Wolf Island

by Cheryl Gorman

  Abby slid her hand inside the pocket of her jeans, pulled out the crumpled copy she’d made of J.D. Tate’s address and phone number, and waved it under Devlin’s nose. “This, for instance.”

  He jerked it out of her hand, unfolded the paper, looked at it and then back at her. “So, you dug it out of my trash can.”

  “Miranda mentioned she was seeing a man named J.D., and I wanted to talk to him to see if he knew anything. But when I dialed that number, there was a recording telling me that the line was no longer in service.”

  Devlin tossed the paper behind him onto his desk, then turned back to Abby. “J.D. Tate is my brother.” He waved a hand toward the pictures on the wall of his office. “The chopper is mine. It was the fastest way to get him to a hospital.”

  Abby’s temper cooled slightly as she walked over to the windows in Dev’s office and gazed out at the cloudless blue sky. If Miranda was okay, why hadn’t she called her, or at least gotten a message to Abby that she was safe? But deep in Abby’s heart, she felt that Dev was telling her the truth. She and Miranda were very close, and she was certain she would know if her sister was dead or hurt.

  What about Ms. Townsend’s warning?

  Don’t leave this island. Devlin’s life depends on it.

  Why would she warn Abby that Devlin’s life was in danger, and why would she be worried about him if he had harmed Miranda?

  Abby felt Devlin ease up behind her; the warmth of his body and scent of his skin made her senses spin. “Do you believe me, Abby?” His low, seductive voice curled around her.

  Through the glass, she watched a hawk riding on the thermals. “I want to. I really do, but why didn’t you tell me about the helicopter in the beginning?”

  He turned her around until she faced him. “Because it was too dangerous.”

  Sunlight misted through the window, illuminating his handsome face and bright green eyes, making her breath hitch. “Dangerous? How? Where is Miranda? Why hasn’t she contacted me?”

  His gaze moved slowly over her face, pausing briefly on each of her features, studying her intently. “Miranda’s and J.D.’s safety depends on me keeping their whereabouts a secret. If I tell you where they are, you’ll run to your sister’s side. I can’t risk that happening.” Devlin held her head between his hands and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “You might be followed.”

  A frisson of anxiety tiptoed down her spine. “Followed? By whom? Does this have something to do with that rabbit you found?” Her voice was unsteady, instead of calm and matter-of-fact as she would have liked.

  Devlin brushed a lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. His thumb grazed her ear lobe. A flare of arousal ignited in the pit of her stomach. “Please don’t ask me any more questions I can’t answer. You just have to trust me when I tell you that Miranda is safe.”

  Before Abby could respond, he dipped his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth. His warm breath fanned her lips, while the blood rushed hot and heavy through her veins.

  He kissed her again, more demanding this time, with a hint of tongue and a firm nip of her bottom lip. Heat plummeted to her stomach and lower. A soft white haze formed over her brain, and she could no longer feel the floor beneath her feet.

  Devlin lifted his head and gazed at her. “I would never lie to you or hurt you or your sister. You must believe me.”

  Her lips tingled from his kisses, and a delicious euphoria swam through her body. Every time Devlin got close to her, he slipped a little further under her skin.

  Abby wanted -- no, needed -- to believe that he would not harm her or Miranda. He’d been with her when the chimes tinkled out in the hallway. Could he have put Otis up to it or perhaps planted the rabbit and chimes earlier in the evening to cover his tracks? “I’m not sure about anything anymore.”

  “Yes, you are. You know I’m telling you the truth, Abby.” He touched her chest over her heart. “In here.”

  Oh, God, what was he doing to her?

  Abby eased from Devlin’s arms and licked her lips. Her breath heaved raggedly from her lungs, and her skin felt tight. “I’m feeling tired. I’d like to go back to my room.”

  A worried frown appeared on his brow. “I’m sorry, I almost forgot about the accident.” He clasped her elbow and led her toward the door of his office. “Come, I’ll walk with you.”

  * * * * *

  Later that evening, Abby paced restlessly around her room. She’d tried burying her nose in a book, but found herself reading the same page over and over. She’d called some charter companies that rented helicopters, and discovered one that Morgan R&D owned, but they didn’t tell her very much. At least that part of Devlin’s explanation was true. But what kind of danger were J.D. and Miranda in?

  She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

  What did Ms. Townsend mean about Devlin’s blood? How was a British schoolteacher with a normal, uneventful life supposed to save him? When would the creature, whatever it was, strike? The phone jingled on her nightstand, startling her. She picked up the receiver and started to say hello when she heard Devlin’s voice and realized the call wasn’t for her. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but if she listened in on the conversation, she might discover some new information about Miranda.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” She heard Devlin’s voice over the phone. “He spent a night or two on the boat, made a big mess, then cut the lines during a storm. It drifted a bit, but I got it back.”

  Who was on the boat? What was Dev talking about?

  Abby heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, then another male voice, one she’d never heard before. “He’s getting closer. God, I hope this is over soon. I wish you could have come with us. If you were off island --”

  “If I were off island, he might follow me, and then the two of you would be in even more danger. How’s she doing, by the way?”

  “Fine. I’ll be in touch.”

  He rang off. Abby slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle, with a slight shake in her hand. She swallowed and wiped her suddenly damp palms over her black leggings. He’s getting closer. Could that be the creature Ms. Townsend warned her about?

  Chapter Eight

  Abby rose from the bed and walked to the window in her room. The moon floated across the night sky, covered with the gray strands of a few ragged clouds. Wind currents moaned outside the castle, and the trees cast long, undulating shadows over the ground. She opened the window and inhaled a breath of pine-scented air. Chimes jingled softly on the night air until the sound gradually faded into the darkness.

  Abby closed the window with a snap. She was sick of hearing about predictions and danger and chiming ghosts. She wanted more than anything to just go home where it was safe, where her life could be normal again.

  She turned and looked at her half-packed suitcase. She desperately wanted to leave tomorrow. Dev had told her Miranda was with his brother, and the explanation about him owning the helicopter checked out ... but where exactly were they?

  Miranda had to know she was worried. Surely she would get in touch with Abby soon. Miranda could just as easily get in touch with her in England. Right?

  Wrong. Abby slumped in a chair next to the fireplace and watched the flames dance around the wood. She toyed with a button on her long-sleeved white shirt and stretched her jeans-covered legs out in front of her. How could she run back home where it was safe, until she heard from Miranda? And what about Devlin? His life was in danger, and she had the chance to save him. Didn’t she?

  She popped up from the chair and stalked over to her suitcase. Her fingers closed around two shirts and tossed them on the bed. Maybe she should tell him what Ms. Townsend had said and let him decide if she should go or stay.

  Before she could change her mind, Abby walked out into the hall and up to Devlin’s door. With only a brief hesitation, she tapped lightly with her knuckles.

  “Come in.”

  Heaving a deep breath, Abby opened the door.


  “Abby. Can’t sleep?”

  Her heart pushed into her throat. Dev looked so handsome, she forgot to breathe.

  She stepped through the door and smiled. His eyes appeared tired, and his hair was mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly. His ginger-colored sweater molded the muscles of his chest. The sleeves pushed up past his elbows revealed strong arms dusted with dark hair. Jeans covered the lower half of his big body. In one hand he held a snifter of what she assumed was brandy. “I need to talk to you. Ms. Townsend told me something earlier, but I wanted some time to think about what she told me before I approached you.”

  He took a sip of his drink, watching her every move. To have something to do, she walked to the French doors in his room and looked outside before turning to face him. Once she started talking, the words spilled out.

  When she finished, Dev strolled to the fireplace and set his glass on the mantel. He swiveled his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t really believe in all that psychic mumbo-jumbo do you?”

  “I never have before, but how can I ignore what she said after what happened to Alice? She warned everyone about her niece’s death, and no one took her prediction seriously.”

  Dev turned and crossed his arms over his chest. He shifted his weight to his right leg and looked at her. “Have you ever thought that Alice’s death and Catherine’s prediction could have been a coincidence?”

  “Yes, maybe, but what if they weren’t? What if everyone had listened to her? Alice would be alive today.” Abby was sure of it. Since when had she started believing in predictions?

  Devlin shrugged. “You don’t know that for sure. She might still have been killed. It’s been my experience that when someone wants to do something bad enough, they’ll go to any lengths to achieve it.”

  Her heart jolted in her chest. What did he mean by that? Abby walked to his side. “Why is it so dangerous here, Dev? What’s going on? What are you so afraid of? What did Ms. Townsend mean when she said that blood was on the creature’s fur?”

  Dev shook his head. “You shouldn’t take everything she says at face value. Okay, I’ll admit that she might have predicted Alice’s death, since it did come true, but she’s predicted other things that never happened.”

  Genuine fear and worry crowded her heart. She cared about him. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Her voice broke.

  “Nothing is going to happen to me.” His voice turned soft. “But something could happen to you if you stay on the island. I want you to get your things together. I’m putting you on that ferry first thing in the morning.”

  He couldn’t have pushed her in front of that vehicle the day before; if he had, he wouldn’t be so concerned about her welfare now. He could let whatever danger lurked around the island get rid of her. Abby held out her hand. Something warm settled over her heart, almost like a sigh of relief as she waited for him to place his hand in hers.

  She trusted him.

  “I’m not leaving. Not yet. How can I? Catherine said you would die if I left. I admit I’ve never believed in psychic phenomena before, but I can’t blow this off. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself, and I’d never know for sure if I had chosen to stay, you might have lived.”

  Devlin drew her to him. He took her face in his hands and lowered his head. His lips closed over hers in a kiss that was both hungry and laced with fear. His hands trembled slightly as he held her. Devlin lifted his mouth and gazed down into her eyes. They brimmed with yearning, an unfulfilled need. Abby raised a hand and laid it over his. “What’s wrong, Dev? What is it you want so badly? Why are you so unhappy?”

  His hands slid away from her face. “You don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

  · * * * *

  The next morning, Abby sat at the desk in her room and opened one of the drawers, searching for writing paper. She wanted to send a note to the headmistress at the school where she taught to let her know she might be absent a bit longer.

  She pulled on the bottom drawer, but it wouldn’t open. Abby leaned down to look beneath the desk. She noticed a book wedged between the drawer and the underside of the top of the desk. Abby tried digging her fingers between the edge of the drawer and the desk, but the book wouldn’t budge.

  She’d just about given up hope of retrieving it when finally the book slipped free. She ran her fingers over the rose print of the small book.

  Abby switched on the lamp, opened the book, and began reading. After reading the first couple of lines, she realized she had come upon a woman’s private journal.

  Not just any journal and not just any woman -- Valerie Morgan, Devlin’s mother.

  Why would she leave it here? Abby wondered. This was something extremely personal, especially to a woman. She would probably be mortified to know that Abby had found it.

  She really shouldn’t open it and read her private thoughts. Devlin obviously doesn’t know it’s here. She doubted very seriously that he would want her to read it, but ... she couldn’t help herself. Miranda was still missing. Abby looked down at the delicate handwriting on the page and began to read.

  The baby was born this morning. I always thought that when I had a child, my heart would swell with so much love I wouldn’t be able to hold it in. But I felt none of those things. I looked upon this child in whose veins my blood flows, and I felt cold. Cold, and sick inside. But also relieved. The pregnancy is over. I no longer have to endure carrying his child. How can a woman suffer rape and love a child that results from such violence?

  Abby slapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Rape. An insidious image cut through her. Cold, callous, brutal. A violent act had made Devlin repulsive and abhorrent in his mother’s eyes. Her heart ached for them both. With tears stinging her eyes, she returned her gaze to the page and continued to read.

  I wish I could have ended this pregnancy, but my Catholic upbringing would not permit it. So I endured, and now it is over. I wanted to send the child away, to put him up for adoption, but Randall and Olivia insist on raising him. I was hoping to get his father out of my life for good, never see him or think of him again. But when he escaped from the institution for the criminally insane, came back here, and attacked me, I knew he would be a part of my life forever and I could never wash away the horrible memories of him from my mind. Now this child has his father’s blood, and that makes Victor Morgan’s immoral acts a part of him.

  God forgive me, I pray with all my heart that the baby will die. I will leave this castle, this island tomorrow and hope never to return. The only person I will miss is my best friend, Emily. She has been the only comfort to me through the trauma of the last few months.

  Abby turned the page and found the rest of the journal blank. She shut the book and choked back a sob. This was the key to Devlin and his past. But how and when would she let Devlin know that she knew the truth?

  Was that part of the reason he wanted her to leave the island so badly? Had he inherited the violent triggers of his father? How could she believe that when he had been nothing but gentle with her since they met? He’d never once tried to harm her, and he’d had every opportunity.

  She couldn’t imagine the horror of rape. Afterward, if she discovered she was pregnant, would she want the child? The child wasn’t to blame for the father’s actions. Didn’t all children, no matter how they were conceived, deserve to be loved and cherished?

  Abby was still pondering the words she’d read in the diary when someone knocked on her door. A moment passed before Devlin walked in. He looked incredible, dressed in faded jeans and a white shirt. In his hands, he held a tray with a teapot and cups.

  Her heart went out to him. How could his mother not love him? Despite her mother’s problems, Abby always knew that she was loved and wanted. Tears welled in her eyes, and a hard lump formed in her throat. Abby turned her face away and tried to compose herself.

  “Did I interrupt your reading?”

  Abby glanc
ed down at the small, rose-covered diary she still held in her hands, then back up at Devlin. “Yes, I, um ...” She didn’t want to discuss this now, with the myriad of feelings churning through her, but how could she ignore the revelation she’d just discovered?

  “Then, I did interrupt. If you’d like me to leave --”

  “No, I just finished.” Her voice wobbled slightly with emotion from reading the diary.

  Devlin frowned, set the tray on the small coffee table in front of the hearth, and turned. He looked at her as though he could see into the center of her heart. “What’s wrong?”

  He moved nearer to her, and her heart rate sped. Devlin lifted his hand and brushed the tips of his fingers over her temple and down her cheek with the softest touch. Abby shifted away from the gentle contact. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “You wear your emotions in full view of God and everybody. Your skin is flushed, and your eyes are slightly red. Come have some tea, and tell me why you were about to cry when I walked in.”

  He had noticed. Darn her fair British skin, which reddened easily. She didn’t want to talk about the diary now, but she needed to tell him something that would be convincing. Besides, how could she not talk to him when his voice sounded so gentle?

  Abby laid the diary on the top of the desk, walked across the room, and settled on the sofa beside him. “The doctor told me that sometimes a traumatic experience or a bump on the head can cause a person to be more emotional at times than they normally would be.”

  Devlin frowned. “Right, I almost forgot. The doc did mention something about that. I should have come by sooner and not left you alone so much of the morning.”

  Abby sighed. “It’s okay. The bump on my head isn’t the reason you found me with tears in my eyes.”

  “What was the reason?”

  “Let’s have some tea first.”

  A minute later, Abby sipped her tea and whisked her gaze over Devlin’s dark hair, which had flopped onto his forehead. From there she traced a path to his eyes, then to his lips. Oh, yes, his lips.