A man undercover must reveal the truth in the swamps in the continuation of USA TODAY bestselling author Jana DeLeon’s Mystere Parish: Family Inheritance.

One day on the job and contractor Zach Sargent is ready to believe the dilapidated old LeBeau mansion is haunted. Some intruder—earthly or not—is threatening the youngest LeBeau sister, back to claim her inheritance. And though Danae keeps her distance from the sexy hired hand, he falls for her in a heartbeat.

Like Danae, Zach has come back to Calais in need of answers to troubling questions about the LeBeau family past. But Danae must never know who he really is and he can’t let his attraction to her stop his search...or else a decades-old evil will claim a new victim.

“Are you hurt?” Zach asked.

The worry and care in his voice and expression was so clear that it made her heart ache.

“I’m sorry—” she started.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. “Someone attacked you in your home. Anyone would have been terrified.”

“I was,” she said, and looked down, almost embarrassed that she’d been so scared.

He placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head back up until she met his gaze. “But you fought back and got away,” he said. “You’re a strong, brave woman.”

Her heart pounded in her throat and more than anything, she wanted him to kiss her. No matter how hard she’d tried to resist her attraction to Zach, her body always betrayed her. It came alive when he was close to her, as never before.

She felt her body lean forward, anticipating the kiss, but instead, he released her and scanned the cabin.

The Betrayed

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Jana DeLeon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author JANA DELEON grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001—she focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana on her website, www.janadeleon.com.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Danae LeBeau—The youngest LeBeau sister had the roughest childhood of the three girls, and it left her with a strong distrust of people and an attitude that anything life handed her, she would handle on her own. But with her life on the line, she has to trust someone, or risk dying alone.

Zach Sargent—The construction company owner was looking for answers surrounding his father’s death and was certain they were contained on the LeBeau estate, where he’d gained a job as a contractor. He thought he’d have full access to the mansion, find the information he needed and leave, but the cagey LeBeau heiress kept him under her watchful eye. Could he convince her to trust him long enough to get the answers he needed?

Jack Granger—The disgruntled cook was mad enough that he didn’t inherit from the LeBeau estate when the girls’ stepfather died. He’s even less thrilled that the woman who used to wait tables in the café turned out to be one of the heiresses. But was he angry enough to try kill her over it?

Bert Thibodeaux—The long-haul trucker had been promised an inheritance by the girls’ stepfather, Trenton Purcell, but he got stiffed, just like the cook. He was no stranger to trouble with the law, but would he go as far as murder to take his revenge?

Johnny Miller—The local man had owned the café for decades and seemed to care about his patrons and the town. But was he another of the town’s residents that Purcell had promised would inherit from the LeBeau estate?

To my husband, Rene, who always believed in me.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

The tortured soul wandered the mansion, calling for her children. Where had they gone? Why couldn’t she hear their sweet voices? Why didn’t their footsteps echo throughout the house?

Was it him? Had he done something to her babies?

The thought of it broke her heart and she screamed in anguish, vowing never to rest until her children were returned to her.

And until the man paid.

* * *

DANAE LEBEAU was running late, as usual, but today she had a good excuse. The local radio station had been abuzz since the wee hours of the morning, broadcasting information about the attack on Alaina LeBeau weeks before and the subsequent death of her attacker at the hands of the local sheriff. Until now, it had all been gossip and speculation, while everyone impatiently waited for the state police to clear those involved and declare it self-defense. Now it was the hottest bit of excitement the tiny bayou town of Calais had ever seen.

My sister could have died.

The thought ripped through her as she listened to the reporter relay the gruesome details of that horrible night at their mother’s estate, the weight of the words crippling her. Her sister could have died, and Danae had never even told her they were related.

After their mother’s death, the three sisters had been separated by their stepfather, Trenton Purcell, and shipped off to be raised by distant relatives. Danae was only two when it happened, not old enough to remember anything about her life in Calais. The only childhood she’d known was in California, but years ago, she’d started slowly making her way across the country to Louisiana. Even though she couldn’t remember anything about her life in Calais, she’d always felt a tug—as if something was drawing her back to her birthplace.

Using an assumed name, she’d taken a job at the local café to try to find out information on her stepfather, who had lived as a recluse in her mother’s family estate for over two decades. But she’d managed to find out very little about the man, given that most of the townspeople seemed to completely dislike him and were happy to see him disappear from society.

After her stepfather’s death, Danae’s sister Alaina showed up in Calais to meet the terms of their mother’s will. According to the local gossip, each sister was required to live on the estate for a period of two weeks within one year after their stepfather’s death. Once those stipulations were met, their mother’s estate would pass to the sisters. It was shocking news to Danae, who’d always assumed their mother had left everything to their stepfather and that her ties to Calais had long since been severed.

Danae still remembered the day Alaina arrived in town. Through the storefront window of the café, she’d seen Alaina driving her SUV down Main Street. She’d dropped a whole stack of dishes and had her pay docked for the incident, but she hadn’t been able to help it. The only thing Danae had from her past was an old photo of their mother. Alaina looked as if she’d stepped out of that photo, changed into current clothes and driven by.

When she met Alaina early one morning at the café, Danae wanted to tell her that they were sisters, but years of living on the street had taught her to always stand back and assess the situation. To always limit exposure of herself unless absolutely necessary. That level of caution had saved her life more than once, and just because she experienced a familial pull, she had no reason to sacrifice something that had always worked for her.

But now, she wondered if she should reveal herself. From the local talk, she had a good idea about the terms of the will and knew that if she wanted to take part, she’d have to come forward. The distant cousin who had taken her in when her mother died had passed away long ago, a liquor bottle clenched in her leathered hand, and Danae had never gotten close enough to anyone to make lasting friendships. If anyone tried to find her, the trail stopped cold in California.

After Danae met Alaina and got a good feeling about her as a person, she’d been tempted to talk to the estate attorney, but she’d still held back. What if their middle sister couldn’t be located, either? Her understanding was that all three sisters had to meet the requirements of the will in order for any of them to inherit. If the last sister couldn’t be located or didn’t agree to the terms, then Danae would have exposed herself for no viable reason, and at a time when she didn’t feel comfortable doing so.

But the attack on Alaina had her rethinking everything. What if her sister had died and she’d never gotten the chance to tell her who she was? She could have missed one of her only opportunities to have a real family.

As she grabbed her car keys, she glanced at her watch and cursed. She even had the advantage of working second shift that morning, but she wasn’t going to make the later work time, either. Johnny, the café owner, was going to kill her for being so late. Likely, everyone in Calais would wander through the café this morning to gossip about the news report. Nothing this big had ever happened in the sleepy bayou town. It was going to be the talk for quite a while.

She flung open the front door of her rented cabin, ready to break some major speeding laws on the winding country roads, but stopped short at the sight of the plain white envelope that lay on the welcome mat.

Such a common, nonthreatening item shouldn’t have set off the wave of anxiety that flooded through her, but she immediately knew something was off. She hadn’t let her guard down long enough to make close friends, and even if she had, they would hardly drive ten miles into the swamp to leave an envelope at her doorstep.

Her hands shook as she reached for the envelope, and as soon as her fingers closed around it, she set off at a run for her car. Whoever had left the envelope might be watching, lurking somewhere in the swamp that enclosed the tiny cabin and blocked it off from the rest of the world.

She jumped into her ancient sedan, started it and threw it into Drive, tearing out of the dirt driveway before she’d even managed to close the car door. She pressed the accelerator just beyond the limits of safety, and her fingers ached from clenching the steering wheel as the old car skidded in the gravel. The narrow road seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, she reached the intersection for the paved road that led into Calais.

She pulled to a stop and looked over at the envelope that she’d tossed onto the passenger’s seat. Habit had her checking her rearview mirror, but no one was visible behind her. She glanced back at the passenger’s seat where the envelope lay, seemingly taunting her to open it. Lifting one hand, she bit her lower lip, then hesitated.

What are you—a coward?

Unable to stand it any longer, she grabbed the envelope and tore it open. A single scrap of paper containing only one sentence fell out into her hand.

I know who you are.

She sucked in a breath so hard her chest ached. All her careful planning and secrecy had been for naught. Someone had figured out her secret. But why did they leave this message? What were they hoping to accomplish by doing so? Being Ophelia LeBeau’s daughter wasn’t a crime, and Danae had no reason other than an overzealous sense of self-protection for hiding her true identity.

Someone must be trying to scare her. But to what end?

She shoved the paper into her purse and continued her drive to town. She’d stop at the café first and let Johnny know she had to take a bit more time that morning. He wouldn’t be happy and may even fire her, but that couldn’t be helped. Danae had the sudden overwhelming feeling that she had to find William Duhon, the estate attorney, and reveal her true identity.

Whatever someone hoped to accomplish with the note, she was going to cut them off at the pass.

DANAE SPOTTED ALAINA’S SUV in front of the attorney’s office and felt another bout of panic. Then logic took over and she decided it was a good thing. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. She hurried into the office and told a rather grim-looking woman at the front desk that she wished to speak to Mr. Duhon.

The grim woman frowned, which surprised Danae a bit, as she’d thought the woman was already frowning before.

“Do you have an appointment?” Grim asked.

“You know that I don’t,” Danae replied, trying to keep her voice level. After all, this woman and everyone else knew her as Connie from the café, and probably couldn’t imagine why she’d need to speak to William.

“I can make you an appointment for later this week.”

“Is he talking to Alaina?”

“Mr. Duhon’s clients are all afforded the privacy they deserve—”

Danae waved a hand at the woman to cut her off.

“Never mind,” she said as she walked past the desk and pushed open the door to the attorney’s office.

Alaina jumped around in her seat when Danae flung open the door, and the attorney jumped up from his chair, uncertain and clearly uncomfortable with the interruption.

“You can’t go in there,” Grim admonished behind her.

“I’m Danae LeBeau,” she said before she could change her mind.

Chapter Two

Alaina and William stared at her, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and surprise. She’d expected as much. Connie Smith, café waitress, had served them both breakfast on many occasions. She’d never provided her real name to anyone in Calais before now. And as her looks were a perfect blend of both parents, she didn’t favor either enough to draw suspicion.

“I have documentation,” she said and pulled some faded, worn papers from her purse. “A birth certificate and a driver’s license with my real name—I’d appreciate it if you don’t ask where I got the one I’ve been using.”

She stood there, holding the documents, with both William and Alaina staring at her in shock. Finally, Alaina rose from her chair and walked the couple of steps to stand in front of her.

“Danae?” Alaina said, her voice wavering. “You were just a toddler... You had on a new dress that day—”

“Yellow with white roses,” Danae interrupted.

Alaina’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes.” She threw her arms around Danae and squeezed her tightly. “I never thought... When I came here, I didn’t know what would happen.”

Danae struggled to maintain her composure. “I didn’t know, either.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I first arrived?”

“We’re fine, Ms. Morgan,” William’s voice sounded behind them.

Danae released Alaina and glanced back in time to see Secretary Grim pull the door closed, her frown still fixed in place. Alaina smiled at her and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I...uh...” Danae struggled to find a way to explain. “I don’t really know why I came to Calais, or even to Louisiana. I mean, I guess I thought I could talk to our stepfather and maybe find out something—anything—about my past, maybe find you and Joelle. But I never got the chance and then he died.”

Danae sniffed and willed the tears that were building to stay in place. Now was not the time to go soft. “I don’t really remember. I don’t remember anything, and I kept thinking that it was important. That my life here mattered and I needed to know. I know it sounds silly...”

Alaina squeezed her arm. “No. It doesn’t sound silly at all. Not to me.”

Danae could tell by the way Alaina said it that she meant what she said. She wasn’t just being nice. She understood, as only the three sisters could possibly understand. A wave of relief passed over her, and the tug at her heart, the one she’d felt for Alaina the first time she saw her, grew stronger.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about how our stepfather lived,” Danae continued. “I never even saw him. Then he died and you turned up.”

Alaina smiled. “I felt a connection to you when we first met that I didn’t understand. I slipped so easily into conversation with you, which is rare. Maybe somewhere deep down, I knew.”

Danae sniffed and her eyes misted up a bit. “I wanted to say something when you arrived, but what would people think—my working here with an assumed name and all?”

She looked over at the attorney. “I swear I didn’t know about the inheritance when I came to Calais.”

The attorney waved a hand at the chairs in front of his desk, encouraging them to sit. “Please don’t trouble yourself with those kinds of thoughts, Ms. LeBeau. You couldn’t have been aware of the conditions of your mother’s will. Ophelia was a very private person, and your stepfather wasn’t about to tell anyone that he wasn’t really the wealthy man he seemed.”

As Danae slid into the chair next to Alaina, she felt some of the tension lessen in her shoulders and back. “But I still came here under false pretenses.”

“No,” Alaina said. “You came here looking for answers and didn’t want everyone to know that evil old man was your stepfather. I hardly think anyone will fault you for your feelings.”

The attorney nodded. “Your sister is correct. While some of the more dramatic of Calais’s residents may find some fun in theorizing as to your hidden identity, those who partake in logical thinking will not so much as raise an eyebrow at your choices. In fact, most would assume you wise.”

Danae smiled. “You’re very refreshing, Mr. Duhon.”

“Isn’t he the best?” Alaina beamed. “Until I met him, I had no idea attorneys could be competent, nice and have a personality. I’d thought I was the only one.”

“Please call me William,” he said, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “Well, ladies, we have a lot to discuss, but I can cover the basics of the inheritance now and we can meet at a later date to discuss the rest.”

Danae nodded. “I know I have to live on the property for two weeks and that Sheriff Trahan will verify my residency every day. At least, that’s what the café gossip is.”

“This time, the café gossip is correct. That was one of the things Alaina and I were discussing, among everything else.”

“Why? Have the requirements changed?”

“No, but the storm last week did a lot of damage. Much of the house no longer has power, and the heating system has failed completely. Essentially, the house has gone from barely habitable to not habitable in a matter of days.”

Danae pulled at a loose thread on the chair cushion. “So what do we do?” The thought of living in that big, scary house with limited power wasn’t anywhere on her bucket list.

William frowned. “That is a fine question. I have already hired someone to begin the repairs, but the work could take a while to complete. I assume you’d like to get this over with.”

Danae nodded.

He tapped his pen on the desk then jumped up with more speed than Danae would have thought possible for a man his age. He pulled open a drawer in the filing cabinet behind him and removed a thick folder.

He slid back into his chair and flipped through the pages, scanning and frowning as he went. Danae looked over at Alaina, but she just shrugged. Finally, he closed the document and beamed across the desk at them.

“You’re renting the cabin off Bayou Glen Drive, right?” William asked.

“Yes,” Danae replied, “but I don’t see—”

“That cabin is part of the estate,” William said. “The inheritance documents don’t specify that you must occupy the main house, so I’m to assume that if you wanted to pitch a tent somewhere on estate acreage, that would also qualify. But in your case, you merely have to remain where you are for at least another two weeks, subject to monitoring and verification by our friend the sheriff.”

“Oh!” Danae exclaimed. “Well, that’s great.”

Alaina clapped her hands. “I told you William is the best.”

The ring of a cell phone interrupted their celebration. Alaina pulled her phone out of her purse and glanced at the display.

“I’m sorry,” Alaina said. “I have to take this.”

Alaina said very little but Danae could tell by the tone of her voice that something was wrong. Her sister frowned as she slipped the phone back into her purse.

“Is everything okay?” Danae asked.

“No. My mother—the one who raised me—fell yesterday and broke her leg. My father died a couple years back, and my stepbrother and stepsister both work full-time and can’t afford to take off. They know I resigned from the firm and asked if I can stay with her for a week or so until the home health nurse is available.”

Disappointment rolled over Danae and she tried to fight it down. Of course Alaina had to go help the woman who’d raised her, but she’d been hoping for long hours to catch up with her sister—to pick her memory for glimpses of their life before their mother died. Surely Alaina, the oldest of the sisters, had memories of their childhood.

Alaina put her hand on Danae’s arm. “I’m so sorry to have to leave right now.”

“Don’t be silly,” Danae said. “We have plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere, not even after my two weeks are up.”

Alaina leaned over and hugged her before rising from her chair. “I need to book a flight and pack a bag. You gave me your cell-phone number weeks ago, so I’ll call you as soon as I get a chance and you’ll have mine. I think there’s a midmorning flight to Boston that I may be able to catch if I hurry.”

Alaina hurried around the desk to plant a kiss on a blushing William’s cheek, then rushed out of the office, closing the door behind her.

William watched Alaina, smiling, then looked at Danae after she’d gone. “She’s quite a woman, your sister. I think you two are going to get along very well.”

“I’ve liked her since the moment I met her. That’s a real relief for me. That and the fact that she wasn’t disappointed that I’m her sister.”

“Why would she be?”

“I don’t know—I mean, she’s this big-shot attorney and I’m just a café waitress. We’re hardly in the same realm.”

“You had two very different upbringings after you were stripped from your home.” He gave her a kindly look. “In my attempts to locate you, I learned some about your life in California. You’ve done well for yourself, Danae. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

She sniffed at the unexpected kindness. “Thanks.”

A movie reel of where she’d come from up to where she was now flashed through her mind, and she realized that right now was the turning point—the time where she could choose to make everything in her life different or simply fade away into obscurity again. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time.

“I can still have access to the house, right?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. It is—or will be—your property, after all. Is there anything in particular you wanted to do? Alaina made quite a dent in remodeling and cleaning. Her work in the kitchen transformed the room.”

She smiled. “I’m sure cleaning is something I could handle, but what I really want is the ability to go through the papers and pictures—see if I can find stuff about our past with our mother. I was so young...”

“And you want to remember.” William sighed. “It makes me so sad that you girls grew up without your mother. Ophelia was such a wonderful woman and her delight in you girls was apparent. Her death was a loss to the entire community but was devastating for you girls.”

He removed his glasses and rubbed them with a cleaning cloth on his desk, and Danae could tell he still felt her mother’s death. It made her both happy and sad that her mother was such a wonderful person she’d left such an impression, but then died without living her life to the fullest.

William slipped his glasses back on and cleared his throat. “It so happens that I need someone to go through the documents in the house. I haven’t been able to find anyone willing to do the work at the house, so I was going to have everything boxed up and shipped to an analyst in New Orleans. But if you’re willing to do the work, I’d be happy to pay you, instead of removing the documents.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Inventory lists, receipts—anything that gives me the ability to construct a list of property. I need to have it evaluated for tax purposes and such. So much is stuffed in the attic, closets and heaven only knows where else that it would take years to uncover it all. I hoped that the most valuable of objects would be contained on an asset listing or that the receipts would be filed with important household documents. Then I could valuate those items, assuming we locate them, and assign a base value to everything else.”

Danae could only imagine the mess that must be contained inside the massive old mansion. William definitely had his work cut out for him.

“I know you have your job at the café,” William continued, “so please don’t feel you have to accept my offer, but I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t tell you the rate for the work is twenty-five dollars an hour.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s boring and dirty work, but requires concentration and attention to detail. The rate is standard for this sort of thing.”

Danae ran a mental budget through her head. The rate was considerably more than she made at the café, but once the job was over, what would she do? If she quit now, it would be unlikely that she could get the job back. The waitress she’d replaced six months ago had moved off to New Orleans with her boyfriend, but that relationship had ended and she was back in Calais and hoping for her old job back.

“I anticipate the work will take several months,” William said and Danae wondered if he could read her mind. “And during your two-week inheritance stint, you won’t be required to pay rent. The estate can hardly charge you for meeting the terms of the will, but the remainder of the lease has to stay in effect.”

In several months, she could easily save enough money to cover herself for more than a year. She had no debt and knew how to live on next to nothing. And maybe, if the job lasted long enough, she’d make enough to invest in the future she really wanted—to become a chef. Twenty-five an hour would go a good ways toward paying for culinary school in New Orleans.

“I think I’ll take that job,” she said.

William beamed. “Good. I’ll have my secretary draw up the paperwork.”

“Great,” she said, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake.

“You know, I haven’t located Joelle yet, but I have a solid lead and expect to find your sister before month’s end. I have no doubt I can convince her to take part in the inheritance requirements.”

Danae shook her head. “What if she’s got a family, a job...things she can’t just up and leave?”

“Yes, all those things matter, but the reality is, with you and Alaina meeting the requirements, Joelle has no risk. Taking those two weeks out of her life will leave all three of you so wealthy that you’ll never have to work again unless you choose to.”

Danae sucked in a breath. “I didn’t... I had no idea.”

“Why would you? The estate looks like it needs a bulldozer rather than a cleaning, but the reality is your mother was an incredibly wealthy woman, and even your stepfather couldn’t manage to put a dent in her accumulated fortune.”

“So once Joelle finishes her two weeks, I...”

“Have the entire world at your fingertips. Whatever you desire for a future, you’ll have the means to pursue it.” He smiled. “Unless, of course, serving coffee and incredible pie to aging attorneys and disgruntled sheriffs is where your dreams lie.”

She laughed. “You make it sound so tempting.”

“Yes, well, as much as I’d love to see that beautiful smile at Johnny’s Café, I prefer for you to have what you want most. It may take a while,” he warned, “to locate Joelle, finish up her term and then push the entire mess through Louisiana’s often frustrating legal system. But it shouldn’t take more than eighteen months, even if Joelle doesn’t fulfill her time right until the end of the year allotted.”

“Eighteen months,” Danae repeated, trying to wrap her mind around everything the attorney had told her. She’d settled in Calais hoping to find out something about her past, with the ultimate dream of locating her sisters. Her mother’s will had come as a huge surprise to her and everyone else in Calais, but the knowledge that her mother’s fortune remained intact astounded her.

Even in her wildest dreams—even after hearing about her mother’s will—she’d never imagined much would come of it. Rather, she’d thought they would inherit a run-down monstrosity of a house that would be fraught with issues and impossible to sell. But this...this was something out of a fairy tale.

William opened his desk drawer and pulled out a huge black key. “This is the key to the front door,” he said as he pushed it across the desk to her. “It’s an old locking system, but it’s well-oiled. You shouldn’t have any problems with access.”

She picked up the key, feeling the weight of the old iron in her hand, and thought about everything that single object represented. It was quite literally going to unlock the rest of her life.

“There is one other thing,” William said.

A sliver of uncertainty ran through her at the apprehension she detected in the attorney’s voice. “Yes?”

“I’m sure you heard that Amos broke his foot and will be staying with his niece here in town.”

Danae nodded. Amos was the estate’s caretaker and no less than eighty years old, hence the general run-down state of the house and grounds. Her stepfather had refused to hire additional help, and the aging caretaker had been unable to maintain it all himself.

“I’d mentioned before that I’ve hired a contractor to address the problems at the house,” William continued. “He will arrive today and will stay in Amos’s cabin. His name is Zach Sargent. He’ll need daily access to the house, but I’m going to leave it up to you whether or not you provide him with a key, as you’ll also be working inside. If you’re uncomfortable with anyone else besides myself, Alaina and the sheriff having free access, I can arrange for someone to let him in daily.”

Her gut clenched a little at the thought of a strange man who could enter the house at any time. “Actually, I can let him in and out myself,” she said. “I’m an early riser and plan on spending full-time hours working on the files.”

William nodded and pulled another key from his drawer. “This is a key to the caretaker’s cabin,” he said as he pushed it across the desk to her. “I had it stocked with basic supplies yesterday, and I’ve already made arrangements with the general store for any supplies or tools he needs.”

“Great.” At least she didn’t have to manage the supplies end of things.

“The road—not much more than a path, really—to the caretaker’s cabin is at the north end of the main house’s driveway. The path leads straight to the cabin, so there’s no chance of his getting lost. Just point him in the right direction. I’m sure he can take it from there.”

Danae nodded. “You said he’ll arrive today?”

“Probably later this afternoon.”

“That’s good,” she said as she rose, the note she’d found on her doorstep weighing heavily on her. But despite her genuine fondness for the attorney, something prevented her from mentioning the incident to him.

“I better run,” she said, before she changed her mind and blurted out everything about the note. “I need to square things away with Johnny at the café. How do I handle the work for you?”

William rose from his chair. “Start going through the paperwork—your stepfather’s office is the logical choice to begin. Put everything you think relevant for my purposes in a box and keep a log of your time. I’ll check in periodically and we’ll cut you a check every Friday, if that is all right by you. Don’t worry about the hours. The estate is happy to pay for whatever you’re willing to work.”

“That’s great.” She extended her hand and clasped his. “Thank you...for everything.”

William gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s been my pleasure.”

She smiled and walked out of his office, giving Secretary Grim a nod on her way through the lobby. After she’d slid into her car, she clenched the steering wheel with both hands, trying to process everything that had happened that morning, but her whirling mind couldn’t put it all into neat little boxes.

She’d almost slipped up in there—almost broken down and given William and Alaina more information than she would have normally. It was so unexpected for her to feel that comfortable with other people that she was surprised at herself. Granted, her sister and William seemed to be perfectly nice and straightforward, but her natural distrust of everyone had saved her more times than she could recall. Now was not the time to abandon a way of life that had worked well for her. At least, not until she knew more about Alaina and William.

She blew out a breath and backed her car out of the parking space. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t told William about the note she’d found that morning. Someone had made a lucky guess and hoped to scare her away or create drama for her. Now that she’d announced herself and stolen their thunder, likely, they’d go away.

At least, that was what she was going to keep telling herself.

Chapter Three

It was almost three o’clock when Zach Sargent pulled into the tiny bayou town of Calais. He shook his head, still not believing his luck. Landing the repair job at the LeBeau estate was an opportunity he’d never even imagined existed, much less that he’d be the one to snag it.

Granted, most men would choose higher-paying construction jobs near the New Orleans nightlife before they’d sequester themselves deep in the swamps of Mystere Parish, but Zach wasn’t most men. Far more was at stake than a paycheck and a good time.

Somewhere inside the crumbling walls of the LeBeau estate, he hoped to find the answers to the questions his dad had left him with. Zach knew it was possible that his dad’s words had only been the ramblings of a man drugged up and near death, but something in his dad’s voice troubled him to the point that he needed to find answers.

He’d thought the words would fade after his burial, but they haunted Zach in his dreams and nagged at him while he was awake. Finally, he’d given up fighting it and started a thorough search of his dad’s records from the time his dad had spoken of. It had only taken a couple of days to come across the entry in his checkbook that had made Zach’s breath catch in his throat. A twenty-thousand-dollar deposit with no explanation noted.

What had his dad done?

What had he regretted so much that he’d laid on his son a garbled confession of some wrongdoing?

Zach had spent many hours since discovering the unexplained deposit trying to imagine what his dad’s secret could be. His father had been an honorable man, a good man, raising Zach alone after his mother passed when he was only eight. Zach simply couldn’t wrap his mind around his dad doing something so horrible that he felt he had to make it right before he died.

If only he’d spoken to Zach before that last stroke, before his speech was so impaired and before he was so drugged that he couldn’t maintain a semblance of coherence. But all of that was wishful thinking and a waste of time.

His dad had said only one name during his ramblings—Ophelia LeBeau.

Somewhere in that house were the answers Zach sought. He had to believe that. It was the only thing that allowed him to sleep at night. And now he had the opportunity to find out for himself.

When he reached the second crossroads outside of Calais, he checked the map the estate attorney had provided and turned to the right. His truck bumped on the sad excuse for a road, and the farther he drove, the denser the trees and foliage became. If he hadn’t known it was only noon, he’d have thought it was dusk. The faintest streams of sunlight managed to peek through the top layers of the cypress trees, but by the time that light penetrated the thick moss clinging to the tree branches, it was filtered to only a dim glow.

If he’d tried, he couldn’t have come farther from his Bourbon Street flat than this expanse of seemingly never-ending swamp. He’d expected remote, but he hadn’t expected to feel so enclosed, so claustrophobic. After all, he lived in an eight-hundred-square-foot flat. Miles of dirt and water should make him feel less confined, not more so.

He shook his head, clearing his mind of fanciful thoughts that had no place there, and ran through his plan once he’d gained access to the house and the records. With any luck, everything would be well organized and he’d find his answer quickly. Honor and loyalty would force him to complete the work needed on the house, even if he got his answer the first day, but the work would be easier and go more quickly without the distraction of the unanswered question hanging over his head.

His truck dipped into a large pothole and he cursed as he gripped the steering wheel more firmly, trying to maintain control of the vehicle as it lurched sideways. If he had to replace anything in the house that was breakable, he’d have to creep down this road to keep from destroying things before he even got them there.

Finally, when he thought he’d driven straight across the United States to Canada, he turned a final corner, and the house loomed before him. Involuntarily, he lifted his foot from the gas, and the truck rolled almost to a stop as he stared at the imposing structure.

The architect in him formed an immediate appreciation for the bold lines and refined features of the mansion. The part of him dedicated to B horror movies was certain he’d driven straight into a midnight feature.

It was horrifying and seductive, all at the same time.

He inched the truck around the decrepit stone driveway and parked behind an ancient sedan. The attorney’s car, he thought as he exited the truck and made his way to the massive double doors. He scanned the door frame for a bell, but didn’t see anything resembling such a device, so he rapped on the solid wood door.

Seconds later, the door flew open and he found himself staring at someone who clearly was not the aging male attorney he’d spoken to on the phone.

The girl in front of him was small but toned, with short black hair and amber eyes that were narrowed on him. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that despite her youthful appearance, she was more woman than girl, and a bit of relief coursed through him because the male part of him had been instantly appreciative of her trim body and chiseled facial features.

The woman’s shrewd eyes looked him up and down and glanced at his vehicle, quickly making an assessment, but when he expected her to speak, she just stared directly at him, her eyes locked on his, unwavering.

“I’m Zach Sargent,” he said finally, extending his hand. “I’m the contractor William Duhon hired to make the repairs to the house.”

The woman hesitated a second before briefly clasping his hand, then releasing it. “I’m Danae LeBeau,” she said.

Zach felt his pulse quicken. Could this woman be Ophelia LeBeau’s daughter? William had mentioned that one of the heiresses had been living in the house, but the name Danae didn’t ring any bells.

She stepped back and opened the door for him to enter. “I have the key to the caretaker’s cottage in the kitchen.”

Zach stepped inside and did a double take at the gloomy interior, layered with dust and sadly lacking in basic maintenance and care. The attorney had said the property needed a lot of work, but Zach thought it had been occupied until recently. He was somewhat shocked that a person would choose to live like this.

“You coming?” Danae asked, her eyebrows arched.

Before he could reply, she continued down a wide hallway to the left of the entry. He blew out a breath and followed her down the hall, then drew up short in the kitchen. The room was a refreshing change from the entry. Stone countertops and floors gleamed, the cabinets and dining table were polished to a high sheen and a new coat of paint covered the walls.

“Is something wrong?”

“What...? No,” he replied, realizing he’d been casing the room like an eager real-estate agent or petty thief. “Sorry, I was just taking in the contrast between this room and the entry.”

Danae nodded. “My sister started cleaning and remodeling here a couple of weeks ago, but hasn’t had time to get much more done.”

Zach frowned. “I don’t understand. William said the house had been occupied until recently.”

“By our stepfather. My sisters and I haven’t been allowed to set foot here since we were sent away as children...when our mother died.”

Her jaw flexed when she delivered that information, and some of the bitter edge the heiress displayed began to make sense. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive subject.”

“You’re not the first. Won’t be the last.” She pulled a key out of her purse and placed it on the end of the counter. “That’s the key to the caretaker’s cabin. The path to the cabin is at the north end of the main driveway. William had it stocked with basic living supplies, but he has you set up with the general store to handle anything beyond that.”

He nodded. “Great. And what about a key to the main house?”

She stiffened and shook her head. “The house isn’t habitable in the shape it’s in, but I’m going to be working here, as well. I’ll let you in every morning and lock up at night.”

Zach struggled to maintain his aggravation, but knew if he made a big deal out of having free access to the house, she may start to wonder. Still, being under constant scrutiny wasn’t going to get him what he’d come for. He had to find an angle that worked.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “I prefer to start early.”

She’d been gazing out the back window, but when he delivered his last sentence, she looked directly at him—pinned him with those dark eyes—and he got the impression she wasn’t buying what he’d said. Not completely.

“I’ve worked in cafés and bars for years. I’m used to getting up early and finishing up late, and as I have no other personal business in this town except the estate, your work won’t interfere with my schedule.”

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven. If that’s all right?”

“No problem at all.”

“Have a good evening,” he said and started down the hall to the front entry. Zach knew when he’d lost the battle. As much as he didn’t need the interference, he’d have to play things Danae’s way.

At least until he could find a way around her.

Chapter Four

Danae peered out a tiny crack in the front door, watching Zach drive away. He hadn’t been at all what she’d expected when William had told her he’d hired a contractor. She’d thought someone older, someone not as adept at repair as they used to be, would be the only person interested in a job out in the middle of the swamp. The young, gorgeous man who’d just left was the absolute last person she’d thought would be interested in a job in a town like Calais.

With his light brown hair, piercing green eyes and stellar body, Zach belonged in the heart of New Orleans, charming all the ladies who came downtown looking for a good time. He certainly didn’t fit Calais and the LeBeau estate.

Frowning, she pushed the heavy wooden door shut, unable to shake the feeling that something about the sexy contractor didn’t add up. Briefly, it crossed her mind that he was running from something, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it came. He didn’t have that look of flight, and she knew that look well. She’d worn it several times herself and seen it in many others.

Finally, she sighed. Likely, it was something simple and embarrassing. If bartending had taught her anything, it was that most people had some secret that they kept locked away from others. The secret wasn’t often earth-shattering, but simply something the person felt would change others’ opinions of them. Maybe Zach had such a secret—like a gambling or drinking problem. Something that had given him a bad reputation with construction companies in New Orleans.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts of Zach and the many different things he could be hiding and tried to focus on what she wanted to tackle next. She’d arrived at the house only twenty minutes before noon, and aside from talking to Zach, she’d spent the rest of the time doing a run-through of the downstairs rooms, checking windows and exterior doors to ensure no unwanted guests could enter.

By the time she had finished her review of the downstairs, she expected Zach to arrive at any moment and had been unwilling to start poking around upstairs. She preferred instead to get her meeting with the contractor out of the way and delve more into her past when she was alone again with the memories that she couldn’t seem to access.

She had just decided to head upstairs and get a feel for the rooms there when her cell phone rang. She checked the display and frowned. It wasn’t a number she recognized, but it definitely wasn’t in Louisiana.

She answered and was happy to hear Alaina’s voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Alaina said. “I meant to call earlier, but I didn’t charge my cell before leaving, so it’s dead as a doornail. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to break away from the family and call you. I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten.”

“No, of course not. How is your...er, mother?”

Even though she didn’t really know Alaina at all, it still felt strange calling another woman her sister’s mother. She wondered how it felt for Alaina.

“She’s doing fine, considering. My brother has a service lined up for home care until she can get around again, but they are on another job at the moment and not expected to free up for another week at least.”

A twinge of something—sadness...jealousy—passed through Danae when Alaina said my brother but she pushed it aside. Their stepfather hadn’t given any of the girls a choice when he’d sent them away. Alaina couldn’t help it if she’d gotten a decent family, while Danae had gotten an addict. That was simply the luck of the draw.

“I’m glad she’s okay,” Danae said.

“Me, too, but the timing couldn’t be worse. I’m so sorry I had to dash out this morning like I did. I have a million things to talk to you about. If I started now, I probably couldn’t finish by next year.”

Danae smiled. “I know.”

“But first things first—I am so glad you don’t have to stay in that house. When I thought about you staying there, my chest hurt so bad I felt like it was in a vise.”

“I’m at the house now. It’s not exactly a welcoming sort of place.”

“No, but it’s more than that. It’s...I don’t know... Oh, I’ll just say it. I think there’s something wrong in that house. I know you don’t really know me, but I promise you, I’m not a fanciful sort of person. And given my profession, my senses are better honed than many. I know something’s off. I can feel it in every inch of my body.”

Danae tensed at her sister’s description. It was the same way she’d felt since she’d walked into the house.

Alaina sighed. “I bet I sound like a crazy woman.”

“I almost wish you did, but you’re not crazy. I feel it, too. And let’s just say my survival skills are as finely tuned as your ability to recognize when things don’t add up. They’re firing on all eight cylinders here. But I have no idea why.”

“I don’t, either, and that’s what concerns me the most. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I wish you wouldn’t go there at all.”

“William has hired me to go through the paperwork and attempt an inventory of the valuables, so I don’t have a choice, and I really want to do the work. I want to discover things about our past. Things I’ll probably never remember.”

Alaina was quiet for several seconds, then finally she said, “I tried to find you—you and Joelle. I started writing letters to Purcell when I was in high school, asking him to tell me how to find you. I even tried sending him a letter on the law firm’s letterhead when I got to Baton Rouge.”

“But he never answered,” Danae finished. “He wouldn’t have. I spent months looking for that opening where I could get to him, but there wasn’t one. He was a mentally disturbed old man who only cared about himself. He never would have helped any of us.”

“You’re probably right. I understand why you want to try to find some of the things that were torn away from you, but I still don’t like the idea of you being in that house alone. Can you at least work at your cabin until I return?”

Danae felt a tickle of warmth run through her. The concern in Alaina’s voice was so sincere and passionate—something she’d never experienced until now. It was everything she’d ever wanted and something she’d never counted on getting.

“When we get off the phone, I’ll grab some files and take them home with me today. The contractor starts tomorrow, so I won’t be alone. He’s young and looks like he’d be good in a fight.”

“Well, I guess that’s all right.”

Alaina didn’t sound the least bit convinced, but Danae couldn’t exactly fault her when she wasn’t convinced herself.

“Purcell’s office is upstairs at the end of the right hallway,” Alaina said. “The room I stayed in—our childhood room—is at the end of the left hallway, right over the kitchen. The power is out in the office area of the house, so it will be dark. There’re some flashlights and a lantern in the laundry-room cabinet.”

“Thanks. That helps a lot,” Danae replied as she committed all the information to memory.

“Danae,” Alaina said, “I know this is going to sound completely odd, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Danae’s breath caught in her throat. Of all the things she’d thought Alaina might ask, that hadn’t been anywhere on the list.

Before she could formulate a reply, she heard background noise on Alaina’s end.

“I’m so sorry,” Alaina said, “but I’m going to have to go. I’ll call you again as soon as I get a chance.”

Alaina disconnected and Danae set the phone back on the counter. Ghosts? Sure, all kinds of rumors about the house and its other-than-earthly inhabitants wafted about the Calais locales, but it was the sort of thing she’d expect in a small town with a run-down, isolated house. It was not the kind of thing a reputable, hard-nosed attorney would normally come up with.

It made Danae wonder exactly how much she didn’t know about the night Alaina was attacked.

She leaned back against the counter and blew out a breath. All the work she’d done to simplify her life. No strings, no baggage—at least not the physical kind. She’d even come to Calais with an assumed identity simply to avoid the looks and questions she was sure would come. And in less than a day, her life had become more complicated than it had ever been.

This is what you wanted.

And that was what she needed to keep reminding herself. In the past, she’d kept her life simple by avoiding anything beyond surface-level relationships, but she’d come to Calais to find her family. She couldn’t have it both ways. If she wanted a family, she had to drop her guard, at least where her sisters were concerned.

She pushed herself off the counter and headed upstairs for the first time. She paused on the landing, trying to remember what Alaina had told her about the layout. Right was Purcell’s office. Left was the girls’ room—the room Alaina had been staying in when she was attacked.

Danae took one step in that direction, then froze. Was she ready to see the place where she’d spent her very limited childhood in Calais? If she had no memory of that room, then the chances of her remembering anything were so minuscule as to not exist. Not that she’d had any concrete expectation of remembering things she’d last seen at two years old, but she’d hoped for an emotional tug—something that let her know a piece of this place was part of her.

Something that let her know where she fit.

Abruptly, she turned and headed in the opposite direction, to her stepfather’s office.

Coward.

Ignoring the voice in her head, she increased her pace. Plenty of time existed for her to see her childhood bedroom, she argued. She had no reason to try to force it all into one afternoon. When she was comfortable with the house, she’d go to the room.

Or when she was ready for the disappointment.

Sighing, she pushed open the last door in the hallway and reached inside for a light switch, hoping the power had been miraculously restored. No such luck. She stepped inside the room and flicked the switch up and down to no avail. It figured. First thing tomorrow, she’d ask Zach to look at the electrical problems, starting with this room.

The light from the balcony was the only source of illumination in the office. The lack of windows and cherrywood bookcases that lined every wall made it so dark it was impossible to see more than the dim outline of office furniture. She cursed under her breath at her lapse of logical judgment. Alaina had told her about the flashlights in the laundry room. She should have grabbed one before coming up here.

She backed out of the room, but as she started to turn, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. She froze and stared into the darkness at the far end of the room, where she’d seen the flicker of movement. Nothing moved there now, but everything in Danae screamed at her that she was not alone in the house.

She whirled around and ran all the way downstairs and back into the kitchen, where she’d left her purse. It was still on the kitchen counter, and she snatched it up. From the inside pocket, she drew out the nine millimeter she was never without.

Let that be a lesson.

With the distraction of Zach Sargent, and her first visit to her childhood home, and her conversation with her sister, she’d forgotten to keep protection within arm’s reach. Her sister’s attacker was dead and gone, but more than one danger could exist.

Even in the same house.

Clenching the pistol, she eased down the hallway and across the entry to the laundry room. Two flashlights and a lantern were located right where Alaina had said they’d be. She clicked on a flashlight to make sure it worked, then headed back upstairs to the office.

She crept down the hallway toward the office and paused just before the doorway, listening for any sound of movement inside. Not even a breath of air swept by, so she stepped into the doorway and turned on the flashlight, shining it in the corner where she’d seen the movement.

The corner was empty, but the last bookcase appeared to have an odd angle to it—one that didn’t fit with the other wall. Clenching the flashlight in one hand and her pistol in the other, she stepped across the room to the back wall, where she was surprised to find a narrow opening at the back of the wall. When looking into the room from the doorway, the opening was almost hidden by the bookcase.

The room was pitch-black, and for a moment, she wished she’d brought the lantern as well as the flashlight. Shining the flashlight across the room, she realized this must have been her stepfather’s bedroom. The office entrance was the last doorway in the hallway, so at some point, her bizarre stepfather must have closed off the main entrance to the bedroom, leaving the office as the only access to his private quarters.

Just how crazy was he?

At the first opportunity, that was a question she’d explore with William, and perhaps pay a visit to Amos, the caretaker, while he was recovering at his niece’s house. She stepped into the room and slowly cast the thin flashlight beam across the room, moving left to right. On the left, at the back of the room, she saw another door and the light fell across a claw-foot tub beyond it. Then she scanned over his bed, still made up with sheets, and paused at the nightstand, with its collection of pill bottles and a half-empty glass of water still standing next to them.

Clearly, Alaina hadn’t spent much time, if any, in this room. Not that she blamed her. The room was unsettling. The air was stiller, as if she’d stepped into a vacuum, and not a single sound echoed through the exterior walls and into the bedroom.

Like a tomb.

The thought ripped through her, and despite the heat of early fall, she shivered. The thought was too accurate for comfort. Her stepfather had locked himself away from society, then practically barricaded himself in this room and died. It was something a sane person simply couldn’t wrap their mind around.

She lifted the flashlight beam from the nightstand and continued along the back wall to the right, where she almost missed a wooden door, carved to match the paneling. Closet, maybe?

She didn’t want to take another step into the room, but she would be working just outside this room and had to know that it was secure. Her heart pounded as she inched across the bedroom, feeling as if every step took her farther and farther away from safety. When she reached the door, she placed the flashlight on the nightstand, the light shining onto the ceiling and casting a dim glow around her.

She tightened her grip on the pistol and slowly turned the doorknob and eased the door open. As the light filtered into the opening, she frowned. The clothes she’d expected to see were nowhere in sight. Instead, a steep flight of stairs led down to the first floor.

A shock wave of fear ran through her and she released the doorknob and staggered back a couple of steps. During her tour of the first floor, she’d found the servants’ stairwell close to the laundry room, but she’d assumed the entry would be off the hallway upstairs. She’d never considered that the stairs would lead straight into the master bedroom.

Someone could have been here.

She grabbed the flashlight and hurried out of the room and back downstairs, rushing across the entry to the back of the house, where she’d seen the exit for the servants’ stairs. The door was closed, but before she could think about all the potential dangers, she yanked it open, pointing her pistol inside.

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it rushed out in a whoosh. Get a grip, she told herself as she pushed the door shut, noting that it didn’t make a sound as it closed. If someone had passed this way earlier, she wouldn’t have heard them exit. But the big question was, if someone had been in the house, where were they now?

The laundry room was at the end of the hallway, just a few feet beyond the servants’ stairs. She hurried to the laundry room to check the back door. The knob turned easily in her hand, and she pushed the door open and looked out into the backyard that had been swallowed up by the swamp. Vines and moss clung to every branch of the cypress trees that loomed above, while moss and weeds choked out any remaining sign of lawn.

She stared at the tangle of foliage and decided it made her just as uneasy as the master bedroom. It wasn’t just here, either. The swamp surrounding her cabin felt equally as ominous—as if it were a living entity and resented her trespass. For a girl who’d lived in some of the toughest neighborhoods across the country, it was unnerving to get such powerful feelings from a bunch of trees and brush.

She pushed the door shut and locked the dead bolt, her mind made up. Someone had been in the house. They’d stayed hidden upstairs while she was searching the first floor, then used her trip upstairs as an opportunity to slip out of the house unseen. They probably thought she’d dismiss the unlatched back door as an oversight, but they were wrong. Street-smart women like Danae didn’t have “oversights” on things as important as exterior doors, and she was certain it was locked when she’d examined the first floor earlier.

In the past, when her safety had been threatened, she’d simply packed up and moved on. She’d had no roots and nothing of value to keep her tied to any one place, especially a dangerous one. But now she had something to lose. Something huge. Running was out of the question, so she hurried back to the kitchen and pulled out her cell phone.

For the first time in her life, she was calling the police.

Chapter Five

Zach paced the tiny caretaker’s cottage, aggravated with almost everything. His original enthusiasm over scoring the LeBeau estate job was seriously compromised after meeting Danae LeBeau. The heiress had enchanting features and a stellar body, but was prickly and suspicious and was already making a mess of his carefully laid plans.

How was he supposed to dig around in the house records with her looking over his shoulder? If she were going to be at the house every day alongside him, that didn’t leave him any opportunity to snoop during that time. Now his only option was to find a way inside the house so that he could search for his answers at night.

Maybe he’d luck into a spare key lying around. If not, then he’d make sure to leave a window unlocked—a downstairs one with easy access, if such a thing existed. The swamp had almost swallowed the house, the brush and weeds pushing their way right up to the house walls.

He stopped pacing and ran one hand through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do until tomorrow morning? Even if he could have distracted his overloaded mind with television, the caretaker didn’t own a set. No television, no radio, not even a crossword-puzzle book. What in the world did the man do for entertainment?

He glanced at his watch for the hundredth time since leaving the mansion. Four o’clock. At this rate, he’d wear out the cabin’s wooden floors before nightfall with all this pacing. Maybe Danae was still at the house. If so, he could always ask if he could take an inventory. That way, he could pick up any needed supplies in order to begin work straightaway the next morning. Surely she couldn’t find fault with that logic.

Mind made up, he grabbed his keys and headed back to the mansion. As he pulled into the drive, he saw a truck with the sheriff’s logo on the door. His hand tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled behind the truck and parked. What could be going on that warranted the sheriff?

He hopped out of his truck, and as he started toward the front door, it opened and a man stepped out. Zach studied the sheriff as he approached the entrance. This athletic man looked to be about the same age as him, the last thing he’d imagined for the sheriff of Calais. An aging, balding man with a potbelly was more what he would have guessed.

The sheriff caught his gaze immediately as he stepped outside and glanced back at Danae, who stood just inside the door. She said something to him and he nodded then made his way across the drive, meeting Zach halfway.

“Carter Trahan,” the sheriff said and extended his hand.

“Zach Sargent,” he replied and gave Carter’s hand a firm shake. “I hope there wasn’t any trouble here.”

“Not at all. I promised Alaina I’d check up on Danae.”

“Alaina?”

“Her sister.” Carter grinned. “And the woman most likely to make my life miserable if I don’t follow her instructions.”

Zach smiled. “Is Alaina as attractive as her sister?”

“Ah, now, see, I can’t answer that question without being in trouble with someone, so I’ll just say they’re both gorgeous in their own right and leave it at that.”

“You’re a wise man.”

Carter nodded. “Danae tells me William hired you to make the repairs.”

“Yeah,” Zach said. “I just got a glance at the inside earlier, but it looks like my work’s cut out for me.”

“Definitely.” He studied Zach for a moment. “This seems an odd choice of jobs for someone as young as you. I figured the reconstruction in New Orleans pays better and offers the nightlife.”

The delivery of the statement was casual, but Zach knew a fishing expedition when he heard it. The sheriff’s seemingly pleasant disposition didn’t completely mask his shrewd observation skills. Zach had to be very careful, very deliberate, around this man. If he gave Carter any reason at all to suspect he wasn’t exactly who he claimed to be, he’d run him out of town on a rail.

“The rates are better, that’s true. But I’ve been in the city all my life. Sometimes a man just needs to get away from everything—slow down a bit.”

Carter nodded. “I get that. Did it myself earlier this year. Resigned my detective position with the New Orleans Police Department and came back home to run herd over a town with less people than my old apartment building.”

Zach struggled to keep the surprise and worry from his expression. A young, inquisitive sheriff with big-city experience and connections was the last person he needed looking into his background. This was no small-town sheriff that could be easily fooled. “Any regrets?”

“Not a single one.”

“Then maybe I’m on the right track.”

Carter smiled. “Did you get settled in the caretaker’s cabin?”

“Didn’t bring much with me except work clothes and some tools. To tell the truth, I was feeling kinda stir-crazy, so I came to see if Danae was still here. Thought I could put together a supply list and get it filled this evening. Save me some time getting started tomorrow morning.”

“Efficient. I like that. Well, guess I’ll leave you to it. Maybe I’ll see you in town sometime—buy you a slice of pie and coffee down at the café.”

“That sounds like the best offer I’ve had in weeks. Nice meeting you.”

“You, too,” Carter said as he strolled to his truck. He gave Zach a wave as he pulled away.

Zach looked over at the entry, not surprised to see Danae still standing there, observing the entire exchange. She frowned as Carter’s truck pulled away, and Zach wondered if Danae wasn’t thrilled with her sister’s choice of men. He’d seemed nice enough but a person never really knew what went on behind closed doors.

Maybe she wants him for herself.

The thought came unbidden and he felt a twinge of jealousy, which irked him. He was in Calais to find answers and then get back to his real life in New Orleans. He’d pulled major strings to manage even a few weeks away. The absolute last thing he needed to do was waste any of his precious time with amorous thoughts of a woman who seemed annoyed at his presence.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon,” Danae said as he approached the door, her tone telling him straight off she wasn’t the least bit happy to see him, either.

“I was hoping to get a quick inventory—maybe get some of the supplies this evening.”

“That’s what I heard. I’m going to be here another hour or so. Do you think you can cover enough ground by then?”

He shrugged. “It will be more than I have now.”

Danae opened the door wider and stepped back, allowing him to enter.

“So,” he said as he stepped inside, “your sister and the sheriff?”

She raised one eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a romantic, Mr. Sargent.”

“Please call me Zach. And maybe I was just interested in your sister.”

She gave him the faintest of smiles. “Most men that have seen her are.”

“Really? Then I guess it’s a real shame she’s settled on a guy who carries a gun for a living.”

“You don’t like living dangerously?”

Surprised at the slightly teasing tone of her voice, he smiled. “Not when it comes to women.”

“Smart.”

She turned and waved a hand toward the vast open entry. Zach couldn’t help but notice how her jeans curved over her hips, how her T-shirt clung to her full chest and tiny waist.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Huh?” Her question came at the worst possible time, because at that moment, none of the things he had in mind had anything to do with the repairs.

“Well,” he drawled, hurrying to recover, “I thought I’d do a quick inventory of rooms to note the obvious items. I’m sure the list will expand as I begin work. Is there any problem in particular you’d like me to start with?”

Danae nodded. “The power is my biggest concern. I will be working through the property records for William, and the office is one of those rooms where the power is out. I can haul the files to the kitchen to work, but it would make it easier to see in there...”

Her voice trailed off and she frowned.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“It’s stupid.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

She stared off across the entry then finally blew out a breath before turning to face him. “It’s creepy, okay? I know that sounds foolish and girly and weak, but the room is creepy and the lack of lighting makes it worse.” She dropped her gaze to the floor.

“It doesn’t sound foolish or weak at all. For my own well-being, I’m not touching the ‘girly’ comment.” He scanned the cavernous room, littered with columns with various sculptures and statues—all covered with layers of dust and cobwebs. “Look, I’m sure this place was beautiful once, but I have to tell you, it wouldn’t be someplace I’d choose to stay.”

She looked up at him, a flicker of appreciation in her expression. “Really?”

He held up one hand. “Swear. This place is gloomy and depressing. Your sister’s work in the kitchen gives me an idea of what it could look like, though.”

Danae gave him an appreciative smile. “You’re right. I need to keep reminding myself that it will feel different after the repairs are made and we’ve managed a good scrubbing.”

“It’s none of my business, but why doesn’t William hire someone to do the cleaning?”

“According to café gossip, he’s tried, but none of them last more than a day.”

“Why not?”

She smiled. “Because of the ghost.”

Maybe it was the decrepit state of the house, or maybe it was the swamp that was slowly swallowing up the entire structure, but he actually gave her statement more than a moment’s passing thought.

“Ghost, huh?” he said finally.

“That’s what I hear.”

“But you haven’t seen it?”

“No, but then today is the first day I’ve been in this house since I was a toddler.”

He wanted to ask her more about her stepfather and her sisters, but as soon as she’d issued that statement, her expression had gone from somewhat relaxed to completely closed off again.

“Who’s the ghost supposed to be?” he asked instead.

She frowned. “I don’t know. I assumed it was my stepfather. Based on the description of his lifestyle from the locals, it sounds like he was agoraphobic. I guess I figured that even in death, he didn’t want to leave the house.”

“Well, then, I guess I best get to work lighting up this place before I have to add a ghost to the payroll.”

Danae gave him a small smile, but he could tell that something was bothering her. She appeared to be telling the truth when she said she hadn’t seen a ghost, but something had happened that put her on edge—something beyond just a spooky house. She was too observant, too suspicious for the average person. Either she was paranoid or she had something to worry about. Both concerned him as either could blow his cover.

“Where would you like to start?” Danae asked.

“Well, I know the electricity is a priority, but I need to test everything before I can pin down the problem. I brought my voltage equipment with me, so I’ll start that tomorrow morning. I thought I’d take a tour of the house and note the obvious needs. Then I can have supplies on hand for several jobs.”

Danae nodded. “So if you have to wait on special orders, you can keep working on other things.”

“Exactly.”

“Then I guess we can start downstairs.”

We? The last thing he needed was the cagey heiress lingering over his shoulder while he cased the house, especially now that his mind had formed a permanent imprint of her absolutely perfect rear end. But before he could formulate a logical argument, she spun around and headed to the kitchen, then came right back with a pad of paper and a pen.

“It will probably go faster if you dictate as you go,” she said. “I can make the notes. That way you don’t have to stop what you’re doing to write.”

He nodded, unable to argue with the efficiency her plan presented. “I assume you have a basic idea of the layout, so lead the way.”

She pointed to rooms that lined the south side of the house. “We can start over there and work our way around.”

He followed her into the first room and was pleased to find it only contained a table, dresser and a couple of boxes. The west window was intact, but a sheet of plywood covered the wall where he guessed a south-facing window was located. “What happened here?” he asked, pointing to the plywood.

“I haven’t asked about it yet, but I assume the guy who attacked my sister broke it to get inside. The plywood covering it looks new.”

He stared at her. “Someone attacked your sister in the house?”

“Yeah.” She frowned then shook her head. “I guess I forget it’s just hitting the news this morning. He attacked her here but she ran into the swamp and got away. He caught up with her trying to get away in her SUV, and that’s when Carter shot and killed him.”

He stared at her for a moment, trying to absorb the implications of trying to keep his cover intact at a crime scene. This entire situation was becoming more complicated by the minute. “Wow! Is she all right?”

“She’s fine.” Danae cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment. “Most people would ask who was trying to kill her and why.”

“You said it just hit the news. I can catch up on the local gossip later. I have a younger cousin who’s more like a brother to me. I guess I was thinking about something happening to him.”

“Are you always this logical?”

“I try to be. It seems to make life easier.”

“Well, then, I guess we best get back to this list. I don’t want to throw you off course.”

He crossed to the intact window and studied it. “I’ll have to remove the plywood to check the dimensions, so I’ll leave off replacing the window for later. I’m going to have to special-order something to even come close to matching the others, but I know a guy in New Orleans who specializes in making windows for restoration projects. I can get some pictures tomorrow and see what he can do.”

He reached up for the latches and opened the window, then pulled it upward, but it stayed firmly in place. It only took a moment to realize the sliding pane of the window had been nailed into the frame. The oxidation on the edges of the nails let him know that wasn’t a recent addition.

“This window is nailed shut,” he said.

“Yeah. They all are. I suppose my stepfather was agoraphobic and paranoid.”

“He didn’t want out and didn’t want anyone else in.” He shook his head. “That’s no way to live. I’ll remove the nails tomorrow—test all the windows and make sure they lift properly.”

“No!”

The single word came out with such force that he spun around, surprised. She stood with her arms crossed. Her face was slightly flushed and her jaw set in a hard line.

“I can’t test the windows if they’re nailed shut.”

“Then I guess they won’t get tested—not as long as I’m working in this house. At least this way, if someone wants to get in here, I’ll hear them coming or see the results of their attempt the next morning. What I don’t want is for someone to have the element of surprise.”

He studied her for a moment. Had he misjudged her? He’d thought her suspicious and hypercautious, but could Danae be tipping into the same realm of madness that her stepfather had lived the last of his life in?

“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked.

“No,” she said a little too quickly. “It’s just that the house is full of valuable antiques and if word gets out it’s empty at night...”

She was lying. She was very, very good at it, but he’d employed too many ex-cons to recognize a snow job when he was getting one. The house was full of antiques, and he suspected a lot of them were valuable, but that wasn’t the reason she was worried about intruders.

Maybe Danae had brought trouble with her to Calais. Maybe she was afraid that trouble was about to catch up with her. Either way, in addition to tiptoeing around with his own agenda, he was going to have to constantly look over his own shoulder, watching for whatever the heiress was hiding from.

“Okay,” he said finally. “It’s your house.”

He motioned to a door in the corner behind her. “Bathroom or closet?”

“Closet, I think. I’m sorry. There’re so many rooms, I haven’t gotten everything straight yet.”

She turned and pulled the door open. As soon as she did, a stack of boxes tilted out and toppled onto her, sending her reeling backward. Mice scattered across the floor, scurrying in every direction, looking for an escape.

He rushed forward, catching her before she crashed to the ground. She’d twisted her body in anticipation of the fall, trying to reach for the floor before slamming into it. Now she was gathered in his arms, the front of her toned, curvy body pressed against him. That beautiful face looking up at him—so strong, yet vulnerable.

It was a bad idea, but before he could talk himself out of it, he lowered his lips to hers.

Her lips were soft and pliant as he caressed them with his own, and he felt a surge of excitement go through him that he hadn’t felt before from a simple kiss. He pressed harder, deepening the kiss, and was almost surprised when she responded, her lips searching his.

Then suddenly, she jumped up and backed away from him, one hand over her mouth. She stared at him, her face flushed, her expression a mixture of shock and anxiety.

“You should finish this yourself.” She whirled around and practically ran out of the room.

He stared at the empty doorway, trying to decide if he’d been a genius or a fool. On one hand, he’d probably prevented her from asking more intrusive questions about his life. Clearly, she wanted to avoid anything personal.

On the other hand, he’d enjoyed that kiss entirely too much for his own comfort.

Get in gear, Sargent!

He grabbed the paper and pen and hustled out of the room, his mind suddenly latching onto the golden opportunity she’d presented. For the first time since he’d entered the property, Danae wasn’t looking over his shoulder. She was flustered enough to rush off, so with any luck, she’d remain far away until he sought her out. That gave him a window of opportunity to create an entry into the home.

The one functional window in the first room had led straight into a huge, thorny rosebush, so it wasn’t an option. He hoped his luck would be better in the second room, but it had furniture and boxes stacked to the ceiling and he could barely squeeze inside. No feasible way to reach the windows existed, so he continued to the next room. This one wasn’t quite as cluttered, but it still contained stacks of paper, boxes and small furniture. He lifted several boxes away from the wall where he guessed the window was located and was pleased to find only two nails through the frame.

He hurried back to the doorway and glanced around the entry, then pulled out his pocketknife and began working the first nail from the frame. Every time the knife blade slipped from under the nail’s head, he mentally cursed and wished for the pry bar in his truck, but no way was he risking the opportunity by leaving the house to get it.

Finally, the first nail worked out of the frame and he checked the entry again before starting on the second nail. This one was deeper, leaving creases in the hardwood where it had been pounded into the frame, and he struggled to get even a tiny piece of his knife blade underneath.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud overhead and he froze before closing the pocketknife and shoving it into his jeans pocket. Then he dashed back to the front of the room and grabbed the paper and pen. He peered out the door, but saw no sign of Danae. Then a second thud echoed across the entry from above, letting him know someone was moving around upstairs.

Surely it was Danae working upstairs. He started to run back to the window to finish up but hesitated. Seconds later, Danae rushed into the entry from the kitchen hallway, her eyes wide.

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