He pulled her close, his lips lightly brushing hers. “I really do feel bad about the situation you’re in.”
Eliza remained still, wanting to push him away but faking her desire to feel his mouth against hers. She leaned into his hand and felt his fingers caress her cheek, her jawline, her neck, all the way down to her waist. His arms wrapped around her. The softness of his lips delicately met hers…
And then, she heard the distinct sound of the door being locked behind her.
Roman pulled back. He held the cabin key in his left hand. “And of course, for any successful escape, you need to be able to actually leave.”
Speechless, Eliza stood rooted to the floor. This was not what she had expected, and anger quickly replaced her embarrassment. Her seduction ploy had failed. Worse, it had been used successfully against her. Roman had been one step ahead of her this whole time, and now Eliza was fresh out of ideas. She had no clue how to move things with her mind, and try as she might, both the old cigar box on the mantle and the empty beer bottles collecting dust on the table refused to acknowledge her telepathic wish to whack this man in the back of the head. The scent of his aftershave still engulfed her, and for a split second she allowed herself to recall the comfort of his warm body against hers. Why did these irritable feelings consume her? She held nothing but contempt and loathing for this fruitcake of a man.
“Tell me what in the hell you are.”
Roman pushed up the brim of his cap and let what little light the cabin held brighten his eyes.
“Are you even human?”
Roman slid the key into his back trouser pocket, and returned to the chair. He removed his hat, ruffled some more life into his flattened mop, and said, “I was, once.”
“Once? What does that even mean?”
Roman nodded towards Eliza’s injured arm. His voice was even and emotionless. “I’d try and stop that bleeding if I were you – before it gets dark.”
“Don’t change the subject. What does ‘once’ mean?”
Roman glanced at her, a sudden sadness darkening his eyes. “I cannot die.”
“But I saw you. I checked you. You were dead.”
“Yes. And I do die. Have done many times. Stay dead for five minutes, sometimes hours, nearly two whole days once – although, to be fair, I’d knocked back a skinful and fell asleep in a cornfield. A combine harvester came along…well, it wasn’t pretty.”
Eliza starred in disbelief.
“I’m a Reaper.” He watched her intensely, maybe waiting for his words to sink in, or maybe expecting some kind of shock to appear on her face.
Instead, Eliza said, “What in the hell’s a Reaper?”
Roman cocked his head to one side, marred by a look of utter disbelief. “You don’t know what a Grim Reaper is?”
“Of course I know what a Grim Reaper is. But you just said Reaper. You could have been a bloody farmer for all I knew.”
Roman seemed stunned by her response.
“And, isn’t a Grim Reaper’s job to kill people?”
“No. We have the power to give life just as much as take it.”
“So why not take Davis’s?”
“Let me tell you a little about the rules of my universe. Firstly, I was told what souls to take, and what ones to save. If I strayed from that?” He pointed towards the air above him. “They’d know, and I’d have been up shit-creek without a paddle. Secondly, I am a Reaper, a servant of God. Protected. That means I already died once. I cannot die again; not by you, or that combine harvester…nothing. Thirdly—”
“Know what? I’m not even interested anymore. You talk a load of crap, and people will be out there looking for me by now.”
“You mean the cop?”
“Yes. I mean my brother, Billy. He would have been to the hospital by now. He will know you’ve taken me, and he won’t stop until he finds me and makes you pay.”
Roman glared at her, wrinkles lining his slightly squinting eyes, tiny creases etching his pursed lips. “Clean up your arm.”
This time, Eliza didn’t hesitate to pick up the old rag. As hard as it was with her hands tied together, she began to dab at her wound.
“Wiping it isn’t good enough. You need to seal it.”
Eliza ignored him and continued to wipe, but the cloth was way too old to soak up any of the blood, and eventually she gave up and threw the rag to the floor.
Roman stood, pulled a lighter from his pocket, and lit one of the candles on the mantle.
“Oh no. You ain’t burning that thing over me.” Eliza backed away until she felt the hardness of the door against her again.
“It’s just a little wax.”
“I said no.” She turned and pulled on the handle.
“It’s this or die.” Roman grabbed her hands and trapped them under his arm.
“I’d rather die.” Eliza struggled, but Roman twisted to his side, leaving Eliza no option but to twist off balance with him.
He lifted the candle above her shoulder, and a blob of wax dripped onto the laceration, scalding her skin. Eliza cried out, struggling until her shoulder felt it would pop from its socket.
Another drop of wax splashed onto her skin, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Please stop,” she begged.
“I’m doing this to save your life.”
Did he know how ironic that sounded? Knowing he was going to deliver her up to Davis – supposedly to be sacrificed? She bit down on her lip while wax dripped onto her arm. The blurry image of Roman flying back across the room began to materialise inside her head. Wax hardened over her wound, and Eliza’s pitiful sobs died in the back of her throat. Then, to her relief, Roman set the candle down on the table, and the picture reel inside her mind faded.
“This will be over soon.”
“How did you become such a deranged psychopath?”
Roman stepped back from her. He looked hurt by her accusation. “I am not a psychopath, Eliza. I just want to get back to my family.”
“Just let me go, then.” Eliza went to rub her arm, but stopped. If the wax flaked away, would he put her through all that again?
He pulled Eliza’s shirt over her head and tore it free from her wrists, leaving her to try and cover her bra-clad body. “I can’t.”
“How did you get to be like this?”
He paused, his eyes lingering on her bareness for a moment. “I was chosen.”
“By who?”
“God.” He looked up, the blue in his eyes brighter than ever before. “I didn’t want the job.”
“Then why take it?”
“I didn’t get the chance to turn it down.”
“When did you die?”
Roman poured what little water was left over the fabric, and began wiping the blood clean from her arm. “A while ago.”
“How did you die?”
He paused, but didn’t release his gentle hold on her. “Plague.” He didn’t look up.
Eliza wanted to laugh. He talked utter nonsense and she detested him for what he was putting her through. Yet, suddenly, she didn’t feel like making fun of him or arguing with him. He needed a doctor or a shrink along with a comfy bed in the nearest nut home. Maybe compassion and a little reasoning would get her out of this mess? “You’re wearing well for your age.”
He raised his head and she held his gaze. “So, let me see if I have this right. You need to find the Cross, deliver me to Davis, and sacrifice me. Only then will you be able to return to Heaven to be with your family, while I’m left to kill the butler I have known all my life, right?”
Roman’s face hardened, and Eliza wondered if her question had sounded too patronising.
He threw the rag on to the table. Their short-lived truce was over.
“I do have one question that may throw a spanner in the works. How can I kill Davis if I’ve already been sacrificed and am dead?”
“I don’t intend on letting Davis kill you.”
“Then I’m confused. You just said I had to kill him.”
“I told you worst-case scenario. Bottom line, all Davis needs is your blood on the Cross. A pinprick amount will do.”
“A pinprick? So I’m not going to die?”
“You will if Davis gets hold of you.”
“Then, here.” Eliza held out her arm. “Take your pinprick and let me go.”
“That mouth of yours is driving me up the wall.”
She re-offered her arm. “Then take it.”
“Oh, Eliza, I wish it were that simple. For my own sanity, I want rid of you.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It needs to be fresh, like minutes fresh. I need to get it immediately before I meet Davis at the Cross. I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other until then.”
“So, even after all this, you’re still going to take me to Davis?”
“Not directly to him. But you will be nearby. Once I take your blood, you’re free to go. He won’t get you.”
Exhaustion began to take hold. She felt like they were going round in circles. “Why can’t he just take the pinprick?”
“Because he’s a—”
“Devious bastard, I know, I know.”
“He killed your so-called mother.”
Eliza tensed. How dare he bring her mother into this? She felt anger burn in the pit of her stomach. “My mother’s death was an accident. She fell down the stairs.”
“Engineered by Davis.”
“You’re lying. I found her.”
“She began to suspect you were not hers. That made her dangerous to have around. You were a pawn in Davis’ plan. Who wouldn’t believe the innocent devastation of a six-year-old witness?” Roman grabbed the cloth again and set back to wiping the blood from Eliza’s arm.
Eliza shrugged from his hold. “How could you possibly know what happened?”
“Because I was there.”
“That’s impossible. You would’ve only been a boy yourself.”
Roman stopped wiping. “I told you, I’m a little older than I look.”
“Ah, yes. The plague, right?”
“I’ve been nothing but honest with you, Eliza.”
“Did you kill her?”
“I am not a murderer.”
“But you stood by and watched it happen?”
Roman started to wipe her arm again.
“You let my mother die?” Eliza shook her head. Billy had been right. Their mother had been murdered, only not by their father. “Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“That was not an option.” He glanced up. “I am not the bad guy here.”
“You’re just an insane one. You’re toying with my mind and trying to turn me against my family. What’s it called? Stockholm Syndrome? Some crap like that? Is that what you’re trying to do? Because it’s not going to work.”
Roman threw the shirt to the floor. “Stockholm Syndrome? Seriously? After everything I’ve told you, that’s the conclusion you’re settling with?”
“Yes.”
Roman laughed. He retrieved his flimsy jacket from the back of the chair. It was still damp from the previous evening’s rain, but he wrapped it around Eliza’s shoulders regardless. He twisted Eliza in the direction of the door, and unlocked it.
“Where are we going?” Eliza said. Going outside now felt like a bad idea.
“Away from here. This cabin reeks of your blood.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Eliza, you are. Now, whether you spend the journey sitting in passenger seat or crammed in the boot, is entirely up to you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Davis clapped his hands together.
Today was going to be a good day. Mr. McKenzie’s van pulled off Moneyready Road, and Davis waited while the iron gates at the bottom of the driveway closed behind him. Giant oaks, still holding their greenness, shaded the winding brick-paved driveway, and cold-hardy mums and pansies like the ones Eliza used to pick for her mother bloomed in the flowerbeds. These flowerbeds lined the drive all the way to James Hamilton’s house, a French-designed building with a slightly pink, stone exterior. It was the perfect backdrop for the front courtyard, where sculpted hedgerows ringed a fountain, and a continuous burst of water erupted high into the air. Four garages stood to the side, each housing an expensive vehicle, including the one his employer had purchased anonymously at auction last year. It had cost him just under four million pounds, and to this day he’d never driven it.
Rounding the final bend, Mr. McKenzie slowed to a stop a couple of metres from the first garage. The engine died and Davis waited for his visitor to emerge.
“Did you get it?” Davis said, accompanying Mr. McKenzie around to the back of the van.
Mr. McKenzie smiled and opened the doors. Inside, partially wrapped with a white sheet, was the third piece of the True Cross.
Davis stood back, and the beginning of a victorious smile twitched the corners of his mouth. For decades, he had searched for all four pieces of the Cross, and not only had he at last accomplished the task, which at times he’d thought impossible, but he’d also managed to locate the Messiah’s bloodline. He took a moment to savour his achievement.
“Davis,” Mr. McKenzie said. “The police are here.”
Davis turned to see the iron gates swinging open as a clearly marked police car pulled onto the driveway. “It’s Billy. Take your van round to the servant quarters and unload there. Then wait for me.” Davis cracked his neck and tried to fight the tiredness that burned behind his eyes. He needed sleep, especially before tonight arrived and James Hamilton returned home. But instead, he straightened down his suit jacket, forced one of his warmest smiles, and waited for the police car to reach him.
Of all the careers the boy could have chosen, why did it have to be the police?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Billy hadn’t worked out what he was going to say.
Even with the extra fifty minutes, courtesy of the rush-hour traffic, he still hadn’t decided how to break the news of Eliza’s disappearance. Nor was he sure how to possibly throw in a question about his father’s involvement with the man who’d taken her. George had told him not to mention it. Actually, George had ordered him not to accuse his father of anything – that the consequences of being wrong were too great. Billy, on the other hand, didn’t care. His father was up to his neck in whatever was going on, and all Billy needed to see was a flicker of recognition on the old man’s face to betray his involvement.
Billy rounded the driveway to find Davis waiting for him. He pulled to a stop, grabbed his hat from the passenger seat, and got out of the car. The majority of tourists down by the cove had vanished with the summer sun months ago, and apart from the last-minute few who’d returned in the last couple of days to enjoy the freakishly warm weather, it was overall a quieter place again. Seagulls circled high above the Cornish coastline, which was adjacent to the family’s estate, looking to scavenge the odd chip or discarded ice cream cone before the bin men arrived and swept the streets.
Billy pulled on his cap and straightened his tie, not wanting to give his father the opportunity to ball him out over his grubby uniform for a second time, and proceeded towards the butler. “Is my father home?’
Davis looked startled to see Billy standing before him. Not surprising, since Billy hadn’t been there in years. “My boy. How nice to see you again. You look well.”
“Thank you, Davis. Is my father home?”
“He is in Switzerland on business. He won’t be back until later tonight.”
“Switzerland? When did he go?”
“Yesterday. Is there a problem?”
“I need to speak to him about Eliza.”
Davis stiffened. He glanced over his shoulder – at what, Billy couldn’t see. “Is everything alright?”
Even though it wasn’t the warmest of mornings, perspiration dampened Billy�
�s underarms. “There’s been an incident at the hospital,” he said, unsure where to take the conversation from here. “I really need to speak to my father.”
“I can try and contact him.”
“Yes, please.”
“It may take some time. Can I pass on a message perhaps?”
Billy stalled to answer. His father hadn’t even been in the country when his crash victim visited.
Davis took his hand, his eyes pleading. “I’ve known Eliza all my life. I love her like she’s my own daughter. Please, Billy, if something is wrong, tell me.”
It was against every rule in the book, but Billy said, “She’s missing.”
“Missing? Missing where?”
If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here. “It appears she left with a man.”
“A man? What kind of man?”
“Well, we know it wasn’t a doctor.”
Davis seemed panicked, and Billy prayed the revelation wouldn’t kill him. “Did she leave willingly?”
“Our witness confirms that she did not.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Just before midnight.”
“And you’re only just bringing notification? Fourteen hours later?”
“Emergency services had to confirm patient numbers. I came as soon as I knew.”
“I see.” Davis turned his back and walked to the first garage where, through the open door, Billy saw the unmistakable badge of his father’s 1912 Silver Ghost. It was the same car in which, numerous times as a boy, he had found his young sister hiding from their angry father.
Davis walked the width of its bonnet, his fingers trailing across the gleaming paintwork, his previous hysteria now calmed. “What else did your witness say?”
Billy held off answering. Something about Davis’ actions didn’t sit right with him. Why wasn’t the old man running for the phone to notify his father? Billy decided to play along. “He gave us a description of the man.”
“Oh? And?”
“Cap, Timberlands, dark jacket.”
No emotion. No concern. No running for that damn phone. Billy found himself standing on a cliff’s edge, the voice of reason telling him to step back and not ask any questions as his sergeant had ordered. Don’t accuse Dad. Only notify him of Eliza’s disappearance. But Billy wasn’t accusing his father. His father wasn’t here. Davis was here. And Billy’s sergeant hadn’t said anything about questioning Davis. “The man was spotted several hours ago.”
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