Deadly Obsession (4 page)

Chance lifted it and leaned it with the others. When he'd passed the stack before, the individual sheets had seemed to be leaning at an angle so they wouldn't easily fall. A gust of wind would not have been enough to push over one of the heavy drywall sheets. He glanced around, his gaze going to the dusty wooden floor.

There were several sets of footprints overlaying each other from where he, Jillian and the workers had all passed. Was there someone else in the house? Someone who could have slipped the hook in the loop on the cellar door and knocked one of the drywall sheets to the ground? Chance didn't like it. Something didn't feel right in his gut. And his gut was seldom wrong.

He walked back out to the porch, where Jillian stood, her hair rumpled and her lips swollen from their kiss.

“Find anything?”

“A sheet of drywall fell over.” He didn't go any deeper. He could be wrong. “I set it upright.”

She clapped her hands together. “In that case, let's get going.”

“Right. This stuff isn't moving itself. And we need to get back to the McGregor B and B.”

Jillian smiled. “Exactly. If we're late, Molly will send her brother, a member of the Cape Churn Police Department, to check on us.”

Chance got to work. He wanted to get done and get back before dark—and before something else happened in Jillian's haunted house.

Chapter 4

J
illian's back ached and she counted the minutes until she could take a pain pill and crawl into bed. But she had to take the trailer back to town, drop it off and then go to the B and B where Molly kept supper for her and Chance.

Though thankful for his help, she wasn't sure she should be thankful for the kiss. Working side by side, bumping into each other in the confines of the trailer and the small room where her things would be stored had been near torture. Every time they touched, a shower of sparks set off an electrical current inside her.

Chance's broad shoulders took up a lot of space and were hard to avoid. When they carried the last two boxes into the house, she practically threw hers down. “Well, that does it.” She brushed the dust from her hands and glanced at Chance. “You can head back to the B and B. I have to drop off the trailer and return the truck to my friend.”

“I'll go with you,” he said.

Jillian's heart did a double backflip. “That's not necessary. I'm sure you're tired from your flight and all the work you got wrangled into. I can manage it on my own.”

“Just the same, I'll go with you and do the driving. Since you can't seem to recall falling down the stairs, I don't feel comfortable letting you drive.”

“I told you, I didn't fall down the stairs.”

“Doesn't matter. If you can't remember why you ended up lying on the floor of the basement, I have to assume you were unconscious at some point.” He held out his hand. “The keys?”

She opened her mouth to continue the argument. One look at the determined set of Chance's rock-hard jaw and Jillian snapped her mouth shut. With a frustrated sigh, she turned toward the truck. “The keys are in the ignition.” She climbed into the passenger side and fished the kitten out from under the seat, holding it against her chest like a shield.

Chance slipped into the driver's seat.

“What about your vehicle?” Jillian asked.

“It'll be here in the morning.”

She frowned. His response implied that he would be there in the morning, as well. Something told her she'd do well to keep her distance from Nova's best man. All that testosterone and those hunky muscles could derail a girl weaker than she. Butterflies fluttered against the walls of her belly. Okay, so she wasn't so strong against an extraordinary specimen like Chance.

Jillian had been around a few of the Stealth Operations Specialists who'd moved to the area. Each one had improved the scenery—Nova with his dark, exotic looks, and Creed Thomas with his Native American high cheekbones and solid strength, were both forces to be reckoned with. Even Nicole Steele, or Tazer, as they lovingly nicknamed her, was kick-ass, with years of experience making her as much of a lethal weapon as Creed and Nova. Now Chance...

Jillian pulled at the collar of her plaid shirt, the interior of the truck suddenly too warm. “How long will you be staying?”

“Until after the wedding. Maybe longer.”

Jillian swallowed hard on a groan. “Are you staying in one of the cottages?” She crossed her fingers the way she had when she was a little girl, hoping he'd say yes. If she was staying at the B and B and Chance was, too, what was the possibility of avoiding him?

Slim to none. Then again, he was the best man in the wedding she was planning.

“I'm staying at the B and B.”

It was her luck. At least she'd only be there until the plumber got the water running and the electrician finished the rewiring. Hopefully, that would only be a couple more days. She could live with the dust and clutter of demolition and the rebuilding effort. Besides, Molly and Nova needed all the space they could get for Nova's family members.

As they entered town, Jillian pointed to Runyan's Convenience Store and Gas Station. “This is where I drop the trailer, and I'd like to put gas in the truck before I return it to its owner.”

Chance turned in to the parking lot and backed the trailer in between other rental trailers parked at the rear of the building.

Jillian's lips twisted. “If I had parked the trailer, it would have taken a lot longer. I'm not that adept at maneuvering trailers, or driving trucks for that matter.” She gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

“Just trying to help. Seems like you've bit off more than a mouthful with the wedding and a total house renovation all at once.”

She nodded. “I've been planning this wedding for more than a year. The house was an opportunity that just came up, and I jumped on it.”

“Why that particular house? Why not something closer to town? Something that doesn't need so many repairs?”

Jillian pushed open her door and dropped down from the truck. Everyone she knew had asked the same question. Lately, she'd asked herself the same as the bills mounted and the work seemed to take forever. She met Chance at the tailgate.

While Chance unhooked the lights and hitch, Jillian stroked the kitten and thought about her answer to his questions.

“I've been in Cape Churn for two years. I didn't plan on moving from Portland, but a weekend getaway turned into a move to live here. Something about Cape Churn called to me.” She shrugged. “Instinct or gut feeling, it was like coming home. I've been renting ever since, waiting for the right house.”

“Doesn't make sense to rent.”

“Tell me about it. And I'm a real estate agent.” She laughed. “Trust me, I thought I'd seen every house in Cape Churn and the surrounding area. Somehow I'd missed this one. The bank called, wanting me to list it. They'd been sitting on it for years and were tired of paying the taxes. When I came out to see it, I fell in love with the place. Like Cape Churn, it called to me.” Jillian shrugged. “That's why I bought it. I know it sounds silly and maybe a little superstitious, but sometimes you have to go with your gut.”

“Yeah.” Chance straightened, his lips thinning into a line, his jaw tight. “Is there some paperwork you have to sign?” he said, his voice clipped, his whole attitude changing from casual curiosity to rigid and dark.

“What?” Jillian stared at him. “Was it something I said?”

He shook his head. “No. We just need to get back to the B and B.”

“Give me a minute to fill up the tank and I'll be ready to go.”

“I'll get it.” Chance didn't give her the chance to climb into the truck. He was in and driving around to the pumps before she could form a protest.

What the hell had happened to make him suddenly so closed off and angry?

Jillian shook her head and followed the truck on foot.

Bud Runyan, the owner of the gas station, stepped out of the building. “Miss Taylor, I expected you to use that trailer for at least another day.”

She smiled at the gray-haired man with the grizzled beard and deep-set wrinkles. “I expected to use it for another day, too.” Jillian tipped her head toward Chance. “I was fortunate to enlist help in unloading.”

Mr. Runyan's eyes narrowed. “This your boyfriend from Portland?”

Jillian didn't remind Mr. Runyan she'd been there over two years and rarely went back to Portland. If she'd had a relationship, it would have long since disintegrated. “No, sir. Chance is here for the wedding.”

Chance parked the truck at the pumps.

Mr. Runyan beat him to the nozzle and started the flow of gasoline into the tank. “I take it you didn't have any more luck talking Miss Taylor out of moving into the old Thompson house?”

Chance shook his head. “I didn't know I was supposed to talk her out of anything.”

The older man leaned his back against the truck. “That house has been empty for a reason.”

“What reason?” Jillian asked.

Before Mr. Runyan could answer, a four-door sedan pulled up and an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair unfolded from her sedan. She was about the same height as Jillian and, despite her age, appeared capable of bench-pressing a refrigerator.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sims.” Mr. Runyan pushed away from the truck and walked to the other side of the pump.

Mrs. Sims nodded to Mr. Runyan. “Bud.”

“Fill 'er up?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” Mrs. Sims dug in her purse for her wallet. “Good evening, Miss Taylor. I hear you bought the old Thompson place in the woods.”

“I did.” Jillian braced herself for yet another person telling her what a mistake she'd made.

“Personally, I'm glad the old place is getting a makeover. All that nonsense about it being haunted is ridiculous.”

Jillian released the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. “Thank you. You're the first person who hasn't tried to talk me out of it.”

The older woman snorted. “Wouldn't do that. All that work you're doing to restore the building is keeping my son employed.”

Jillian thought she knew everyone in Cape Churn. “Your son?”

“Daryl.”

Jillian smiled. “Oh, yes. Daryl's helping out.”

Mrs. Sims nodded. “He's working with the contractor. They've been involved in the demolition so far.”

“Still think you're courtin' disaster with that old house. Nothing good ever happened out there,” Mr. Runyan muttered.

Jillian planted her fists on her hips. “Everyone is quick to believe in ghosts and hauntings. What concrete things have happened in that house that inspires all those tales?”

Mr. Runyan glanced across at Mrs. Sims. “What was it, fifteen or twenty years ago when that little girl disappeared?”

Mrs. Sims lips tightened. “Something like that. I still think her mother had something to do with that. Especially since they found the girl a month later.”

Jillian's breath caught. “Found? As in dead?”

Mr. Runyan shoved a hand through his wiry white hair. “That was the dangedest thing. She appeared as suddenly as she disappeared, with no memory of where she'd been or what had happened.”

A chill slipped down the back of Jillian's neck. “Did she live in the house?”

Mr. Runyan nodded. “It was her and her mother. Her father lived in town. They'd recently divorced. He'd lost his job, started drinkin', and the wife wouldn't put up with it. She kicked him out. Anyway, the girl probably got lost.”

“Or maybe she was mad about the divorce and ran away,” Mrs. Sims said.

“For a month?” Chance asked. “How old was she?”

“Nine,” Bud answered.

Jillian wasn't buying it. “A nine-year-old ran away and survived on her own for a month? Doubtful.”

The older woman raised her hands, palms up. “Since she wasn't talking when she reappeared, no one knows what happened.”

“And never will.” Mr. Runyan topped off the truck's tank and hung up the nozzle. “Her mother packed her up and left the house, the town and the state, for all anyone knows. She and her daughter haven't been heard from since.”

Jillian dug in her purse for the correct amount of money and handed it to Mr. Runyan. “Why hasn't any of this come up before?”

Mr. Runyan took the money from Jillian. “When Mrs. Thompson and her daughter left, I suppose people forgot.”

“No use living in the past,” Mrs. Sims said. “And there's no such thing as ghosts, so don't you worry about any of that. I'd love to see the house when you get done with the remodeling effort.” The woman turned toward her car. “What do I owe you, Bud?”

Jillian climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, adjusted her seat belt and lifted the kitten onto her lap while Chance slipped behind the wheel.

Without a word, he started the truck and pulled to the edge of the road. “Which way?”

After giving him the directions to the marina, Jillian texted Dave to let him know they were on their way, and then she leaned back against the seat and stared out at the darkening sky. With the streetlights coming on, the stars were hard to see. That was one of the things she looked forward to when her house was finished—being able to gaze up at the sky at night and see the blanket of stars spread out in the heavens.

“Does it worry you at all that your house has a history?” Chance asked.

Jillian drew in a breath and let it out again before answering. “People are afraid of things they don't understand.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I need to do a little digging to find out what all the fuss is about.”

Chance's lips quirked upward. “And if there was a missing girl and the house is haunted, then what?”

“Then I will at least know the truth from an old wives' tale. By the time the contractors are finished remodeling my house, no one will remember it as the place where something bad happened, and the ghosts will love it so much, they'll leave me alone. Who knows, if there are such things as ghosts, they might be mad because the place has been left to deteriorate.”

Granted, she didn't believe in ghosts or places being bad. People were bad. Not places. And since she'd bought the house and planned on living in it, she refused to believe differently. A cool draft found its way into the interior of the truck, stirring the fine hairs on the back of Jillian's neck, and she shivered.

* * *

Chance shot a smile at Jillian. The woman was so feminine, yet she had a solid core and seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “Nothing much scares you, does it?”

“Nope.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her chin. “I've been on my own for a few years. My mother made sure I was trained in self-defense, and I'm a black belt in tae kwon do. People should be afraid of
me
.”

Chance held up his hand, schooling his face to be dead serious. “I'm shaking in my boots.” Then he couldn't hold back the chuckle, ruining the effect. “Sorry. You don't look very intimidating.”

“Well, I am.” She glared at him, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “A black belt, that is.”

“I believe you.” Chance pulled into the marina parking lot.