“You’re sure of this.”
“I’d stake my professional reputation on it.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to say that if I were you. That could be exactly what you’re asked to do.”
Winward held her gaze until she gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment, then turned to Tom.
“Mr. Shear, I believe you said you were about to see Miss Stafford home.”
Tom felt dazed as he tore his gaze from Marsha’s face. “That’s right,” he said. “I’d hoped to be out of here before the weather worsened.”
“Don’t worry. It hasn’t begun to stick on the roads, yet. You have time,” Winward replied. “Are you coming home, afterward?”
Tom’s lips twisted roguishly as he looked at the detective. “Probably not, mom,” he answered and watched Winward’s mouth twitch.
“Mind if my men tag along?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No. But don’t worry. You won’t be expected to share your pillow. They know to bring their own.”
Tom grunted with ill humor and opened the door. “In that case, I would suggest you tell your men to bundle up. As you well know, it’s a nasty night.”
Winward’s eyes glimmered with amusement as he gave a curt nod.
Jonathan cuffed Tom’s shoulder before following the detective out. “We’ll talk to you two later. Be careful tonight.”
“Count on it,” Tom said. He caught Marsha’s hand before she could precede Jonathan through the door. “Marsha? Thank you.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Not necessary.”
Tom closed the door and sighed.
“Marsha pushed a strong point tonight,” Kelly said, her voice soft.
“Yeah, she did. I hope Winward heard her.”
“He was listening.”
Tom’s look lingered as he gave Kelly a gentle smile. “Come on,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s get our coats and get out of here.”
“You know, I think I might actually like that man,” she said, leading the way upstairs and into the bedroom.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Tom scowled as she slipped her arms into the coat he held up for her.
“He’s just doing his job, Tom. Isn’t that what you told me?”
Tom grunted, unimpressed. He watched a smile play along her lips, then draped his arm across her shoulders, pulling her close to nip the lobe of her ear with his teeth.
“Let’s just hope he’s on our side, likable or not.”
They stepped into the hallway and watched two small vapors solidify in front of them. The regret Tom saw in their bruised, sunken eyes made his blood run cold.
“No,” Kelly moaned, backing away. “Please, no.”
Caroline Doltry and Julie Dobbs took a unified step forward. Scooping Kelly into his arms, Tom ran for the main staircase. When the two little girls materialized below him, he stopped and spun around, only to see Rachel Porter and Amy Monroe emerging from the attic stairs to block his path. As the four little girls moved in converging unison, Kelly’s scream split the eerie silence.
Tom bolted into a headlong descent. The familiar paralysis weighed heavy in his limbs, causing his fear to escalate as he struggled to keep Kelly sheltered in his arms. He fell against the banister in an attempt to keep his balance, but his knees buckled and he was only able to stumble a few steps lower before he collapsed back upon the stairs.
Suddenly, the unnaturally cold air turned frosty as the lights flickered and then flared with blinding brilliance, shattering random bulbs throughout the house with popping, hissing explosions. Kelly’s screams crescendoed, and her body convulsed as the girls stepped close and seemed to melt, one by one, into Kelly’s chest. As the last little girl merged and disappeared, Kelly fell limp against him and a sob shook Tom’s body. He gathered her close, tightening his hold, ignoring the two detectives standing wide-eyed just within the open doorway, silhouetted by the ambient light outside. A gust of wet, arctic wind rushed in behind them.
The surveillance officers advanced and Winward cast Hayes a warning glance. With the hint of a nod, the huge man filled the doorway then stepped outside, closing the door behind him, leaving them in darkness.
The chandelier came on, its light dim with only a few bulbs left intact, before Tom felt a hand press against his shoulder. His face felt like stone, but his eyes burned and he saw Winward flinch when he looked at him.
“They’ve won.” Tom’s voice was disturbingly calm. “They took her and there was nothing I could do to stop them.”
Winward cleared his throat. “I know. I saw what happened.” He avoided Tom’s eyes by checking Kelly’s pulse. “We should get Miss Stafford to a hospital.”
“No.”
“She needs help, Shear.”
“Not that kind of help.”
“What do you mean, ‘not that kind of help’?” Winward snapped. “Look at her.”
Kelly’s face was ashen. Tears slid from beneath her closed lids and Tom tenderly brushed them away.
Winward’s expression was grave as he rose to his feet. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
A whispered “no” stopped him.
Winward turned to see Kelly watching him. Her eyes shimmered with tears and her voice was weak, but she had regained control.
“Doctors can’t help. Tom’s the only one who can help us now,” she said, shifting her gaze to the man who held her. “He knows what to do.”
Tom’s heart lurched. “Kelly, I—”
She shook her head and her eyes fluttered shut. A shiver passed through her body.
Tom helped Kelly into her nightgown before putting her to bed. She struggled to keep her sagging eyelids open, but she seemed powerless against the weariness that weighed her down.
“Will you stay?” she asked. Her eyes flickered open and met his gaze.
He sat down beside her, tucking the purple sheet and floral comforter more snuggly around her shoulders like a cocoon. “A garrison of troops couldn’t drag me away.”
His smile was tender as he bent to kiss her. He rubbed the furrow that creased her brow with his thumb and watched her eyes close once more before reaching for the bedside lamp.
“No,” she said in a breath. “Leave it on.”
His next kiss lingered as he swallowed the thickening in his throat. Rising to his feet, he blinked hard to clear his vision before leaving Kelly’s bedroom to face the man waiting in the next room.
“How is she?”
“Sleeping.”
Winward turned from the window where he stood with the lace sheer pulled aside watching the sleet tapping against the panes. He shook his head. “I still think we should’ve taken her to the hospital. They could do a hell of a lot more for her than we can.”
Tom rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Could they?” he asked, meeting Winward’s dark, brooding gaze. “What could they do? All of the tests in the world wouldn’t be able to explain what happened to her. She would probably be confined to some mental ward with the diagnosis being acute depression.” Tom gave a harsh laugh. “Drugs and weekly visits to a shrink is not what she needs, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen to her. So, unless you want to try and explain what caused Kelly’s collapse, and make them believe you,” he said, “I suggest you give the matter some thought.”
Winward scowled as he turned back to the window and looked out. Heaving a sigh, Tom went into the kitchen and returned with brandy and glasses.
“Where’s Hayes?”
“He went home.”
“Why? Too much for the big guy to handle?”
Tom’s lips took on an acerbic curve when he saw the detective’s noncommittal shrug. “Here,” he said, handing Winward a glass. “And don’t give me any of your duty crap. I think we’re well past that by now.”
Winward sniffed the brandy, then lifted his glass in saluting agreement before tipping it to his lips. As Tom began a restless march around Kelly’s den, picking up knickknacks then replacin
g them and studying family photos on the walls, the detective sank into a chair.
“What’d she mean when she said you were the only one who could help? She used the term ‘us’ when she said it. She also said you knew what to do.” Winward paused as Tom’s sullen expression darkened. “Do you?”
“I think so.”
“Well, would you mind explaining? I’m not stupid, but this supernatural shit’s a little beyond my field of expertise.”
“And I suppose you think I know all about it.”
“You know a hell of a lot more than I do.”
A knock on the door postponed Tom’s reply. “Expecting anyone?”
Winward shook his head. “Not me.”
Tom opened the door to a brooding Hayes who stood hunched and shivering in the frigid wind.
“What are you doing here?” Tom asked, stepping out of the man’s way. “Winward said you went home.”
“Huh. To do what?” Hayes rumbled. “Sleep? Not bloody likely.”
Tom glanced at Winward and watched a knowing smile lift the corners of the detective’s mouth.
“Curiosity got the better of you, I see,” Winward said, settling himself back into his seat. “I thought it might.”
Hayes gave a loud snort as he took off his coat and slung it over a chair at the dining table. Accepting the glass Tom held out to him, he gave an appreciative nod and eased his bulk onto the sofa before offering Winward his skeptical regard.
“I suppose that means you’ve completely reconciled yourself to the impossible?”
Winward shrugged and sipped his brandy. “Maybe not completely. But I’m a man of facts, Don, like you. And the fact is, I really saw what I saw tonight. I didn’t make it up and I didn’t imagine it. Neither did you. Kelly Stafford’s proof of that. Besides, who are we to say what’s truly impossible or not?”
“How is she?”
Tom cut Winward off before he could say anything. “How do you think she is?” he snarled. “She’s being torn apart.” He tossed back the remaining brandy in his glass and ran an agitated hand through his hair.
After a short, uncomfortable pause, Tom looked at Hayes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no right to speak to you that way. It’s just that Kelly’s very important to me.”
“Mr. Shear, I saw what happened. At least, I think I did, and I don’t think there was anything any of us could’ve done.”
“You’re wrong. I should’ve found a way to keep her from that house. I knew what could happen. It’s happened before.”
Winward’s expression grew pensive. “I remember you mentioning a paralysis that overtook you whenever the spirits appeared to Miss Stafford. It happened again tonight, didn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m surprised you didn’t feel it.”
“I did,” Winward said. He turned to Hayes. “What about you?”
“I felt something, but I thought it was a reaction of being scared shitless.”
“That admission must be monumental for a man like you, Don.” Winward held up his glass. “I salute you for admitting you’re human.”
“I thought you’d left after we’d all said our goodbyes,” Tom said, watching Winward get up to refill his glass. “What made you come back?”
“Don and I were discussing tomorrow’s arrangements when the screaming started. For a second, I thought it was the wind,” he admitted and took a fortifying drink. “But there was something strange about it. It was too damned eerie. Luckily, the door was unlocked or Hayes here would’ve broken it down.”
“How much did you see?”
“Enough to grab our attention if that’s what you want to hear,” Hayes replied, meeting Tom’s eyes with a scowl.
“Enough to make you believe?”
“Believe?” Hayes grunted. “There’s still the possibility of fraud, Mr. Shear. We have devices nowadays that can do all sorts of things. I would imagine someone with the know-how would have no problem staging what Detective Winward and I saw tonight. But then again, I’m no electronic wizard. Are you?”
“And what about Kelly?” Tom asked, trying not to grind his teeth.
“Miss Stafford? Well now, that is a little puzzling. But experience has taught me that a woman, no matter how intelligent, will do almost anything for the man she loves if she’s handled right.”
Tom was momentarily speechless. Passing Hayes a scathing look, he turned to resume his pacing as he struggled to control his seething temper.
“Right now, Detective, I really don’t give a damn what you think. Kelly’s the only person who matters now.”
“Which leads me back to the question I asked earlier,” Winward said. “What exactly did she mean when she said you were the only one who could help them?”
“It should be obvious, Detective. Especially to a man like yourself.”
“Humor me.”
“Nine little girls are dead and the man responsible is still out there. Obviously, they expect me to find him.”
“What do you mean ‘nine little girls are dead’?” Hayes growled. “At last count, Mr. Shear, there were only eight.”
“That’s by your estimate, Detective, not mine. There’s one you haven’t accounted for yet: Emmy.”
“Ah, yes. The little girl you first told us about.” Hayes stared at Tom with dark eyes. “There’s only one problem with that, Mr. Shear. If you’re so sure she’s connected with this case, maybe you can explain why no missing person’s report was ever filed? Surely, someone would’ve reported her disappearance to the authorities.”
“I can’t answer that. Maybe she lived in a different area or a different state.”
Hayes shook his head. “Not likely. I checked police records. I went back several years and there was no one fitting her description in the system.”
“What do you expect me to say? Regardless of what you might think, I don’t have all of the answers. All I’m working with right now is instinct, and my instincts are telling me she has the main role in all of this.”
“What do you mean?”
Tom heaved a sigh. “If I answer that, Detective Hayes, you’ll only say I’ve added another nail to my coffin.”
“Try me.”
Tom regarded the man in silence, then shook his head with a humorless smile. “What the hell. Things can’t get much worse, can they?”
“That all depends.”
Ignoring the remark, Tom walked to the window Winward had vacated earlier and peered into the darkness.
“I think she was the first to be murdered,” he said. “I also think she knew the man responsible.”
Hayes cleared his throat, but said nothing.
“What makes you think that?” Winward asked.
Tom shrugged. “It’s just a feeling. Maybe it’s because she was the first to appear, I don’t know. But she seems more confident than the rest. Stronger somehow. In some way, she holds the key. I think if we could find out who she is, that knowledge would lead us to the killer.”
Tom turned, letting the sheer curtain fall back into place and saw Kelly standing in the doorway. He stepped over and gathered her in his arms.
“Baby, what are you doing up?”
“I thought you’d left.”
He looked into her eyes as he caressed her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. Come on, I’ll take you back to bed.”
“No,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to dream anymore.”
Her imploring eyes had assumed the sunken, haunted characteristics of the portraits in his gallery and the sight filled Tom with dread. Pulling her close, he stroked her sleep-tousled hair.
“Okay,” he said. “At least come and sit down.” He steered her toward the sofa and covered her with the lap blanket draped across its back.
“Maybe we should continue our discussion at another time,” Hayes suggested, giving Tom a denotative look.
“No. I have a right to hear what you have to say.” Kelly looked from one man to the other before resting h
er green gaze on Tom. “I want to know what you’re planning to do about Emmy.”
“I’m not sure. I do know she’s connected with the house in some way. Maybe I’ll start there.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Kelly, no. You’re going through enough as it is. I don’t think—”
“Tom, you can’t do it all by yourself. What about the university, your gallery? When will you find time to sleep?”
“I’ll manage.”
“How?”
“By taking a leave of absence until this thing’s resolved.”
“But what if it takes too long? Tom, you could lose your tenure.”
“Kelly, I stand to lose a lot more than that if I don’t,” he said. He watched her lower her eyes to the hands she held fisted in her lap.
“You seem to be forgetting something, Shear. Winward and I are the detectives here. Maybe you should let us handle things. Chances are you’ll just get in the way.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed on Hayes. “So far, Detective, you’ve shown me nothing but your closed mind. If you think I’m just going to sit around while you ignore what’s right in front of you, you really are as incompetent as you seem.”
Hayes’s face grew rigid and Winward quickly rose to stand between the two men. He cast his partner a warning glance. “I think that’s enough for one night. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?”
Hayes rose stiffly to his feet and Tom met the man’s gaze without flinching. As the two detectives donned their coats and moved toward the door, Winward stopped. A smile tugged at his lips as he regarded Tom with a mingling of admiration and curiosity.
“We’ll be watching,” he said, letting his smile spread. Then, with a shake of his head, he followed Hayes out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tom watched the bleak sunrise with red, staring eyes. Its dim rising did little to dispel the darkness of the long, sleepless night. It left only a shroud of eerie, gray gloom that robbed the quaintly furnished bedroom of color, enhancing his feeling of encroaching doom.
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