The Devil's Eye

Obviously, Brynn hadn’t been murdered. She was very much alive and looked well enough to him. He certainly wouldn’t have pegged her for Eleri’s sister. Unlike Eleri’s small, hard features, Brynn’s were softer, prettier. Warm brown eyes and pale red hair falling damp and windblown to her shoulders gave her an earthy sexiness he would’ve had to be dead not to notice.

Did Brynn have any idea of the mess she’d stumbled into? For all he knew, she and her sister were two of a kind. He considered her artless questions, open expression, and somehow didn’t believe it.

Why? Because he liked her face? He of all people should know better. Human beings rarely looked like who they really were. He, for instance, played normal so well no one would guess at the freak he really was.

“You must be mistaken, Iola. Perhaps you heard her name wrong.” Hugh Warlow’s condescending voice drifted from the kitchen. Reece slowed his pace and pressed against the wall. The musty stink from the ancient wallpaper wafted to his nose while he inched nearer to the opening so he could better hear the hushed conversation without being seen.

“He introduced her as Ms. James.” The housekeeper’s whisper gave way to a shrill squeak. “Who else could she be?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Warlow murmured. “Why would Eleri bring her here now? Why would she come?”

“A father at death’s door? I think we can guess, can’t we? Like mother like daughter. She’s come for whatever she can get her hands on, mark my words. The apple wouldn’t have fallen far from the tree with that one.”

Warlow chuckled softly, the sound cool as a November wind. “Then she’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. And that still doesn’t explain why Eleri would seek her out now.”

“Mr. James is ill. If Eleri isn’t aware there are no provisions for Meris’s girl in his will…” Shrewd implication crept into Mrs. Voyle’s voice. “Perhaps, she plans to finish what she started.”

Unease unfurled inside Reece. What had Eleri started that she might finish now? Based on the stories he’d heard, the possibilities weren’t good.

“She’s gone through a lot of trouble to bring that girl here, I doubt Eleri would do so without knowing who gets what when her father passes. She’s too clever.”

“Crafty, more like it.”

Silence fell between them. Reece tensed, ears straining.

“Do you suppose this has anything to do with Langley?” Mrs. Voyle asked, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

Now that was interesting. In the weeks he’d been working here, Reece had yet to hear anyone at Stonecliff mention the man found murdered on the property less than six weeks ago. Conversely, in the village they spoke of nothing else.

“Don’t let gossip cloud your better judgment,” Warlow said. Given the animosity between Eleri and the butler, Reece was surprised the man would defend her. “But we do need to know just what that girl is up to.”

“Which one?”

“Both, I imagine.”

Footsteps scraped across the tile floor, moving in his direction. He tensed. It was only a matter of time before one of them caught him eavesdropping.

He pushed away from the wall and rounded through the door, bringing Mrs. Voyle to a halt in front of him. The woman’s beady eyes narrowed, as if guessing he’d been listening.

“What’re you about, then?” she snapped.

Reece opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could get the words out. “How is it that girl came in with you?”

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Bad enough he had to put up with Eleri constantly looking for an excuse to sack him, but to have to offer up explanations to this tight-faced harridan was almost more than he could stand. “I ran into her at the pub. She was lost, I showed her the way.”

“At the pub again, were you?” Mrs. Voyle said, with a derisive sniff. “No surprise there. Well, if you’re after your dinner, you’ll just have to wait. I serve at six sharp. Not before, not after.”

The thick, meaty scent of whatever vile concoction the woman was cooking filled the kitchen. The pounding in his head increased, and his stomach swirled. He’d pass.

“Eleri wants her sister’s things taken to the guestroom. She said you could direct me.”

The shrill whistle from the kettle cut through the quiet, and his skull contracted. Lips pursed as if sucking lemons, Mrs. Voyle shut off the gas burner, lifted the kettle and the whistle ceased.

“So, I’m to fetch tea and tell you how to be about your own duties, am I?” Before Mrs. Voyle could rant further, Warlow lifted his hand, and the housekeeper’s mouth snapped shut.

With his dark suit and short snow-white hair, Warlow looked fastidious and stately, every part the English butler. Despite the color of his hair, only a few lines creased the corners of his eyes when he smiled, making his age difficult to guess.

“The front room in the northeast corner,” he said.

Facing the sea? Brynn should love that. He nodded and started to turn away.

“Mr. Conway,” Warlow said. Reece stopped and faced him. “Would you join me?”

As if he had a choice. Not in what Warlow asked of him, or Eleri James, or in working within the walls of this stone asylum. Choice had vanished years ago.

“I really should get these to Br—Ms. James’s room.”

“You can spare a moment.” Warlow’s smile stretched a little wider, blue gaze chilling ever so slightly. He waved Reece to the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”

The man wanted something. Normally, he barely spoke to him—unless to contradict Eleri.

Reece dropped into the chair Warlow had indicated and struggled against the urge to check his watch. He had to get back to the pub.

The butler hesitated before speaking, his gaze following Mrs. Voyle as she placed a teapot onto the trolley’s tray next to a plate of biscuits. Once loaded, she pushed the cart out of the kitchen. The dishes clanked together and one of the wheels squeaked intermittently.

Warlow lifted his teacup and asked, “Would you care for some?”

Just get to the point, already. Reece shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll just take up these cases then be off.”

Warlow leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. “Meris’s girl arrived with you. Did Eleri ask you to meet her?”

Reece shook his head. “I wouldn’t have bothered with her at all, but Dylis Paskin offered me up when Brynn couldn’t follow the directions Eleri sent her.”

“You had no idea Eleri had contacted her sister?” Warlow’s piercing blue stare bored into him. “Why were you at the pub this afternoon?”

Was the man actually trying to catch him in a lie? Funny, Reece had been at the pub for nefarious reasons, just not the ones Warlow assumed. “I was desperate for something edible for my dinner.”

“Ah, well, no one could fault you for that, my boy.”

Reece stiffened beneath the weight of the butler’s patronizing tone.

“A word of warning, though. The Paskins have a long, angry history with this family. You may want to keep that in mind the next time you visit The Iron Kettle.”

Well, considering Eleri had likely murdered their son, one could hardly blame them for holding a grudge. “I really should take Ms. James her cases.”

“A little longer, please.” Warlow waved Reece back into his seat when he started to stand. Good God, would the man never shut up? “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m very concerned about this visit affecting Mr. James’s health. Did the girl tell you anything about why she’s come?”

Irrational irritation prickled the back of Reece’s neck. She has a name. “No.”

Though, her turning up now with her father so ill, Mrs. Voyle probably hadn’t been far off the mark. Not that he was in any position to judge. The things he’d done for money didn’t leave much room to be self-righteous.

“Did she tell you why Eleri contacted her?” Warlow pushed.

Ask her your bloody self if you want to know so badly. “We weren’t in the car long, and didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” The man’s smile dimmed and he nodded almost to himself, then those light eyes fixed on Reece once more. “What did you think of her?”

A bloody nosy neurotic. Instead, he shrugged. “I didn’t think anything of her.”

Warlow chuckled. Only the barely visible narrowing of his eyes hinted at his annoyance. “You formed no opinion?”

He could tell the butler about her panic attack, her fear of water. Reece met the man’s hungry gaze, and a surge of distaste curdled his insides. Hugh Warlow could dig up his own dirt. “Like I said, we didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”

He glanced at the clock over the stove. Ten minutes to six. He’d never make it back to the pub in time. He was well and truly fucked now.

The telltale hiss of Mrs. Voyle’s skirt announced her arrival just before she stormed into the room, dark eyes glinting like onyx.

“Now, I’m to serve Her Highness dinner in her room,” the housekeeper fumed, shooting Warlow a pointed stare. “Familiar days, I tell you.”

Reece saw his chance for escape and jumped at it. He scrambled from his chair and gathered Brynn’s cases. “I should take these up.”

“Yes, of course. One more thing, Mr. Conway.”

Reece lifted his head and Warlow flashed a smile nearly as white as his hair.

“I realize you’ve only been with us a few weeks, but I’m extremely pleased with you so far. There could be a real future here for someone loyal.”

Reece nodded despite the slick knots tightening his insides. A future in this house? Were that the case he’d stick his head in the oven and get it over with now. Besides, he knew the sort of loyalty Hugh Warlow was looking for. Reece was already spying for one son of a bitch. He had no desire to make it two.

* * *

Brynn stared out the window, but only her watery reflection in the glass was visible against the black sky. She couldn’t see the ocean in the darkness, but given the relentless hush of the surf beating the shore, her room no doubt overlooked those endless waves. She shivered. For a moment, images of the ground beneath the house shifting, all this stone and wood tipping forward and sliding down the cliff into the icy waters below filled her head.

Her heart rate quickened and Brynn grasped the fireplace mantle next to the window to steady herself.

She’d just keep the drapes closed during her stay.

Or maybe she should just head back to the airport. Hop on the first flight home. And go back to what? Her grandparents’ empty house? Her career swirling down the toilet? Her life was a mess. If everything had been going great, she probably wouldn’t have made this trip to begin with.

She thought of her mother’s letters tucked away in her purse. No, even if Zack hadn’t knocked up the CEO’s secretary at the company where they both worked, and she hadn’t been given a transfer to a tiny subsidiary instead of the promotion she’d been promised before her personal life had become fodder for gossip, she would have made this trip.

Even knowing her father didn’t want her here, after all.

A lump thickened in her throat, a faint tingle tickling the back of her nose. She was just tired. She drew a trembling breath and let it out slowly. After a decent night’s sleep, she’d be back to her old self.

Eleri had been partially right about why Brynn had come. She did want to know about this place and the people she came from, but more than that she wanted to know what had frightened her mother so much she’d turned Brynn over to her grandparents.

Had her grandparents known? Is that why they’d never told her about this place, her father, her sister, why they’d even kept her mother’s letters from her?

Brynn turned away from the window and flopped back onto the huge bed on the opposite side of the room, sinking into the soft covers and staring up at the wooden frame holding the canopy. She desperately wanted to crawl under the blankets, but Reece still hadn’t shown up with her suitcase. Maybe she hadn’t been far off imagining him mugging tourists.

Eleri had gone looking for him, and if her narrowed eyes and tight mouth were any indication, the man should hope she didn’t find him.

A light tap on the open door and Brynn pushed up on her elbows. Reece stood just inside the threshold with her cases, those sea-blue eyes locked on her, his expression inscrutable. Dull warmth lit inside her and tingled into her limbs.

She dropped her gaze and scrambled off the bed.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting. I was held up,” he muttered, stalking across the room.

“Oh…you didn’t…it’s just…Eleri’s looking for you.” Why was she stammering like an idiot? But she already knew the answer. Something about the sight of him, his dark hair pushed back from those hard features—her thumb itched to trace that sharp ridge of cheekbone—he looked good, primal.

She was tired, had a bad day. Her imagination was getting the better of her.

“Wonderful.” He dropped her cases before the wardrobe with a thud, turned and started for the door, but stopped, his attention shifting to the fireplace facing the sofa. “I’ll get a fire started for you.”

“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

He jerked his shoulder. “Save myself a trip later.”

There, exactly what she needed to hear to put the world back in perspective. She bit her lip to keep from smiling, grabbed her suitcase and hoisted it onto the bed. Once he was gone, she was going to sleep and when she woke up, things would make sense again. She unzipped the flap and dug through her neatly folded clothes for the T-shirt and shorts she slept in.

The flue clunked open and Brynn looked up. While Reece had twisted to reach into the chimney, his shirt had lifted slightly revealing a hard band of flat stomach. Nice.

A sharp rap sounded on her door and Brynn started. Sour-faced Mrs. Voyle stood in the opening holding a large tray with both hands.

What had she knocked with? Her forehead?

“I have your dinner.” The older woman set the tray on the table between the settee and fireplace. Her narrowed gaze fixed on Reece. “What are you doing in here?”

“Knitting an afghan,” he told her, without looking away from the wood he carefully stacked in the fireplace.

“Thanks for bringing this up,” Brynn said.

“It’ll be the last time, I can promise you that. I won’t be carting trays up and down stairs day and night just to please you. In future, I serve dinner at six sharp, and breakfast at eight-thirty. If you’re not in the dining room, you don’t eat. I’m leaving for the night once I finish here. If you need anything else, say so now.”

Brynn blinked, the woman’s hostility catching her off guard. “I can’t think of anything.”

She lifted the silver dome from the dish on the tray and her stomach shriveled. Gray meat smothered in lumpy, brown gravy with mushy vegetables and greasy potatoes. That rubbery chicken she’d eaten on the plane suddenly seemed gourmet.

“You’ll want to keep your door locked,” Mrs. Voyle told her, setting a large iron key on the table next to the tray.

Why? Were you thinking of bringing me more inedible food through the night?

“Thank you, Mrs. Voyle, for all your help,” Brynn said, tightly.

The housekeeper gave a curt nod and started for the door, but paused before leaving. “I don’t know what you’re after coming here, but if you’re wise, you won’t stay.”

Irritation flared, and she shot the woman an icy stare. “I’m not after anything.”

Mrs. Voyle’s small eyes flashed. “You’re not wanted here, and you should thank God for it.”

Brynn shook her head, watching the woman go. “What did I ever do to her?”

“They think you’re after your father’s money.”

Reece’s low voice jerked her attention away from the door. He knelt on the floor next to the hearth, feeding small bits of wood into the flickering blaze.

“Who does?” The sister who begged her to stay? The father who may have tried to drown her when she was three?

“Mrs. Voyle, Warlow, probably most of Cragera Bay, by now.”

“Perfect,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Is that what you think?”

Not that she cared one way or the other.

He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. You’ll want to bank this before going to bed, and it should last the rest of the night.”

“I don’t want his money,” she told him, not sure why it mattered he believe her.

“As I said, it’s no concern of mine.” He stood, pinned her with an icy stare. “She’s right, though, about this place. The sooner you’re away from here, the better off you’ll be.”

* * *

Brynn stood on the bank of a pond, the glassy waters still and dark before her. Huge trees rose up on all sides, their snow-laden branches reached into an indigo sky. Black fear uncoiled inside her like an icy snake. She tried to step back, but the tangle of trees closed tighter, trapping her at the water’s edge.

Her heart pounded fast in her chest. Cold sweat dribbled down her back. Her gaze locked on the fathomless pool and she couldn’t look away.

The oily waters rippled, bubbled as something floated to the surface.

Her blood ran cold.

Run! A voice from somewhere inside her screamed, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away. A man’s face emerged from the black water, flesh bloated and gray. His wide, dead eyes stared milky opaque.

Finally, Brynn stepped back, but the slippery bank gave out beneath her feet and she stumbled into frigid water. Icy fingers curled around her ankles, pulling her deeper…

* * *

Brynn jerked awake, gasping. She sat up and pressed a hand to her pounding chest. Where was she? She blinked, eyes stinging, and waited for them to adjust to the darkness, then glanced around the unfamiliar room.

The dark outline of furniture was little more than odd shapes in the black. Her gaze settled on the glowing coals in the fireplace, and the day’s events washed over her.

“Damn,” she whispered and flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Images from her nightmare filled her head. Not much chance of falling back to sleep after that.

She groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Despite the heavy duvet and blankets cocooned around her, she shivered. The temperature in the room had dropped since she’d gone to sleep. And what the hell was that smell? She wrinkled her nose at the thick, mossy stink seeping through the sheets with the cold. Pushing back the blankets, she sat up and froze. Her stomach dropped.

A huge shape lumbered between her bed and the fireplace, blotting out the glow of the coals like an eclipse.

With wide, staring eyes, her gaze traveled the length of the massive shadow, from the hem of a long coat, to broad, masculine shoulders, to the outline of a wide-brimmed hat.

A man. There was a man in her room!

A scream burned up the back of her throat and lodged there. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could scarcely breathe.

Instead, she stared into the black void where a face should have been. Then, like tiny beacons from hell, two red eyes appeared.

Chapter Four

Brynn stared into the glowing eyes like a bird caught in the thrall of a snake. Hate and rage emanated from the man-shaped thing, a tangible force wrapping around her and squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Run!

But she couldn’t move. Every muscle had seized under the burning red glare.

A dream. Some rational part of her brain tried desperately to convince the rest of her. It had to be a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to count.

One, two…

When she opened her eyes it would be gone—

…three, four, five…

—and she would laugh at how crazy real it seemed.

…six, seven…

Whatever she thought she saw was probably just stress.

…eight, nine…

Some remnant of her nightmare.

…ten.

She opened her eyes. The shadow loomed beside her bed, black delight radiating like a living pulse from its murky form.

She tried to swallow, but her throat had shriveled. Icy sweat coated her skin. Drawing a trembling breath, she eased her hand out from beneath the blankets, eyes locked with the two glowing orbs, afraid that breaking contact, even for a moment, would somehow allow the thing to pounce. Her fumbling fingers bumped the porcelain lamp, sending it teetering sideways.

No, no, no. Please don’t break.

She grabbed the shade and caught the lamp before it went over, then pressed the switch. Brilliant light flooded the darkness. She squinted against the sudden glare. When she turned back to the shadow man, he was gone.

“What the hell?” She kicked free of the blankets and slid from the bed. Frigid air wrapped around her like a shroud, seeping through her thin shorts and T-shirt. Goose bumps stippled her skin.

Where did he go? He couldn’t have just vanished.

She hurried to the door. Locked, just as she’d left it. She turned the latch, pulled back the door and poked her head into the hall. Darkness spread out on either side of her like black curtains, leaving her unable to see anything past the faint pool of light spilling from her room. She shut the door and turned the lock once more.

So what exactly had she seen?

Had there been a man in her room? A man with glowing red eyes? Not likely. So what did that leave? A ghost? Of course not. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Whatever she’d seen, the real question was, where did it go?

She glanced around the bedroom, her gaze falling on the wardrobe. No way. She didn’t actually believe someone was hiding in her closet, did she? Of course not. Still, she crossed the room, closed her trembling fingers around the brass handles and yanked both doors wide.

Ha! Empty. Just like she knew it would be.

Oh, yeah? Then why is your heart ready to burst out of your chest, and your legs like rubber?

She closed the doors and leaned back against them. She was being ridiculous. She must have imagined…

Bathroom!

Brynn hurried to the en suite, pushed open the door and slid her hand up the wall until her fingers found the switch. The small space filled with light.

Nothing.

She looked behind the bathtub, then behind the door.

No one. She was completely alone.

* * *

A sharp jab just below his left kidney dragged Reece up through layers of sleep. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shifted on the lumpy mattress and rolled onto his side, willing himself to drift off again before he woke fully.

Dull stabbing bloomed at his hip.

“Bloody hell.” That blasted spring was like a medieval torture device especially designed to drive him mad. With a muttered curse, he threw back his thin blankets and glanced at the clock next to his bed. Five-twenty. Well, he’d managed ten minutes longer than yesterday. He should be glad for that, at least.

He padded across the cold wood floor and snagged his jeans from the chair next to the window. As he tugged them on, he peered out into the pre-dawn darkness. Stonecliff stood out like a black lump against the brightening sky. Stark and austere, in its day the manor’s stone walls, peaked windows and sheer size had made it a work of gothic grandeur. Some might still see it that way despite its aging facade, but not him.

He hated that house. He shouldn’t. There were no voices here, no apparitions. Stonecliff was the one place he could let down his carefully trained guards and only silence greeted him. But the quiet was unnatural, like the swelling pressure that built in his head just before his ears popped.