, there is a reason why Chloe has come here.”
Evidently.
“She tells me she wants to end a cycle, a curse that has been on her family and yours for over a hundred years.”
The curse. Yes, Gracie knew all about the curse. Her grandma had lived in fear of it. It had warped her sense of reality in the end. The curse had been part of her reason for sending Gracie away until the baby was born. No doubt, the curse was the reason she’d cut off all contact with Gracie afterward.
&nbs
p; “I see you know what I’m talking about.”
“My grandma believed all the women in our family were cursed. She thought sending me away was the only way to save me and the baby.”
“Because the curse is connected to Diablo Springs?”
She lifted her shoulder. “She was never sure. She was afraid to stay and she was afraid to go.” Gracie gave him a sad smile. “She believed my mother’s soul was trapped in the springs where she died. She didn’t want to leave her.”
Michael listened with rapt attention.
“Crazy, huh?”
“On the contrary. But I think there’s more to it. I would like to know what that more is, before I become a participant in it.”
His quiet reasoning soothed her stretched nerves, despite the controversial subject. If she was honest, Gracie had to admit he intrigued her.
“You think you can tell me why my grandmother was so convinced it was true?”
“I would be honored if you’d let me try.”
Gracie hesitated. “What do I have to do?”
“If you would allow me to touch you—just your hand—and also an object of this house? Something your grandmother owned, perhaps? One of these pictures?”
Gracie had found a small snapshot on the dresser. In it, her mother held an infant Gracie, with Grandma Beck standing just at her shoulder looking down at them both. Even then, she looked worried. Gracie swallowed a lump of emotion and handed it to Michael. “Will this do?”
“Yes.” He indicated the bed. “May I sit?” At her nod, he settled on the edge and carefully removed his gloves. Then, with a shy smile, he lifted the picture in one hand and reached for Gracie’s fingers with the other.
She didn’t know what she’d expected, but the soothing warmth calmed her. She sat beside him and watched his face as he closed his eyes and let the silence stretch until Gracie should have been uncomfortable, but in his stillness was a sense of something coming. Something that snapped into focus as he began to speak in a rapid, stream of consciousness flow.
“Her name is Carolina, and she’s at a funeral. Her mother’s funeral. Ella? Yes. Carolina is Ella’s daughter. She’s crying, but inside she’s relieved. She’s glad her mother is dead.”
“Why?” Gracie asked.
Michael went on as if she hadn’t spoken, and Gracie realized he’d put himself in some sort of a trance.
“Ella was always fearful. Superstitious. She kept such a tight watch that Carolina was afraid to breathe sometimes. She was crazy. That’s what she’s thinking. Her mother was crazy. Even on her deathbed, she’d been screaming about a curse. A family curse. A man named ... Jason ... Macon ... Aiken? Yes, Aiken. Carolina is frightened. Ella said he was in the Dead Lights. He didn’t stay dead. He didn’t stay dead.”
Goose bumps covered every inch of Gracie’s body. Who didn’t stay dead? Who was Aiken? What was he talking about? Michael’s voice rose and fell, becoming more strained as he spoke.
“She’s in the Diablo now,” he said. “She doesn’t think of Ella anymore. She’s forgotten that he didn’t stay dead. Business is good.” A strange smile curved his lips. “Oh,” he said. “She has famous guests. Eleanor Roosevelt is here. She’s thinking that the president’s wife is sleeping in a room once used by prostitutes, and it makes her laugh.” The smile dimmed. “There’s a man now. His name is Jimmy, and she likes him. He wants to marry her. She is happy. Happier than she’s ever been. He tells her about another place ...”
Michael paused. Gracie could see his eyes moving beneath his closed lids. It was like REM, only he wasn’t asleep. He still held her hand, his fingers warm and dry.
“Glenwood Springs,” he said triumphantly. “He tells her about Glenwood Springs and how business is booming there. He wants to expand. He wants to make the Diablo like that. There’s to be a wedding ... and a baby. Jimmy’s baby. She’s so happy. Happy. She’s making wedding plans ... but ...”
His pause stretched, and Gracie waited impatiently, wanting to press him but knowing it would do no good.
“Chloe is here now.”
At first she thought he meant Chloe was in the room with them, and she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the old woman. But then he began speaking again.
“She’s come to warn Carolina. She ... Chloe says there’s a curse and a man who didn’t stay dead. There’s a curse. We’re cursed. Carolina wants her to leave. Go away ... go away ... She’s at a funeral again. Jimmy is dead now. The springs ... underground caverns ... dynamite. An explosion ... it opened up a cavern and the water moved underground. Disappeared. Jimmy went with it. Dead. He’s dead. Dead Lights. The Dead Lights come. Every night they come. They’re looking for something. He’s looking for something. Has to find it. Has to find it. Looking for ... someone ... It’s his. She’s his. Dead Lights. Dead Lights. He didn’t stay dead. It’s true. It’s true. Everything Ella said. He’s looking for something. Searching. The curse, the fear. He—”
“What’s going on?” Jonathan asked, stepping into the room and scaring Gracie to death. She jumped to her feet with a yelp, yanking her hand out of Michael’s light grasp. The trance he’d been in was broken instantly. He bounded out of the chair, the picture frame he’d held slipping from his hand and falling to the braided rug at his feet. Gracie bent to pick it up, feeling dizzy and frightened.
“What are you doing?” Jonathan asked, staring back and forth between them.
“Talking,” Gracie said, like they hadn’t acted like guilty children. “Did you need something?”
“No. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just heard you say you were looking for something, and I thought I could help.”
“I appreciate that,” Gracie said, forcing a smile. “But no help needed.”
Beside her, Michael had gone very still. Jonathan eyed him curiously.
“I know a lot about the history here,” he said. “If you’re interested.”
Gracie nodded noncommittally. Michael snatched up his gloves and hurriedly pulled them on.
“Maybe later, Jonathan. Right now I’m a little busy with grandmother’s things.”
He gave the box an surprised look. “She left everything to you?”
There was no censure in his tone, yet there was something sly in the question, like he knew something she didn’t. Maybe he did. Grandma Beck might have bequeathed all her worldly possessions to her caretaker for all Gracie knew. She resented his intrusion, though. She kept her expression blank and gazed steadily back without answering his impertinent question.
“You won’t find what you seek,” Michael said softly.
Gracie wasn’t sure who the statement was directed at, but both she and Jonathan gave him a startled look.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Some things aren’t meant to be found.”
With that, he bowed his head and took a step toward the door.
“Did you learn what you needed to, Michael?” Gracie asked before he stepped through.
“I did.”
She wanted to ask specific questions but not in front of Jonathan, who seemed as astute as stone when it came to the nuance of rejection.
“I need to study some of my documents,” Michael said. “I’ll come find you later.”
“What documents?” Gracie asked.
Michael blushed. “I’m endlessly fascinated by the past, Ms. Beck. I carry a piece of it wherever I go.” He smiled but his kind eyes held concern. He nodded, leaned in, and said in an undertone, “In the Dead Lights.”
She nodded, though she wasn’t sure why. With another courtly bow, he disappeared down the hall.
“He’s a strange one,” Jonathan said.
“He’s a very nice man.”
“No offense intended,” Jonathan said, blushing. “Do you need some help in here?”
“Thank you, no. I think I just need some time alone.”
At last he seemed to take the hint. Nodding, he closed the door behind him and left Gracie alone with her tr
oubled thoughts.
CHAPTER 20
Reilly woke up alone. For a moment, he lay in the shadows, vacillating between relief and disappointment. Even when he’d been deep inside Gracie, so caught up in her that he could barely breathe, a voice had been warning him not to get too comfortable. She’d come to her senses and be gone before he knew it.
He just hadn’t realized how soon soon would be.
“Fuck,” he whispered, rubbing his hand over the shadow on his jaw. He exhaled heavily and got up, got dressed. In the bathroom, he took a quick shower, hoping that once he washed her scent from his skin, he’d be able to banish her from his head. No surprise it didn’t work. He avoided his own gaze in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, just as he ignored the questions circling in his thoughts.
What did it mean, making love to Gracie? What did he want it to mean?
In the hallway, he paused, giving the closed doors a dirty look. The house was so still that he could hear his own heart. Where was Gracie now? In her grandmother’s room? He thought about searching her out, but they’d come together with so much unsaid between—and now, the unsaids had doubled.
His stomach growled. He’d scrounged something to eat this morning, but that seemed like years ago. The hope that the bags he’d seen Bill bring in early held food pulled him downstairs. He hadn’t gone far before a familiar scent made him pause and sniff the air. Roasting beef, fat crackling in the heat, spices baking until they released their perfumes. His mother hadn’t been much of a cook, but she could cook the hell out of a pot roast. He started to follow the smell when the nimble fingers of disquiet traced down his spine, making him pause. Brows pulled tight, he tried to isolate the source of the unease.
Nothing was moving around him, no doors swinging insidiously shut. Yet, it was there, that sense of foreboding. Frowning, he continued down the stairs. The smell was stronger down there. It made sense; he was closer to the kitchen. Only now he noticed something sweet in the aroma, something that didn’t belong.
He paused again on the first floor, trying to place it. Chloe sat at one of the tables, looking old and weathered. She watched him with her dark, knowing eyes.
Bad Boys of the Night: Eight Sizzling Paranormal Romances: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 183