Haunt Me (19 page)

But no matter how happy the ending that lurked around the corner seemed, Mac couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding. It was exactly why she’d left the scene hanging for so long, distracting herself with Justin and the projects around the house.

“Okay, Madeline,” Mac flexed her fingers and scrolled down to the next blank page on the screen. It was time to end it. “You ready?”

Her stomach clenched and the air seemed to grow even chillier. Tempted to check the heat, she shook her head.
No more shiny objects. Just write the damn scene and get it over with.
The stern mental lecture didn’t ease her trepidation and a swallow of hot coffee couldn’t quite dislodge the lump in her throat, but she closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and began to type.

Sadness coated her throat and tears stung her eyes. She rubbed her face. This wasn’t a sad part, so why were her emotions seesawing all over the place?

She sniffled. Maybe it would take the wedding to prove it to Madeline, but Mac had every faith in Justin—no,
James
. After grabbing a Kleenex, she dabbed at her eyes and exhaled a hard breath. She had confidence in Madeline’s James, but she wished she could believe in Justin half as much.

Her hands trembled when she leaned back. The quake of Madeline’s burgeoning hope filled her with unspeakable sorrow. It barely made sense. The relationship between Madeline and the duke was working out. The two would have their happily ever after.
So why am I not happier about it?

For some reason, she felt a little sick to her stomach. Making sure to save her changes before rising, she grabbed her empty coffee cup and walked into the deep shadows of the kitchen.

The leaden skies had darkened further while she’d worked, and the thunderheads seemed ominous through the windows. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Wind whipped through the trees and shook loose the trembling autumn leaves. Another shiver iced up her spine, and she huddled in her sweater.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she turned down the radio before checking the phone’s face. Justin. When she let it go to voice mail, it rang again. When he called back after she let the second call go to voice mail, she sighed and answered it, her mood bleak. “Hello?”

“Hey, I get it. You’re mad at me.” The warmth in his voice washed over her. “And maybe I deserve it, because you’re right. I did think if you got to know me, if you got to know the town, you’d want to help.” Even having reached the conclusion on her own, his confirmation still hurt. “But, babe, that’s not why I kept coming by and that’s sure as hell not why I slept with you.”

Swiping away a tear angrily, she stared outside at the trees being lashed by the wind.

“Mac? Come on, Mac,
talk
to me.”

“I don’t want to.” The pain in her chest spread. Wasn’t that the same problem Madeline had? She trusted men with her heart and they trod all over her. They took and they took, they demanded and demanded, and she so wanted to believe that real love existed and…

“You
can
trust me. I haven’t done anything to break your trust.” Anger flared beneath the words—anger and something far more frustrated. “I never lied.”

“Not telling me all the truth may not sound like a lie. But it’s still a lie.” She checked the pot. It was still warm, even if the burner had clicked off while she worked. She refilled her cup, the mundane action gave her something to do. The wind howled around the outside of the house and she wanted to howl with it. Depression weighed down on her, like rocks tied to her legs, dragging her down to drown in the depth of despair. She looked out the window to see the world had gone gray… As if fog had descended…or something had gone wrong with her eyesight.

“I gave up everything and lost more,” she heard herself saying.

“What?” Confusion muddied his words. “Mac, what are you talking about?”

“He took everything from me. My pride, my self-respect—my freedom—and still he took more. I have nothing left to give, ask me not to surrender.” It sounded so rational in her mind, but the words—they weren’t hers. They were, but they weren’t. Her voice wasn’t even her own. Pain pulsed through the fractures in her heart, every sluggish beat a reminder that she had to live with her mistakes. “I cannot bear further loss.”

“Babe… Can’t do what?”

Genuine worry colored his tone and beckoned a response from her, but Mac couldn’t seem to cross the icy chasm. “I cannot bear such a risk a second time. The cost is too great.” Where had those words come from? Why would she say something like that?

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m on my way. You stay in the house and lock the door and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The order rattled her out of the fugue. She didn’t want him here.

No, he can’t come.
She didn’t know whose thought it was in her head, but panic left her shaking.
“Stay away, Master Justin,” Mac found herself saying. “You will find naught for you here.”

“Mac—”

“Cease.” She cut him off. “You are not welcome upon this land. Do not set foot upon the property, or we shall all regret it.” And then she threw the phone across the room. It slammed against the wall and landed with a
crack
on the floor.

Thunder cracked overhead so loud it seemed to vibrate the foundation. She jumped, and her heart pounded as hard as the rain that sheeted outside the window. Lightning flashed like a strobe light across the sky. Color seemed to return to her vision and she no longer felt as wobbly.

“Holy crap,” she muttered, then realized her voice sounded familiar once again.

What the hell had just happened? She slowly looked around the kitchen. She’d had an entire conversation and she’d thrown the phone—but she hadn’t even intended to answer it, and those weren’t her words she’d said.

The thunder rumbled continuously, and the walls seemed to almost shudder from the force of it. The trembling in her hands worsened. It had rained the last time, too.

The last time?

Rubbing her hands against her face, she tried to get her scrambled thoughts in order. Justin said he was coming, and she knew he would. Even though she’d told him not to.

He can’t come…
The thought crystallized in her mind, but again, it wasn’t hers.
If he does, something terrible will happen. He cannot come.

Another boom shook the house and the lights went out. Despite the fact that it was midafternoon, the storm’s fury plunged the house into darkness. Cold and edgy, Mac fumbled to her feet and went to her office, where the flashlight she needed sat on the desk. Justin had put one in every room in the house and filled an entire kitchen drawer with batteries.

She shut down the laptop, grabbed the flashlight, and left, intending to head back to the kitchen. She could ride out the storm there until the power came back on.

A flicker of movement caught her attention and she stopped in the hallway. Movement fluttered down the hall. Pointing her flashlight in that direction, she found nothing but emptiness. She hurried toward the kitchen, suppressing a shiver. A board creaked and she jerked around.

The lightning flashed…and she saw her.

The woman.

Heart thudding in her ears, Mac stared. The strobe effect of the lightning came in rapid succession. Like an old black-and-white film playing on a staticky screen, the woman walked down the hall, toward her. Clenching her hand around the flashlight, Mac held her breath.

I’m seeing things.
She shuddered.
Please God, let me be seeing things. There’s no way this is real.

But the only answer she received was another crack of thunder overhead.

A crash sounded behind her and she spun. Shining the light into the kitchen revealed a cardboard box on its side, a dozen books spilling out onto the floor. Journals. Red and leather-bound. Some ancient. The box of journals that had arrived along with her letter of inheritance. The box she’d always meant to go through but kept putting off.

Mac took a step toward the kitchen when a shuffle step behind her sent fear clawing up her spine.

There’s nothing there. It’s just the storm creeping me out.
But another board squeaking loudly scraped across her nerves and she dared to look over her shoulder.

Lightning flashed, and the woman’s careworn face loomed close, her expression twisted in an agony of sadness and her near colorless eyes filled with unspeakable tragedy.

The flashlight fell to the floor, and the world went dark.

Chapter Twelve

Justin couldn’t see two feet in front of his truck. The rain came sideways, obliterating visibility, and based on his tire slippage, obliterating parts of the road, too. Cell service to all of Penny Hollow seemed to have been cut off, although he kept trying to reach someone. Anyone. The power at Summerfield wasn’t the most reliable, and this was the first major storm to pound the area since Mac moved in.

But what pushed him to return to Mac was more than simple concern.

Something was wrong.

Mac hadn’t been acting like herself that morning at all—her anger, Justin understood. Of course she’d be reactive, thinking he’d been controlling her. Using her. Manipulating her into writing the way her ex had. Rather than push her, he’d left when she threw him out, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her all day. When the storm worsened, he’d called her. He just had to know she was okay. But whomever it was he spoke to on the phone had Mac’s voice, but it hadn’t been Mac.

It
.

Why had he mentally used the word “it”?

I don’t want to believe in ghosts. I never have.

Scowling, he gripped the steering wheel tighter. But too many things didn’t add up. He’d seen what Mac had seen—the faint image of the woman, the Summerfield ghost. Mac had proven to him that ghosts existed, but he’d accepted it as fact, and hadn’t truly believed. But now, something was really wrong with Mac. Something to do with the ghost. Mac
needed
him, and she needed him there and not miles away.

She has no idea what she means to me.

Giving her time to cool off had seemed a good choice. But his reluctance to argue with her had turned into gut-churning concern by afternoon and with the arrival of the storm, he couldn’t concentrate on anything but getting back to her. But how? The bridge had washed out in the first hour of the storm.

The local meteorologists called it a freak superstorm, thanks to the collision of a powerful system off the Atlantic colliding with a second system moving up from the Southern states off the gulf.

Colliding right over our heads.
His headlights barely cut through the darkness, and he’d been forced to cut his speed back or risk going off the road. Driving in a storm like this was insane, but he couldn’t shake the knowledge that he had to reach Mac—
now
. Every second seemed to increase the pressure. A dull roaring shook the truck and he forced the steering wheel to the right, barely missing the gaping hole where the road had washed out. He didn’t need any more delays, if he didn’t hurry—

His truck fishtailed, hydroplaning on the water, and the sound of metal against metal filled his ears as blackness roared over him.

…

The seat belt cut into Justin’s shoulder and blood pounded into his skull, but blackness swallowed him again.

I have to get to her. They took her and if I didn’t catch up to them—No
.
I refuse to let her go. I will not let that bastard rob us of the happiness we finally found together.

Awareness battled its way back. Justin had to get out of the damn truck. Painful awareness sliced through him and he shifted, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Images flashed through him. He’d done this before—had raced to save Mac.

Kidnapped
.
Madeline has been kidnapped.

The painful dream faded as he came back into consciousness. Dampness trickled down his face. His head hurt like hell and he fought to sit up, but he was canted on his side—no, the whole truck lay on its side and he was hanging on the seat belt. Rain spattered through the broken window and visibility still remained low.

Dangling and fighting the waves of dizziness that came with the pounding inside his skull, he gulped in a deep breath of air. Testing his arms, he discovered he could stretch out both. The tightness across his chest hopefully came from the way the seat belt held him and not from cracked ribs.

With two fingers, he fumbled for the keys in the ignition. It took two tries, but he managed to shut off the engine and pull the keys out, then snagged the seat-belt cutter/window-breaker tool. The seat-belt cutter sliced right through the nylon and he barely caught himself as he fell the rest of the way down.

Breathing hurt.
Not a good sign.
But the black spots discoloring his vision had faded. Tool still in hand, he pointed it at the windshield and hit the button. The glass shattered. Best five dollars he’d ever spent. Careful of any glass shards, he climbed out into the slashing rain and leaned against the truck. The world seemed to tilt, as though he stood on the deck of a boat, and he shook his head. He probably had some kind of concussion.

Justin staggered back to his truck, where he found the electronic flares in the toolbox attached in the bed of the truck. He cast a quick glance at the creek, and noticed the rising water level. That posed another issue. He activated the flares and struggled against the wind and rain to put them in the middle of the road.

Soaked through, he ignored the lancing pain in the side of his head. He ducked back into his truck, where he searched for his cell phone. Blood dripped onto his hand and he checked his forehead. It was definitely cut. So much for his air bag.

He found his cell on the dash—and it hadn’t been shattered or soaked. Thank God.

It took four tries to get a call to go through, and he could barely hear the operator when she answered. Another spike of pain drove through his mind and the world blotted out.

…

Justin jerked awake.

I have to go, I have to get to her…

“Easy, sir.” A stranger blurred into his vision and a hand gripped his shoulder. “You’ve got a nasty concussion, and you need stitches.”

Where the hell was he? Justin tried to sit up, but the world swam around him sickeningly. The stranger—a paramedic?— helped him lie back down.

“Where’s my phone?” he demanded, and said in the next breath, “I need to get to Penny Hollow.”

“What you need is to sit still.” The guy went back to applying something icy and stinging to Justin’s forehead.

Justin grabbed his wrist, stopping his motions. “I need a phone. Now.”

She’s in danger. If I don’t get to her, he’s going to steal her away forever. No, I can’t lose her again. Not this time.

Pain swamped him, but he fought off the waves of blackness trying to drown him.

“Mr. Kent, you really need to lay down—hey!”

Mac. God, he had to get to Mac. He fisted the paramedic’s jacket and jerked him close. “I was trying to get home. My girlfriend is in danger. I need to warn her. Get me a phone, now—before I pass out again.”

“Okay buddy, easy. I’ll get you a phone.” The guy tried to calm him down with a be-nice-to-the-crazy-guy voice, but he pressed a phone into Justin’s hand.

Thank God he’d memorized her cell phone number.
C’mon, baby, answer the phone…

The world went sideways.

He raced down the road on horseback, rain pounding down on him. He’d abandoned his men to follow the last tangible lead to her location. He wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t.

Justin held onto consciousness, clawing free of the visions sucking him into the past. Madeline—no,
Mac
needed him.
Madeline?

She wasn’t answering her phone. Dread crawled up his spine.

It wasn’t enough. Fighting another wave of dizziness, Justin shook off the paramedic. It didn’t matter how crazy it was, he knew where he needed to be. He’d found her. He wouldn’t lose her again. Never again.

Please don’t let me be too late.

…

The woman was gone. The storm’s fury continued to explode outside the house, but Mac barely heard it. She wavered on her feet. It was like she’d been disconnected from her body. She could move, but it was her…and then it wasn’t. One step firmly to the left of being real. Maybe she’d finally lost her mind.

I have to go…but if I do…if I escape, he’ll follow me.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around the voice in her head, or the woman she saw. Lightning flashed. The world went black and white and then flashed in startling color. The power surges seemed to do that. Faint and indistinct, but definitely there.

If I go now…I might have a chance. Maybe I could warn him…

She scrubbed her hands against her face. Her palms were like ice, the cold stinging, but it wasn’t enough. She paced, back and forth—horrible indecision racking her. No. She wasn’t the one racked by indecision; rather, the woman inside of her was.

Madeline Summerfield.

But Mac couldn’t see where she ended and Madeline began.

Hope was an evil, insipid thing. I thought I’d given it up. Or at least that it had abandoned me utterly. Kurt held me captive and he would never let me go—hadn’t he made that clear? I didn’t know why I bothered with hope at all.

The red-bound journals spilled on the floor caught Mac’s eye. The first one was dated 1935. Another began in 1950. A third was dated 1979. All three had “Katherine” monogrammed on the front. One by one she piled the journals up, searching through them all. And then she found it. A journal so much older than the rest. The paper was heavy, but crumpled and yellowed. The pages were dog-eared and damaged and the ink had faded to nearly illegible, but a few lines could be read. Mac pointed the flashlight at the first page and stared.

It wasn’t the condition of the book that locked her attention.

It was the name inscribed on the first line.

My name is Madeline de Hervault, and this is the third summer since I was brought to Summerfield.

“That’s impossible.” Mac looked up.

It has been so long…

Suffering left scorch marks in Madeline’s soul and grief fisted around Mac’s heart. Hopelessness and despair threatened to choke her. Hot tears slipped down to scald her cheeks, and she swiped at one. She didn’t even know why she cried, but the urge to sob as though her broken heart would never mend had never been so powerful.

“He’s here.” The raw whisper came from her mind and her throat. Nothing moved except for the wind lashing the house and the hard rain thundering against the roof like a thousand tiny hammers trying to break in.

A
clang
rattled through the thunder, suddenly louder it seemed, and the vise holding Mac captive released. She rushed to the window. Beyond the driveway, she could just make out the gates—they were shut. Which was impossible. The gates had been broken, the very hinges shattered from the walls. So how were they shut?

The air in the house turned frosty. Mac thought it was her imagination until she could see her breath.
Okay, now the freaky shit is getting real…
A wail ripped through the house and Mac barely suppressed a scream at the unexpected noise.
Okay, if this is a dream, it’s time to wake up.

The other woman’s thought crowded her mind:
It’s too late. I should have run.

The storm continued to lash the house. Movement outside drew her attention. Walking up the drive was a man. She squinted, hoping to see Justin, but the closer the figure drew, the greater her dread became.

That wasn’t Justin.

The man lifted his head and seemed to look right at her. Ice stabbed through her and she shuddered. She didn’t know who the man was, but he wasn’t getting in her house. She hurried to the door, turned the lock, then grabbed the flashlight and the journal and fled away from the windows.

The wailing behind her increased in volume, and the whole house seemed to creak and groan. She flattened herself against the wall; all the moisture had fled her mouth and fear seemed to be strangling her.

A
bang
sounded from the door and she stuffed a hand against her mouth, smothering her own scream. A second
bang
. And then another. Every blow seemed to shake the house around her louder than the thunder outside. She wanted to curl up in a ball.

No. She wasn’t a coward. She wasn’t running. Shifting her grip on the flashlight, she got ready to use it as a weapon. Whoever was trying to get through her door she didn’t think would be stopped by the wood much longer. As if conjured by her thoughts, the door blew inward in an explosion of glass and shattered wood.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know, Mac?” Kevin’s deep, gravelly voice echoed through the house. “I tell you I want to be with you and you hop into his bed? After
everything
I did for you?” A thud of a footstep.

Kevin?

Mac stuffed a hand against her mouth, choking off the terrified whimper that wanted to escape. Kevin’s anger always ended badly for her. She couldn’t get to the other doors without passing in front of the kitchen, so she ducked into her office and hid behind the door. The windows were locked, but if Kevin went deeper in the house, she could slip back into the kitchen and out the front door.

Her heart struck her ribs so hard she was surprised he didn’t hear her.

“You are mine. I swore that to you, and I meant it.” The footsteps stopped just outside her room and Mac prayed for silence.

Go away. Please God, go away.

She held her breath until she thought she might pass out. When no sound came from beyond the door, she began to hope that maybe like her earlier ghosts, this one would go away, too. But nothing convinced her pulse to stop rabbiting. Easing to the corner of the door, she glanced through the crack and almost whimpered.

The dripping wet figure of a man stood right there, water pooling around his feet.

As if her awareness extended to him, Kevin jerked around and hit the door, which smacked into her as he charged into the room. Mac wheeled and struck out with the flashlight and tried to get away, but a strong hand caught her hair and jerked her backward.

Tears of pain stung her eyes and she fought, kicking and biting. He struck her with the back of a hand and stars exploded in front of her as she went down. Two powerful hands seized her arms with bruising force, squeezing until she released the flashlight and it bounced against the floor.