The Ghosts of Cragera Bay (23 page)

Then what? Where would she go? She had no idea where Declan was, and she couldn’t go to the police. There was no way they’d believe her over one of their own. Still, she had to do something, and whatever it was would go easier if her hands were free.

“Can you take these off?” she asked. “I’m losing feeling in my hands.”

Miller ignored her, not even lifting his gaze from his game.

“Seriously, where am I going to go? You’re right here.”

Again no response.

“My shoulders hurt, as well. And my wrists.”

Miller muttered a curse. “I don’t know how bloody Paskin stood doing this all those years.” The detective stood and crossed the room toward her, a smirk curling at his lips. “’Course, he had his perks, didn’t he?”

Her stomach jumped. He meant the women Paskin took, the ones he tortured to death in the round room.

“What happened to the women?” she asked, even though her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

His brows shot up. “Do you really want the gory details?”

“I mean their bodies. None were recovered.”

“I doubt they ever will be.” He flashed that perfect smile. “Fish food.”

Paskin must have disposed of the bodies in the sea like they’d suspected.

“You know he did get a reward for all his hard work.” Miller sat on the coffee table facing her. He fished the handcuff key from his pocket and slipped the silver ring over the tip of his finger, then spun the key back and forth. “How badly do you want me to loosen those handcuffs?”

Not
that
badly…at least not yet. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

A door slammed upstairs and Miller hopped to his feet. “Someone’s here.”

“I doubt it. This house is haunted.”

He shot her a hard glare, telling her exactly what he thought about her comment.

Footsteps stomped the floor overhead.

“God damn it, who’s here?” He turned and faced the door, exposing his back.

Without thinking, Carly leaned back, lifted both feet and kicked out as hard as she could. The soles of her hiking boots landed hard in the center of Miller’s back, sending him staggering forward. He tripped over the coffee table and landed hard on the floor, his hand slipping out from under him, face bouncing off the wood. The key flew from his finger and went spinning across the hall floor.

With a yowl Miller rolled onto his back and tented his hands over his mouth and nose. Blood flooded between his fingers.

Carly leaped to her feet, scrambled past Miller and dropped to her backside, fingers straining for the keys.

“Bloody bitch!” His furious words were chocked and muffled.

Her fingers grasped the cool silver just as Miller staggered into the hall. His eyes were wild. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, those perfect white teeth broken and jagged. Grim satisfaction welled inside her only to be squashed by her swelling fear. If he got his hands on her, he’d kill her.

With the keys grasped in one hand she darted up the stairs, following the winding hall to lose him in the maze of passageways. His footsteps crashed down the hall behind her, drowning out the rapid thud of her pulse in her ears.

She turned her back to one of the closed doors, awkwardly twisted the knob and pushed her way inside the random guest bedroom. The furniture had been covered with white sheets to protect from dust, drapes closed against the fading daylight. With shaking hands she tried to fit the key in the lock of the cuffs.

“Where are you?” Miller’s voice boomed like a thunderclap from outside the room. She started and the key slipped from her sweat-slicked fingers and hit the floor with a jangle.

“Shit,” she hissed, sinking down to pick it up once more. She arched her back, and rolled her shoulders as she managed to finally slip the key into the lock. From outside the bedroom where she hid, doors opened and slammed closed again. Whether from Miller or whatever dwelled within these stone walls, she didn’t know. But either way she needed to get out.

Something was building in Stonecliff; she could feel it like a gathering charge. The hairs on her body stood rigid.

She twisted the key and the cuffs loosened, clattering to the floor. She let out a relieved breath, rolled her aching shoulder and flexed her hands to be rid of the tingling numbness.

The door crashed wide and Miller stood in the opening, bloody and furious. His dark eyes blazed and his swollen lips curled back from his broken teeth. “Now I’m going to make you sorry.”

He started to descend on her and she backed up, looking for a way around him to the door. She’d never make it and manage to stay out of his reach.

His hand grabbed her wrist and jerked her toward him. Sharp pain shot up her arm and she tried to twist free.

The chandelier overhead exploded in a loud pop. Miller let go of her wrist and the shift in momentum sent her tumbling sideways. Shards of glass rained down over both of them.

Here we go again.

She covered her head with her arms, tucked her chin to her chest, then risked a peek. Her breath caught and her insiders shriveled.

Thin lines of flame spread out from the hole where the light fixture had once been and across the ceiling like flickering orange tentacles.

* * *

The Devil’s Eye stretched out before Declan, black and expectant. His heart hammered in his chest.

“I thought you would have had the harvest prepared by now,” Warlow growled, walking around the edge of the bank to join Sean Leonard.

Leonard’s gaze flicked between Warlow and Declan, suspicion clouding his features. The man obviously didn’t trust him. Good instincts. “I didn’t want to risk untying him on my own. He’s been hard enough to sit on the last few days. I’ll be glad to get this over with.”

Crouched on the ground at Leonard’s feet, hands tied behind his back, Andy looked up at Declan. His face was a battered mess of yellowing bruises, dried blood caked around each nostril and one side of his mouth. His gaze was glassy and unfocused. Maybe he’d been drugged.

No sign of Carly.

There were only two of them: Warlow and Leonard. Where was the third?

Blood drained from his head in a rush, leaving him woozy. It was him, he realized. He was the third, expected to take his father’s place in their sick trio.

Well, they were going to be very disappointed.

Depending on how out of it Andy was, it shouldn’t be too difficult to gain the upper hand and run. But he needed to know where Carly was first.

“It’s time,” Warlow said, lifting a black robe from a stack draped over a low-hanging branch. Leonard did likewise. As they pulled on the cloaks, they looked to Declan expectantly.

He shook his head. “No way.”

“You’ll do as you’re told, Declan, if you ever hope to see that Evans woman again.”

Cold dread trickled over him. “Where is she?”

“She’s waiting for you back at Stonecliff. If you do your duty you can return and find her unharmed. What you choose to do with her after that is up to you—provided you don’t endanger our cause. If you don’t do your duty, she will be killed.” Warlow held out the robe. “Take it.”

Declan snatched the rough fabric from the man’s hand, but hesitated before pulling it on. “I’ll give you Stonecliff. I’ll be your harvest. Just let Andy and Carly go.”

“There is no point in bargaining for this one’s life.” Warlow chuckled and nudged Andy with the toe of his shoe. “He’s dead already. The only people you can save are yourself and the woman.”

“You can’t kill me. You’ll lose Stonecliff.”

“And who will claim what should have been mine? That stepfather? Your brother? Sister? Who will assume
your
legacy, do
your
duty?”

Warlow had him; he couldn’t drag what was left of his family into this mess. Expose Allen or Katie and especially Josh to Warlow.

He swallowed hard, and pulled on the robe.

Chapter Eighteen

Carly stood too stunned to move, watching the flames crawl from the ceiling down the walls, Miller temporarily forgotten. Chunks of smoldering plaster crumbled from the ceiling, stinging the bare flesh on her hands and neck like hot little bees. They burned through the dust sheets. Tiny flames dotted the white fabric, devouring it.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Miller’s horrified awe snapped her from her reverie and she darted out of the bedroom into the hall.

Declan’s newly replaced sconces burst, sending flames licking across the walls. Smoke thick and acrid burned her nose and her lungs. Dry coughs rattled in her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes. She tugged the collar of her T-shirt over her nose and crouched to the floor.

She had to get out, now. Crawling toward the stairs as quickly as she could on all fours, she was knocked sideways as Miller raced past. He vanished into the cloud of thick gray smoke. Carly crawled forward. Fiery heat singed her skin, sheened her body with sweat.

She had to hurry, or she was going to die in here.

Her pounding heart reverberated through her body, but she forced herself to go on.

A loud howl rose up over the thundering flames. Carly looked up in time to see Miller tumbling headfirst down the stairs.

Fear grabbed her throat and squeezed. Had he fallen, lost his footing in the fire and smoke? Or had something pushed him like she’d been pushed at The Devil’s Eye? She didn’t have time to find out.

She followed Miller, sliding down the stairs on her backside while crouching to stay as close to the floor as she could manage. Flames raced along the banister’s handrail, blackened the ancient wallpaper. At the bottom of the stairs, she found Miller sprawled across the floor on his back, eyes wide and glazed.

Get out! Get out! Get out!
Before she wound up the same way. The door was just a few feet from the stairs. Instead of running for it, she froze, her gaze locked on the mirror mounted on the wall opposite the stairs. Reflected in the glass, the burned woman stood in the hall like an avenging angel. She brushed her hand along the wall. Flames trailed from her touch, eating the dried wallpaper like a ravenous parasite. Her eyes met Carly’s bright and clear against her charred flesh.

Everything inside Carly loosened, and a single word filled her head like a scream:
Run!

* * *

“You made the right choice,” Warlow said, as Declan pulled on the robe over his clothes. “It can be difficult the first time. But it will get easier.”

The hell it would. Declan stiffened, fists tightening at his sides.
Let the bastard think he’s won
. Declan just needed the right moment.

“This,” Warlow said, lifting a narrow box, the wood varnished to shine, from the long grass, “is the dagger you will use.” He opened the lid, and nestled on a bed of red satin was a wicked-looking knife. The ivory handle had been carved with swirling Celtic designs. The blade was long, curved and gleaming.

Everything inside him recoiled at the sight of it. “Me?”

Warlow smirked. “Stonecliff is yours. The Devil’s Eye is yours, so it is your duty to present the harvest. Now, help Mr. Leonard prepare.”

“C’mon.” Leonard waved him over to Andy, still crouched on the grass.

Andy’s eyes had cleared considerably since Declan first arrived, his gaze fixed on him as he approached.

“You have to stop this, Declan. Whatever is going to happen you have to stop it,” Andy said, as he drew closer. His body shook and his voice rose with wild desperation. Declan’s insides squeezed.

“You hold him down, while I get his clothes off,” Leonard told him.

“Um…why?”

“He must go to The Devil’s Eye as he was born,” Warlow said. He held a length of wire, stretching it to test its strength.

“This is bullshit,” Declan growled, and he turned to Leonard. “Why are you listening to him? He’s nuts. He’s making it up as he goes along.”

“No one knows the secrets of The Devil’s Eye like I do. Haven’t you guessed who I am?” Warlow asked, drawing Declan’s attention back to him. He smiled, wide and toothy like a shark. “I’m Jonas Worthing.”

“Now I know you’re full of crap. Jonas Worthing died. I traced his records.”

“I didn’t die. My daughter attempted to burn me in my own house and failed. She was caught in her own scheme, but I escaped.”

If the man was telling the truth, Alaina Worthing was the burned woman haunting the halls of Stonecliff. But Warlow and Worthing couldn’t be the same man. The math simply didn’t add up. “You would be ninety years old.”

“I gave my own son to The Devil’s Eye, and I shall live forever.”

Declan didn’t bother to argue further; the man was either delusional or a liar, but whichever the case, Declan was getting out of there.

He snatched up the wooden knife box Warlow had left forgotten in the grass. Gripping the smooth wood with both hands, he swung wide. The edge of the box caught Leonard in the side of the head. The man yelped and tipped sideways, a deep gash splitting his scalp.

Warlow growled and stormed toward him, eyes brilliant and fevered. “That’s the last mistake you’ll make.”

Before the butler reached him, Declan winged the box into the bog. The gleaming wood bobbed on the slick surface for a moment before tipping sideways and starting to sink.

“No!” Warlow howled, ripping off his robe and wading into the black waters, Declan and Andy momentarily forgotten.

“We have to go.” Declan grabbed Andy’s arm and yanked him to his feet. He ran as fast as he could, half dragging Andy up the path back to Stonecliff.

“I can’t keep up,” Andy said, panting.

“You have to,” Declan told him. “We have to find Carly then get out of here.”

Andy stumbled and fell on the leaves scattered over the forest. Declan grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

“I can’t,” Andy whispered. “I’m too dizzy.”

“Just keep going. We’re almost there.”

And they were running again. Declan held on to Andy’s arm while he stumbled along the path, then burst from the tress into the courtyard.

“Oh, God, no.” Mind-numbing fear nearly dropped Declan to his knees. He stopped running, the rubber soles of his sneakers slipping on the gravel. Stonecliff stood before them, smoke streaming from the roof. Flames licked from broken windows as if hell had exploded inside.