Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (31 page)

"Gettin’
weaker."

"You need to drive to town
for a doctor."

Roan shook his head. "I'll
be all right."

"Roan—"

"I'm too lightheaded to
drive. Stop worryin’ abou' me and get to the women!"

Lachlan swiftly wound his
shirt around his fist, creating bracing layers. "Then stay here."
He popped the covered fist through one of the glass panes, reached
in with the other hand and unlocked the door. "Dinna move. I'll be
back for you."

Roan attempted to stand,
and fell back on his buttocks. Lachlan crouched alongside him, a
hand on Roan's trembling shoulder.

"Dammit, Roan, stay here! I
can best sneak up on the bastard."

Breathing erratically, Roan
nodded. "Be careful."

"Do you pray?"

Roan stiltedly shook his
head.

"Tis a good time to start,"
Lachlan quipped.

He ran into the house, his
footfalls on the glass tinkling in the otherwise stillness of the
night.

C
hapter 11

After searching the second
floor bedrooms, the tower, kitchen, dining room, parlor, bar and
library, Laura was mentally threatening to hang her nephews and
Roan when she found them. She plodded up the stairs to the third
floor, muttering under her breath and trying not to think about the
headache blossoming in her temples. She opened every door on each
side of the hall and called out for Roan and the boys.

No response.

With each door she closed,
her face grew redder with vexation.

She stopped at the closed
nursery door. It was always left open. Beth and Lachlan were
relatively paranoid about not hearing the babies if they
awakened.

Opening the door just wide
enough to peer in, her gaze searched the room. She couldn't see
anyone. The bumper blankets blocked her view of the babies and, for
this reason she quietly walked to the crib. Broc and Ciarda were
asleep, both propped on their sides, facing one another. Laura
murmured cooingly to them, then retraced her steps and eased the
door shut.

The door to Beth and
Lachlan's room was open about an inch. Laura lightly rapped and
ventured, "Beth? Lachlan? Have you seen Roan or the
boys?"

Silence.

"Beth?"

She pushed the door open a
little further.

"Beth?"

Silence.

They could be in the
bathroom, she reasoned, indulging in a bubble bath or...whatever.
It was unlikely she would find Roan and her nephews in there, or
anywhere else in the master suite. The only other place they could
be was outside.

No.

It was more likely the boys
had slipped from the house, and Roan was looking for
them.

The pain pulsing at her
temples expanded to her nape. A tension headache. All she needed
now was another visit from that Peeping Tom,
Tales From the Crypt
reject.

Laura froze as she
turned.

About six feet away, he
hovered just above the floor, his eyes wide behind his round-rimmed
spectacles, and his hands held out in a beseeching manner. His
translucent mouth moved rapidly in a succession of words, only one
of which she could make out:

Help.

Forgotten were Roan, the
boys, and her headache. Beth needed to see him! Abstractly, she
wondered why he didn't come closer. Not that she wanted him to. If
he touched her, she was sure she would be reduced to hysterics. Now
she was still angry enough to keep her adrenaline pumping and her
mind focused.

Help.

For help.

His lips slowed enough for
her to grasp,
Go for help.

Backing into the door and
bumping it wide open, she crossed the threshold.

The spirit flagged his
arms. The cut of his hair made it look as though it was standing on
end. That, combined with his wild expression and gesticulating
arms, made him almost laughable.

"Come with me," Laura said
softly, through a strained grin. "There is someone I want you to
meet."

His motions became
humorously frantic.

Laura backed up, one slow
step at a time. "Come up, you handsome dead person you."
Perverted jerk!
"It's time
you met the lady of the manor. Her name's Beth. You'll like Beth.
Beth goes for the silent, dead type."

The ghost lowered his arms
and slumped as if too weary to go on. He stared at her dejectedly,
and for a moment—a blink of time, actually—she almost felt sorry
for him.

"Beth? There's someone here
to see you. Beth!"

What the hell is going
on?
she thought, fear twisting through her
stomach.

Had everyone gone deaf, or
stepped into the
Twilight Zone?

Her nose wrinkled when it
detected a faint putrid scent. A chill licked up the nerve endings
of her spine. An immediate sense of danger detonated her awareness,
locking her joints and causing her heart to thunder behind her
breast.

At the same instant that
she turned her head and saw two unconscious figures bound in duct
tape on the bed, the stench was upon her like a cloud of death. A
beefy arm shot out from behind her and wound about her neck. The
muscles at the crook of the arm tightened at her throat, cutting
off her oxygen and her outcry. A curtain of darkening grayness
descended in front of her eyes as she clawed and pounded at the
human vise.

Wheezing, hot breaths
filled her right ear then the gutturally spoken words, "I'm the
chosen one."

Although her world was
darkening by the second, she was more terrified for the children
than herself. She closed her eyes and went limp. For a moment she
thought her ruse had failed, for his hold didn't lessen. But then
he sighed and pressed his lips to her neck, just below the right
earlobe. It was nearly her undoing. Repulsion rose up into her
throat. She forced it back, back for the sake of the children, the
man she loved, her friends, and for herself.

His arm slackened. It took
all of her willpower not to suck air into her lungs, only a little
through her nostrils so as not to warn him she was conscious. He
clumsily repositioned the arm beneath her breasts, grunting in the
process, and began to drag her.

Toward the bed, she
knew.

Her mind scrambled to
assess the possibilities of escape. She was barefoot. If she
attempted to ram one of his shins with a heel, she could miss or
not do the damage she hoped for, and knew she wouldn't get another
chance at catching him off guard.

The same applied if she
tried to drive a fist into his face.

She had to do something but
the wrong move could end her life in a heartbeat.

One of the babies began to
cry. The other joined in.

The assailant trembled. For
a fleeting moment she hoped it was out of compassion for the
infants. But no. With sickening clarity, she knew the sound was
enraging him.

She had no way of knowing
the Phantom had lost his hearing, and that the rage she sensed in
him was for the awakening Taryn. The louder the cries grew, the
more he quaked, until she was sure her insides would vibrate up and
out of her mouth. She couldn't see Taryn stirring on the
bed.

How many times during the
past years had she thought about taking self-defense
classes?

Thought about, but never
followed through!

She was at a gross
disadvantage. Unless she could see her target, she couldn't risk
blundering a shot at him.

* * *

At the same time that
Lachlan ran into the main hall, Winston and Deliah charged into the
house through the front doors. They met at the
staircase.

"He's here," said
Winston.

Breathing heavily, Lachlan
nodded and glared up the stairs. "The women are up there. Roan's
been stabbed. He's ou' on the north stoop. The lads—"

"We talked to them," said
Winston.

"I'll see to Roan." Deliah
fearfully searched Winston's face. "Be careful. Both o' ye," she
added, glancing at Lachlan.

"Don't come upstairs,"
Winston ordered.

"But—"

"Deliah, stay wi' Roan!" he
demanded in a stage whisper.

Without hesitation, she ran
down the secondary hall toward the kitchen.

Lachlan and Winston headed
up the stairs, mindful of their footfalls until the infants' shrill
demand to be fed reached their ears. They sped up but stopped at
the third floor landing when greeted by the spirit of Stephan
Miles. The ghost frantically pointed toward the end of the hall,
his eyes wide with terror, mouthing words neither man had time to
understand.

Side by side they raced
toward the master suite, bursting into the room and halting
simultaneously at the sight of a massive man standing at the side
of the bed, his right arm holding up a seemingly unconscious Laura
and a knife clutched in his left hand.

"Let her go!" Winston
shouted, his fists quaking at his sides.

The sound of his voice
jerked Laura's eyes open. The Phantom flung her onto the bed and
raised the knife as if to plunge it into her. At the same time she
drove one heel into his abdomen, Winston and Lachlan were on him,
the latter attempting to wrest the dirk from the Phantom's hand,
Winston attempting to subdue his other arm.

Three bodies staggered away
from the bed and crashed to the floor in a heap of flailing arms,
pounding fists, and a cacophony of growls and curses.

Laura scrambled to her
knees atop the bed. Both Taryn and Beth were lying face down.
Taryn's head turned, and she blinked dazedly at Laura. Beth began
to come around. Laura yanked the duct tape from Taryn's mouth.
Ignoring the woman's gasp, she worked feverishly to unwind the tape
about Taryn's wrists, and then her ankles before focusing on
Beth's.

Within a short span of
time, she was helping both women off the bed and urging them out of
the room. With the men still struggling on the floor, the women
took the babies and escaped down the stairs, the new specter
resident in their wake.

To Lachlan and Winston's
surprise, the Phantom managed to overpower them. The knife first
slashed across Lachlan's upper chest then drove into Winston's
upper left arm. Both men were shucked off the enraged bulk of
muscle and fat, and the Phantom jumped to his feet, spewing foaming
spittle past his curled back lips. He drove the point of the dirk
into Winston's right thigh, and would have targeted Lachlan's
middle if the laird hadn't driven the heel of one boot into the
Phantom's left kneecap.

With a feral howl, the
Phantom staggered back.

Lachlan, despite the pain
radiating through his chest, climbed to his feet and helped Winston
to his. It was then, as they faced the giant of a man who stood not
six feet away, they noticed his ravaged face.

Wade Cuttstone resembled
something out of a child's worst nightmare. His shocking white hair
stood on end, as if combed with static electricity. His protruding
eyes were bloodshot with dark pockets of flesh hanging beneath
them. The irises were colorless, as lifeless as marbles. The face
and what could be seen of his neck were mottled with shades of
gray, bluish tones, and raw red where there were open sores and
rings of inflammation surrounding blisters.

"Good of you to join me,"
said the Phantom in a surprisingly cultured English accent. His
voice was overly loud, prompting Winston to scan him.

"He's deaf," he whispered
to Lachlan, moving his lips as little as possible.

"Ask me anything you like
before you die," said Cuttstone to Winston, a skeletal grin mocking
his adversary of four years. "You can't save yourselves or the
begetters. I have the power of the Guardian on my side."

"Ye're insane," Lachlan
growled, a hand pressed to his bloodied chest. He looked askance at
the swords mounted on the wall. So close, yet so far. If he dashed
for one of the weapons, he was sure it would further provoke the
Phantom. He dreaded the idea of feeling the dirk's steel enter him
again, but he was terrified one of the others would be the next
target.

The Phantom's gaze never
wavered from Winston's mouth. "No need to ask, my good man. Your
mind questions the car chase and the resulting tragedy which
followed." Cuttstone sighed with theatrical patience. "It was
indeed my car, but not more than an hour prior to the chase a
carjacker had the misfortune to choose me as his next
victim."

He grinned mirthlessly.
"Imagine his surprise when he found himself surrounded by police,
and he being such an unworthy criminal to warrant such
attention."

Cuttstone lunged forward
with the dirk extended. Winston shoved Lachlan to the floor, out of
immediate danger, but was only able to twist himself out of the way
enough to avoid a stab to the chest. The edge of the blade grazed
his side, along his rib cage. The wound wasn't deep, but—combined
with his injured leg going out from under him—painful enough to
make him collapse to the floor. Cuttstone slashed to his right, the
blade opening Lachlan's right palm. He swung to his left with the
intention of driving the dirk to its hilt into Winston's chest, but
another figure ran into the room, followed by yet
another.