Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited

by Heather Graham

  Tyler rubbed his eyes. “We’ll hurry back.”

  “No rush. Yesterday was uneventful. We went through all the records we could find on the Leigh family—Allison’s branch—and there was no mention anywhere of a baby having been adopted. But there was a son listed as having been born to one of the young Leigh wives in June of 1778, around the time Lucy Tarleton was killed and just before the British evacuated Philly. We can still disinter Lucy and do some DNA testing, but I’m sure we’re right on the money in suspecting that Allison is a descendent.”

  “I don’t think we should let Cherry know,” Tyler murmured. Allison was looking at him, and he smiled reassuringly again—or he hoped it was reassuring—but didn’t explain.

  “What did you learn?” Logan asked.

  “We’re discovering there are a lot of holes in the history that’s been taught. We don’t have the whole picture yet, but I do think Lucy was pregnant—and she had Brian Bradley’s child, not Stewart Douglas’s. What we haven’t figured out is who spirited the baby away and who killed Lucy Tarleton. It doesn’t make any sense for Bradley to have done it.”

  “Unless he was afraid of being branded a traitor by the British.”

  “Not to be cynical, but remember, having an illegitimate child would have been par for the course on the male side, especially for an aristocrat. The female would be branded the whore. If a British officer, who held power in Philadelphia at the time, had a child with a patriot woman, it might’ve been seen as a ho-hum event. Or even a feather in his cap.”

  Allison was frowning at him, but then she smiled. “It’s true,” she whispered. “No one would have thought badly of him. As for Lucy…”

  “Regardless of which side he was fighting on,” Tyler said, “I believe he was a good soldier and I don’t believe he was a ‘beast.’ By military standards, it was a sound tactic for the British to take Philly. I see Bradley as a military man. I don’t see him as the kind of man who would kill a woman he loved—a woman who had just borne his child.”

  “What about her lover?” Logan asked. “Stewart Douglas.”

  Tyler shook his head. “I doubt she and Stewart Douglas were ever really lovers, although they were likely engaged,” he said. “We have copies of the letters. I don’t think Stewart Douglas killed her, either, but I don’t know enough about him. By the way, Martin Standish is a good guy—and a scared one. He left his place for a cabin in the woods. He didn’t tell anyone where he’s going except for his daughter, and we saw him out of town. No one followed him,” Tyler said. “I’m still uncomfortable with the whole situation, though. The office was trashed and Standish received those strange calls yesterday, the ones from the prepaid cell phone. He’s worried. I’m thinking maybe he has reason to be and we should take some action.”

  “Can you have Allison try to reach him? Maybe she can persuade him to allow a few agents to watch over him up there. I can send Kelsey and Sean. Bring Allison back to the house. By the way, not a ghost has stirred here. Well, except for Julian Mitchell. He’s ‘keeping guard’ by haunting the entry—and falling asleep on the sofa. That is, when he’s not following Jane around.”

  “I’ll have Allison call Standish right away,” Tyler said, “and then we’ll get something to eat and head back to Philly.”

  He ended the call and as he looked over at Allison, he felt a tremor streak through him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d like waking next to her. Against the hotel’s snow-white sheets, her hair truly was the color of a raven’s wing, so dark it was touched by a cast of blue. Her eyes were as bright and clear as the sky—and seemed as deep as a sun-kissed sea. It wasn’t just that he found her arousing, which he did, but that being with her seemed so right. She was like someone who’d been missing from his life, and even the good relationships he’d had—the relationships, not the casual nights—didn’t compare with the way he felt now. He couldn’t remember not having her beside him and he would never not want her beside him; he didn’t want to envision a morning without seeing her eyes on his when she woke, or feeling her warmth.

  They really had just met. That seemed to mean nothing. He felt like he’d known her forever…or been waiting to know her forever.

  She was looking at him expectantly, and he asked her to try calling Standish. She nodded and rose, searching for her handbag and her cell phone. She moved so naturally and easily, comfortable with him in her nakedness.

  Yes, he felt like he’d known her forever, but not so long that he didn’t feel an immediate stirring in his groin as he watched her.

  Sitting on the foot of the bed, she called Standish’s cell.

  “He’s not answering,” she said.

  Tyler leaped out of bed, grabbing his clothes. “Call Logan and get Standish’s daughter’s number. Ask her for a location. And have her check with his cronies up at that cabin and see if he’s just gone out with them. I’m going to find him.”

  Allison quickly did as he asked; meanwhile, Tyler hurried to throw water on his face and run a toothbrush over his teeth.

  He’d just finished when Allison was in the bathroom beside him. “I’m not staying here,” she said.

  “I want to go see if—”

  “And you’re not leaving me here. It’s not safe, is it?”

  He paused.

  “I can shower later. Logan is calling Standish’s daughter. I’ll be ready by the time we have an address.”

  He looked at her, shaking his head slightly. But she was right. She shouldn’t be alone.

  Even if a murderer couldn’t be in more than one place and even if the only person who knew where they were was Logan…

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  They were both ready in less than five minutes.

  He was disappointed to leave the room behind.

  There would be no leisurely morning.

  But he found he was more taken with her than ever. When it was time to move, Allison didn’t hesitate.

  * * *

  As Logan drove, Allison keyed the coordinates of the cabin into the satellite navigator in the car. Logan had gotten the address from Standish’s daughter, who’d been upset but quick to understand and give them the directions. She hadn’t been able to reach her father that morning, either.

  Sean was driving up with Kelsey, but Tyler and Allison would get to the cabin first.

  It was about a thirty-minute drive for them. Tyler could have kicked himself for not realizing yesterday that Martin Standish might prove to be a major target for the killer, who now seemed determined to protect a lie.

  The countryside was beautiful, rolling hills, forests and farmland. They climbed higher into the foothills; as they neared the cabin, the road grew narrow. A mist settled over the land, soft and lovely—and yet it was the last thing Tyler wanted right then.

  A concealing mist.

  Eventually, they climbed a rough stone path with the car protesting all the way. They’d arrived at the cabin, a small log structure surrounded by trees.

  “There’s his truck,” Allison said, pointing out Standish’s small Ford.

  She climbed out of the car. He did the same, drawing his Glock and warning her, “Stay behind me.”

  “This killer isn’t going to shoot it out with you. He’s not particularly brave, just devious,” she said, and he was glad of the anger in her voice.

  “Stay behind me,” he repeated.

  They walked up to the cabin, with Tyler keeping a keen eye on the woods.

  He banged on the front door. Standish didn’t answer. When he twisted the knob, the door opened and they went in.

  It was just a small cabin, consisting of two rooms and a bath. There was a coffeepot on the counter; it was still hot.

  “He’s not here,” Tyler said, stating the obvious.

  “There’s his cell phone.” Allison pointed to a rough-hewn table by an old wingback chair in front of a wood-burning stove.

  “So he made coffee and walked out of the cabin, leaving his cell phone behind.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who has to have it every second, so maybe that’s not unusual.”

  “Or maybe he went fishing,” Allison said hopefully. “Lots of streams in this area. And these guys come up here to go hunting. I don’t see his rifle, and I didn’t see it on the rack of his pickup truck.”

  “He’s not fishing,” Tyler said. “He left because he heard something outside. He took the rifle with him.” He strode back to the door. There’d been some rain in the area recently, and he could make out what might be Standish’s footprints leading into the copse of trees to the rear of the cabin.

  “Stay close!” he told Allison.

  She followed him as they moved into the woods. The mist that hovered in the foothills grew thicker, and the sun couldn’t cut through the high canopy of pines. It felt as if they were in a realm of shadow where the pines could come to life and the low-hanging branches could reach out like fingers to snare the unwary.

  “Allison?”

  “I’m close,” she said, crashing into him as he stopped.

  He nodded and kept going. He could hear a brook and they walked toward it. He paused every so often, listening. There was no breeze so the mist seemed stagnant; they heard only minor rustling when small forest denizens scurried about. Still, he found himself moving very carefully. He suddenly felt certain that someone with malicious purpose had been there, and recently. Whether that someone had fled or not, he didn’t know.

  As they neared the little stream, he heard Allison cry out. “There! Oh, Tyler, there he is!”

  She rushed around him and he chased after her, instinctively searching the perimeter. He could see no one.

  Allison was already in the stream and down on her knees by the fallen form of Martin Standish. He was headfirst in the water, and she rolled him over.

  She leaned against him. “He’s not breathing, Tyler!”

  “Call 9-1-1. Get them out here as fast as possible.”

  He hunkered down, checking Standish for visible wounds. Despite the icy water of the stream, he was still warm. Tyler pulled him from the rippling water onto the shore and started performing CPR, counting as he listened to Allison make the call.

  She knelt down on Martin’s other side to help. Tyler instructed her, breathing into Standish’s mouth as she held his nose, and he applied pressure to the man’s chest, counting.

  He was about to give up. They’d tried long and hard, and he was afraid he’d broken one of Martin’s ribs despite his best efforts to exert pressure at the perfect level.

  Then Standish breathed. He gulped in a huge swallow of air and began coughing violently.

  Allison looked up at Tyler. “He…he might make it!”

  Tyler nodded, feeling for the man’s pulse. It was faint and irregular, but it was there. He ripped off his jacket, covering him.

  Standish opened his eyes. He stared at Tyler and Allison, and seemed to recognize them.

  “Voices,” he said hoarsely. “There were voices in the woods…ghosts. There were ghosts in the woods.”

  His eyes closed. Allison and Tyler frowned at each other.

  Tyler wanted to search the woods, but he wasn’t leaving Standish and Allison alone.

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  “We wait,” he said. He pulled out his cell phone to call Sean first and then Logan.

  Allison watched him, her blue eyes grave. Then she looked out at the surrounding trees. “This just happened, Tyler,” she said. “If we hadn’t come when we did, he would have drowned.”

  “He may still have a long haul ahead of him.”

  “Voices in the woods,” she repeated. “Ghosts.”

  “There were no ghosts in the woods,” Tyler said, gritting his teeth.

  “Listen!” she said.

  He heard it. From somewhere down in the rugged terrain of the foothills, a motor was being revved.

  “Whoever it was took a different path,” he said, feeling angrier.

  They never should have left Standish.

  It seemed like forever before he heard Sean shouting for them. He and Kelsey came bursting through to the stream, armed and wary.

  “Over here!” Allison called, although they’d been seen.

  Tyler rose. “EMTs should be here any moment,” he said. “Kelsey, stay with them. Sean, I’m pretty sure our killer has fled, but I want to get into the woods.”

  Kelsey crouched down by Martin Standish and Allison. Tyler, with Sean flanking him, walked back into the woods.

  The mist lay everywhere among the trees.

  But someone had come here. Someone who knew about Martin Standish and had been interested enough to learn his habits—and where he spent his leisure time. Someone who’d been watching the activity at the Tarleton-Dandridge House and had known, or surmised, that he and Allison had come to see Standish.

  Tyler walked through the woods, away from the cabin, calling out to Sean, who was following the same path but thirty feet closer to the main road below. When he was near the edge, he came across a pine with a large broken branch. He dropped down to the earth and he could see the dirt and needles that had been disturbed. Just beyond the broken branch, the forest began to dwindle and an overgrown embankment led down to the road.

  Their quarry had indeed fled.

  He saw Sean break through the trees.

  “He was here,” Tyler said.

  Sean joined him. “Find anything?”

  “I found out how he got away.”

  “Did Standish say anything? Did he see anything?” Sean asked.

  “Yeah, voices in the woods. Ghosts in the woods.”

  “This guy is using technical devices,” Sean said. “I believe he has a copy of the Beast Bradley painting, and he substitutes it for the other when he’s stalking his prey. He has some kind of mechanism to throw his voice. I’ll bet he lured Standish to the water that way. He’s not stupid—Standish had a shotgun. If we’re lucky, our guy dropped something. I’ll have Logan see if we can get a crime scene unit to go through these woods.”

  “We’ll need a unit. It’s almost impossible to see in here with the canopy of branches and the mist.”

  Sean rested a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t protect everyone who ever walked into the Tarleton-Dandridge House,” he said.

  Tyler couldn’t shake his anger with himself. “I should have known. Hell, someone called him three times, and he felt enough anxiety to head out. He said no one knew where he was going except for his daughter, but…this person knows the area, Sean. This is someone who’s read everything that’s been written about the house. The board and the other guides were aware that Allison was working on a paper—and that she’d studied what Standish wrote.”

  “Tyler, quit beating yourself up. We couldn’t have known that Standish would be in danger. And it looks like you got to him in time,” Sean told him.

  “Barely, and I don’t know if he’ll make it. He’s not a young man.”

  “He’ll make it,” Sean said. “I can hear the sirens now.”

  * * *

  Allison stepped aside when the EMTs arrived with their medical bags and stretcher. She looked on as they set up an IV and took Standish’s vital signs.

  “CPR?” one of the young men asked her.

  “Yes, he wasn’t breathing at first.”

  “Has he spoken?”

  “Briefly.”

  The EMTs didn’t care about voices or ghosts in the woods; their only concern was for the injured man.

  “He was in the water?”

  “Yes. Facedown. We don’t know how he got there, if he was injured, tripped—pushed. We don’t know,” Allison said.

  She watched, stricken, while the team worked on Standish. Then one of them glanced up at her and smiled.

  “I’m an EMT, not a doc. But I think he’s going to be okay. Thank God you came along when you did.”

  She smiled back weakly.

  It was a shame she’d ever contacted the man. She’d unwittingly pu
t him in danger.

  Sean and Tyler returned from the woods, their expressions grim, as Standish was placed on a stretcher. It was decided that Kelsey and Sean would go to the hospital and guard Martin Standish there. Logan seemed to think it was important that Allison be at the house.

  She and Tyler waited, standing by the beautiful little bubbling stream, as the EMTs moved out. “It’s my fault,” Allison couldn’t help saying.

  Tyler shook his head. “No. I was the fool,” he said harshly. “I should’ve had someone watching him from the minute we found out about the missing article.”

  Allison was afraid that he felt his interest in her might be keeping him from making the best judgments.

  “No,” she said, “you don’t understand. If I hadn’t gotten it into my head to publish another paper on the house, maybe none of this would have happened.”

  “Allison, it’s no one else’s fault when someone commits murder. It’s the work of the bastard who believes his life or agenda is greater than the lives of anyone else. And I don’t think the killing started with your paper. I think it started before. Obviously, no one living now was responsible for the death of a Civil War soldier or the suicide of a distraught young woman—things that took place years ago—but as to the kid who was electrocuted, and the guide who had a heart attack in Angus’s study…I think we may be looking at the same perpetrator.” He turned away suddenly, and she realized he’d heard movement from the trees.

  “Crime scene techs are here,” he said. He walked away to greet the team, and she could hear him explaining the situation succinctly, including a chronicle of the actions they’d taken since they’d come.

  Allison walked closer to the stream. She stared down at the water. It seemed to glitter. As the water skipped over pebbles and rocks, it reflected rays of sunshine, which shone like scattered diamonds.

  Something caught her eye and she cried out.

  Tyler spun around, his face anxious.

  “I see Standish’s rifle,” she said. “There—it looks as if he threw it. As if he was hit from behind, and then threw it.”

  Tyler and the crew of techs walked over to her.