Loe raamatut: «Return To Stony Ridge»
Fear-fed adrenaline surged through her
Then as suddenly as it started, the attack was over. He released her and stepped back, holding the gun.
“Sorry,” RJ told her. “My house, my rules.”
He opened the cylinder and dropped the shells into the palm of his hand. Tossing them to her, he held her gaze.
“You keep the bullets. I’ll keep the gun.”
She was trembling all over, from shock and fear.
“Feel free to leave if you want, but if you go out to your car, you won’t be coming back inside tonight.”
Teri believed him. She knew he had no reason to trust her or to know if she had another weapon in the car.
“For what it’s worth, Teri, if I’d wanted to attack you, I’d have done so. I prefer a willing partner.”
Return to Stony Ridge
Dani Sinclair
MILLS & BOON
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For women of courage everywhere.
Special thanks to Judy Fitzpatrick, Natashya Wilson and my own hero, Roger.
I couldn’t have done this without you guys.
And of course, for Chip and Dan and Barb as always.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. With the premiere of Mystery Baby for Harlequin Intrigue in 1996, Dani’s kept her computer busy ever since. Her third novel, Better Watch Out, was a RITA® Award finalist in 1998. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source for both intrigue and humor!
You can write to her in care of the Harlequin Reader Service.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Teri Johnson—This intriguing P.I. has a whopping secret.
RJ Monroe—Helping an old friend may have put this contractor in a killer’s sights.
Olivia Barnesly—Teri’s mysterious client has never met the woman she hired Teri to find.
Valerie Boyington—This desperate mother went missing in the dead of night.
Corey Boyington—Valerie’s son is safe—and safely hidden.
Lester Boyington—The businessman seems genuinely worried about his missing wife and son.
Wyatt Crossley—The police chief has his hands full.
Will Leftcowitz—He wasn’t always a groundskeeper.
Mrs. Norwhich—The cook may be lacking in personality, but she makes a mean sandwich.
George and Emily Walken—The kind older couple have taken in foster children for most of their married lives.
Kathy Walsh—The housekeeper can relate to the women at Heartskeep.
Ian, Nola and Boone—The kids swear there’s someone—or something—moving around Heartskeep after dark.
Lucky—RJ’s dog has lived up to his name more than once.
Contents
Prologue
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
Prologue
Late April
Rain lashed the car. It was all he could do to hold it steady as the storm swirled around them. He could barely see the narrow, twisting road despite the frequent tongues of lightning in the night sky. Next to him, his wife slumped still and silent, her head flopping against the side window. In the backseat, the baby cried. The woman beside the baby stirred and moaned softly.
Finally, his straining headlights picked up the gleam of metal on the side of the road. Pulling up beside the parked vehicle, he stopped. In seconds, he was drenched as he transferred the crying child from the small car to the larger SUV.
Returning to the car, he hauled his sister-in-law’s half-conscious form from the backseat and placed her behind the steering column of the small car. Despite her bruised face, she managed to open one eye and look at him accusingly.
“You should have minded your own business,” he told her. He swung, enjoying the power as his fist smashed into her face once more and he felt her cheekbone shatter. Her head pitched forward, hitting the steering wheel. Even though there was no one around to hear, he was glad she missed the horn. He positioned her body carefully, placing her foot on the gas pedal and using her heavy purse to hold it there. Lowering both side windows, he moved her unresisting hands to the wheel and glanced toward his wife. She hadn’t moved, though he had jostled her getting her sister into position. Her head now slumped forward, away from the window. It was possible she was already dead. He didn’t bother to check.
The roadway slanted steeply toward the narrow bridge over Leary Creek. Water lapped at the road, inching its way up the black surface in his direction. The top of the guardrail was the only visible indication of where the bridge stood. The creek was a swollen, raging river after two days of continuous heavy rain, and the angry water continued to rise with impossible speed, cascading across the bridge with a terrible roar.
Aiming the car, he put it in gear and quickly leaped back out of the way. The car lurched forward, gathering speed as it rolled toward the rising water.
Lightning and thunder crashed overhead. He watched the car plunge into the water where it was caught in the fierce current. The small vehicle instantly began drifting in the direction of the water’s flow—over the bridge. Impatiently, he waited as it hung on the guardrail until a wave of debris-filled water washed against it with stunning force. The car was lifted and sent tumbling along with the swiftly flowing current until the open windows invited the waves inside. The car sank from view a moment later.
He tossed the roiling water a jaunty salute. “Goodbye, wife.”
Then he hurried back to his son and the dry warmth of the waiting SUV.
Chapter One
Mid-September
The darkness beyond the rain-streaked window was as tempting as it was scary. Ten-year-old Ian Sutter peered through the pane of glass at the blurry line of trees that formed a forbidding barrier stopping the expansive lawn in its tracks. The tree’s ghostly limbs swayed ominously as a gust of wind sped by.
Ian shivered. Had he really seen something move in their stark depths? He surveyed the dark bedroom. He wanted to climb back into bed and curl up beneath the covers, but he couldn’t do that. He was late. It was past time to start his patrol. His mother slept soundly in the big bed across from him. It wouldn’t do to wake her.
He felt the familiar coil of helplessness when he thought about his mom. Ian hated that he was only ten. He wanted to be older, bigger, stronger. Strong enough to keep anyone from ever hurting her again.
Ian slid out of bed. He patrolled the scary old house every night to be sure no one had found a way inside after the adults had gone to bed. His mother believed they were safe behind the gates and locked doors of Heartskeep, but Ian didn’t believe it for a minute. They’d never be safe if he found out where they were.
Patrolling was important. Flashlight in hand, Ian slipped out the door and started down the narrow back staircase. Mrs. Norwhich, the cook, always left a night-light on in the huge kitchen, but tonight there was no light. The room was a vast black shadow despite the bank of windows along the rear wall.
Ian shivered. He wasn’t afraid of the dark. He was cold, that was all. His flashlight beam swept the empty room, allowing shadows to dance about the walls. He clicked the beam off to conserve his batteries and crossed to check that the alarm system was softly glowing red. It was. And the door was bolted, as it should have been. By touch he could also tell that each window was locked.
About to turn away, he froze. Something had moved outside. Heart pounding, he waited, his eyes straining to see across the grass to the opening where the maze led toward the fountain. At first, nothing happened, but he knew he hadn’t imagined the motion. An indistinct figure suddenly appeared in the maze opening. It stood as still as death, barely visible as it gazed up at the house. Ian drew back hastily. The figure vanished. He was almost certain it had been the blond ghost.
He waited for several long minutes, but nothing else moved.
A man or a ghost?
Ian panted as excitement warred with fear. He wanted it to be the ghost. He was far less afraid of ghosts. Unless…would the ghost be angry he’d been spying? Would it come for him if it was?
The ghost wouldn’t hurt him. Ghosts couldn’t hurt people.
Could they?
For a moment, he wondered if he should tell someone what he’d seen. Not his mother. He’d just upset her, and she wouldn’t believe him, anyhow. She hadn’t before when he’d tried to tell her about the man who’d disappeared in the corner of the dining room. She’d told him she didn’t believe in ghosts. Then she’d hugged him with her good arm and started to cry. He didn’t like to make his mother cry. It made him feel all sick inside.
Mrs. Walsh would listen. She always listened. But even she would think he’d been dreaming. Ian continued to stare out toward the maze. Leaves kicked about by the slight breeze rustled across the grass. Nothing else moved.
He fingered his flashlight nervously. He was pretty sure ghosts couldn’t hurt people. Better to finish his rounds and go back upstairs. There was nothing anyone could do about a ghost. But he’d hurry just in case it came inside again.
A SOFT CLOUD OF MIST drifted above the eerie trees and began to settle like a fine white shroud, blurring the dark ribbon of road stretching before her. Her headlights cut such a dim swath through the darkness they were all but useless. White-knuckled, Teri Johnson gripped the steering wheel as the trees swayed overhead. She forced tired eyes to stare through the windshield, pretty sure she was lost again.
Her instinctive dislike of the mysterious R.J. Monroe escalated another notch. If not for his interference she could have rescued Valerie and Corey this morning. She’d been so close!
Teri blinked wearily. Her need for sleep was growing critical. The few winks she’d snatched on the front seat of her car while waiting for the fog to dissipate this morning hadn’t been nearly enough. Every time she thought about how close she’d come to being caught inside the old farmhouse, adrenaline jazzed her all over again.
She’d been driving for eight to ten hours now, thanks to that blasted detour, and if she didn’t find the turnoff leading to Monroe’s place in another few minutes she was going to…
What? Turn around and go back? Not an option.
Pull over and have a good cry? Certainly appealing, but a waste of time.
Where was the blasted turnoff? The man at the gas station hadn’t implied it was this far out. But what had he said? She couldn’t remember and the mist was turning to rain, making visibility a joke.
She heard the raspy sound of her breathing in the quiet of the car as her tension increased. She could no longer see the asphalt well enough to spot any standing water before she drove into it. She had to turn back.
Then she spotted a road to her left unmarked by lights. Only a dim reflection off the street sign told her she’d found her turn. In her relief and haste, she didn’t see the water until it was splashing against the car wheels, bringing her heart into her throat.
Teri drew a ragged breath of relief as she cleared the water. Her hands were slick and they trembled. What had she been thinking? She should have waited for morning. She was too tired for a confrontation tonight.
“Heck of a time to come to that decision.”
And she was talking to herself again. Great.
This was a bad idea. She really should turn around, find a motel for the night and come back first thing in the morning. But up ahead was a badly listing mailbox. Without it, Teri would have driven past without spotting the narrow driveway.
She braked. There was no name on the mailbox, but this had to be the place. The attendant had said the house was well off the main road, but this entrance couldn’t have been better hidden if it had been planned that way.
Maybe it had been.
Or maybe she was in the wrong place completely. Would a building contractor have a gravel driveway this deeply rutted and in such serious need of repair? Towering trees waved and bent overhead. The wind was doing its best to shake the leaves from their branches. Beginning to yellow for the season, they flattened across her windshield, clinging to the glass and defying the wipers that threatened to rip them aside.
And as the small coupe jounced and splashed its way over the deep ruts, her misgivings turned to certainty. Driving up to a stranger’s front door at this hour of the night was a stupid thing to do. Teri knew nothing about R.J. Monroe except that he’d come between her and her goal. Maybe she should think through her approach instead of simply barging up there and challenging the man. What if he wasn’t alone?
What if he was?
Spotting a small break in the trees lining the right side of the driveway, Teri slipped the car into the grassy clearing and switched off the headlights. The house, ablaze with lights, loomed ahead. She stared at the lovely old structure, hungry for repairs to the sagging front porch and the chipped, damaged gingerbread finish. The clapboards badly needed paint, while the weedy, overgrown front yard cried out for pruning and decent landscaping.
If Monroe was a general contractor, would his place really look like this? Talk about bad advertising. But maybe he’d just bought the house and was planning to restore it. There was a stately grandeur about the structure that had appeal despite its condition.
Thunder boomed overhead, drawing her out of her strange reverie. The rain had become a storm sweeping in undetected. Although every minute counted, common sense told her to head back to civilization until morning.
But she was so close.
And so was the storm bringing more rain. Water already pooled at the bottom of this street. More rain meant deeper water.
Putting the car in reverse, Teri backed under the trees in an effort to get the car turned around. The rear wheels began to sink.
“No!”
Bogged in mud, the tires spun uselessly. Sweating, she tried to calm, rocking the car forward and back. She didn’t have to get out and look to know she had made the situation worse. She was good and stuck unless she got some traction under those rear wheels.
Cursing, she put the car in Park and turned off the engine, mentally running through the items she had with her. She had nothing that would work. There was no help for it. She was going to have to go to the house now, if only to get some assistance.
It would be okay. She’d scope out Monroe while pretending to be a lost motorist who’d made a wrong turn. Removing her gun from her purse, Teri stuffed her keys in her pocket, pulled the hood of her jacket up around her head and stepped outside.
Immediately, wind whipped the hood down and back and sent her hair flying about her exposed face. Rain pummeled her skin. Yanking the hood back into place, she closed the car door, gave a furious glare at the half-buried rear wheel and hurried toward the brightly lit windows. Water soaked her tennis shoes and jeans in seconds.
Caution made her stop shy of the covered front porch on a rise of ground that allowed her to see inside the house clearly. The downstairs windows were bare of drapes. A string of bright floodlights illuminated the main rooms where a dusty, masculine figure bent over a makeshift worktable in the opening between the living and dining rooms.
As he straightened, she saw he was tall and lean and extremely well-muscled. His torso was bare to the waist. A pair of ragged, hacked-off jeans hardly decent enough to be called shorts covered a minimum of skin. They displayed distressingly muscular thighs and long, fit legs covered in a fine white dust like the rest of him. Thick white socks, heavy work boots, and a pair of goggles completed his attire. He definitely looked like a contractor.
It was something of a relief to see that. Obviously he had purchased the place to fix it up. Dust swirled in the air, stirred by the two giant oscillating fans he had running. They didn’t stem the sweat that sheened off the hard planes of his chest under the intensely bright lights. All the windows were closed against the storm.
Teri watched as he tugged off the goggles and rolled those firm shoulders to stretch bunched muscles. Sweat trickled down one high cheekbone, leaving a visible trail in the dust that coated his tanned face around the line left by the goggles. He wiped at it absently with the back of his arm, leaving streaks of dirt behind.
He looked tired and brooding and magnificent. She tamped down that last thought instantly as he ran long fingers through lightly curling dark hair—almost, but not quite, in need of a trim—that clung to the back of his neck.
Teri hadn’t expected him to be so big—or so strong—or so angry-looking. That last gave her pause, but at the same time there was something almost compelling about him. Mesmerized, she watched him lift a trimmed panel of drywall with an ease belied by the bunch and pull of muscles that strained across his back. For a lean man, he was deliciously well-developed. He worked the panel into place against the bared furring with deft experience. Hefting a hammer, he drove the nails in with precise hard, almost rhythmic blows that sent her blood hammering as well.
There was quiet symmetry in the way he moved, completely focused on his task. As he turned to pick up a tape measure, she had an unrestricted view of his face. The symmetry carried to his features as well. He was unsettlingly handsome, and he appeared to be completely alone until a large black animal lifted its head from its curled position on the floor.
Teri froze. The dog gathered itself slowly and stood. It shook itself and stopped. It seemed to look straight at her.
She told herself he couldn’t possibly see her, but she didn’t move. For the first time in several minutes, she became aware of her surroundings. The storm was growing in intensity. She couldn’t have been wetter if she’d gone swimming fully clothed. And she was cold. So cold her teeth were starting to chatter.
Coming here tonight had been stupid. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but this dark brooding man and his big dog weren’t it. He continued working with an economy of movement that she might have appreciated under other circumstances, but she’d swear the large dog’s gaze remained focused on her.
Better to spend another night in her car under the trees than knock on that door. There was nothing the least bit welcoming in the man’s dark scowl or the dog’s intent stare.
Lightning speared the sky. Teri turned and ran, driven by the echo of thunder in her ears.
FRUSTRATION DROVE every blow of the hammer. Guilt and anger ate at R.J. in equal parts. He’d promised Valerie she’d be safe at Heartskeep. Yet she’d gone missing all the same. Either she’d played him for a fool or he should have done more to keep her safe.
He hoped it was the former. He wasn’t sure he could live with the guilt if the person responsible for her battered condition had managed to get to her despite all the safeguards they had in place at Heartskeep.
He hadn’t seen Valerie since her brother’s funeral several years ago. Then she’d been a teenager, inconsolable over the death of the big brother who’d died so senselessly in a military training exercise. R.J. had wanted to cry as well as they lowered his best friend into the ground. And even though he’d lost touch with the family after they moved away a few months later, he’d never forget the debt he owed Eric and his family.
When the rest of Stony Ridge had labeled R.J. a troublemaker and worse, Eric’s family had welcomed him into their home, treating him as they did all Eric’s friends, making him feel at ease the same way his foster parents had done.
Lightning flared so close that a thunderclap rattled the windows. Without warning, the house plunged into cavernous black and abrupt silence, save for the howling of the wind and the battering rain.
R.J. tore his thoughts from the past and swore. “Great. Just great.”
Lucky suddenly flew to the front door. The low, deep growl of warning that issued from his throat captured R.J.’s full attention.
“It’s just a storm, fella.”
Lucky clawed at the door intently, demanding it open.
“What’s wrong, boy?”
Not a deer or squirrel. Not in this storm. And as the skies lit once more, he glimpsed a human figure running down the drive.
Valerie?
The surge of hope had him twisting the doorknob before his brain could assimilate how unlikely that was. She didn’t know where he lived.
Lucky shouldered the door aside before he could grab the dog’s collar and bounded out into the storm.
“Lucky! Get back here!”
He might as well have ordered the wind. Lucky plunged down the steps as if all hell wasn’t breaking loose around him. R.J. cursed and went after him. He was pretty sure Lucky wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he’d never heard the big dog growl like that before.
In a wicked display of light and noise, a large tree limb crashed to the ground, sprawling across the mouth of the driveway. The slender figure had been heading toward the tree line, but suddenly changed direction and ran toward the limb instead. The person was unaware of Lucky gaining at his heels.
Devil’s forks plunged to earth around the pair with reckless abandon. They’d all be lucky if they weren’t skewered by flying debris or electrocuted by lightning.
Rain hammered his bare skin, driving R.J.’s eyes nearly closed. He saw the figure begin to tug uselessly at the thick limb as Lucky caught up. Cursing under his breath, R.J. put on a burst of speed. By the time he reached them, the figure had backed against the fallen limb and was waving a large stick aggressively in Lucky’s direction.
“Lucky! Sit!”
Not that he expected the dog to obey even if he’d heard the shouted order over the storm. Lucky wasn’t real clear on commands. He knew what the words meant, he just wasn’t convinced they applied to him.
Lucky barked. He cocked his head at the stick, as if trying to determine the rules of this new game. And the person was so intent on the dog that R.J. realized he’d gone unnoticed. As the person swung the stick at Lucky, R.J. reached out and intercepted the blow, wrenching the stick away. The person whirled to face this new threat as Lucky barked happily.
Not Valerie, but a woman nonetheless. Her fear-filled eyes were as wild as the storm.
“It’s okay,” he shouted to be heard over the storm. “He won’t hurt you. We’ve got to get inside!”
“No!”
There wasn’t time to argue. Energy sizzled in the air around them. Thunder bellowed and before she realized what he was going to do, he stepped forward and lifted her off her feet. She screamed and fought him as he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of wet cement.
Except cement would have been more cooperative. There wasn’t an ounce of cooperation in this sodden woman. He had to pin her legs so she couldn’t kick him, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about the hands that pummeled his bare back.
Lucky barked his approval of this new and exciting game. Lightning momentarily blinded him as he hurried back up the drive with his burden. R.J. figured if they made it back inside without getting killed, it would be a miracle.
By the time he mounted the steps, he was breathing heavily. He opened the door, took four steps inside and dumped her on her feet. She scrambled away, stumbling in her haste. He ignored her to close and lock the door behind Lucky, who promptly began to shake the water free from his fur all over the hall.
“Lucky, no!” He made another grab for the animal’s collar. “Not in here! Come on, we’ll go to the mudroom…”
His voice tapered off as he found himself facing the business end of a small but lethal-looking gun.
“…or not.”
She’d backed against the far wall. Her wide eyes had lost only a little of that frenzied wildness he had glimpsed outside.
Frustrated and more than a little annoyed, R.J. stared at the weapon in her hand. Even if he and Lucky had scared her half to death, the idea that she’d pull a gun on him in his own house made him angry.
“Put that thing away,” he demanded.
She took a shuddery breath. “Not a chance.”
As though finally sensing the dangerous atmosphere between the humans, Lucky plopped to a sitting position at R.J.’s feet, gazing between them with soulful eyes. His whine seemed to ask what had gone wrong.
“Stay where you are,” she commanded.
With a quick shake of her own head, she tossed back long matted strands of hair, sending droplets of water flying much as Lucky had done.
The low-voiced contralto was husky and a bit shaky, but she was in control, which was a major relief. At least she wouldn’t pull the trigger by accident.
She was a bedraggled sight with her sodden hair plastered to her head and face. Her jacket and jeans were sopping wet, as well. She reminded him of a drowned puppy. One with teeth, he decided, eyeing the gun.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You’ve got that right.”
She had guts he’d give her that much.
“Look, I’m sorry if I scared you, but we couldn’t stand around out there and you didn’t look as though you were going to listen to reason.”
“I said, don’t move!”
He halted the step he’d started to take in her direction. She was scared. Scared people with guns were apt to do stupid things. Like shoot someone.
“Fine. I’m not moving. What are you doing here?”
He knew he sounded angry, but staring down the barrel of a gun seemed to have that effect on him.
“Trying to leave,” she retorted.
“Great! Don’t let me stop you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You just did.”
“My mistake. Go.” He waved a hand toward the door.
She glared as more of the wildness faded from her gaze.
“My car’s stuck in the mud,” she admitted reluctantly.
That figured. “Where?”
She raised her chin defiantly. “Under some trees at the side of your driveway. I need help getting it out.”
He nodded at the gun. “You’ve got a strange way of asking for help, lady.”
“You grabbed me,” she pointed out. And she didn’t lower the gun.
“It was hardly a thrill. You were about to get us all killed out there. Or maybe you didn’t notice that lightning. It was practically coming down on top of us.”
“I was trying to move that branch.”
He stared at her, saw she was serious and shook his head. “You need a chainsaw.”
“So help me.”
“Not a chance, lady. I’m not suicidal. Take a look out there!”
A shiver ran through her. He decided she wasn’t going to shoot him and gave her his best glare.
“And put that thing away before you hurt someone.”
He took a step forward. Her hand tightened convulsively. Maybe she would shoot him after all. The fear was back in her eyes. He felt a twinge of guilt, but shook it aside.
“Look, I’ve had it with you. Either shoot me or don’t, but I’ve got things to do. One of those lightning strikes took out the power. Now if holding that gun makes you feel more secure, feel free, but I have to go out back to start the generator.”
R.J. suited action to words, moving with deliberate care as he started into the living room. She tensed. So did he, but the half-expected sound of a gunshot didn’t come. He continued through the dining room and out to the kitchen, releasing his breath.
Lucky padded ahead, hoping for a treat. After a second, R.J. sensed her following them.
“Watch where you step,” he cautioned gruffly without turning around. He paused to turn off the turbo fans as he went past so they wouldn’t blare to life once he started the generator.
“Are you lost?” he asked without looking at her.
“Not if you’re R.J. Monroe.”
Tasuta katkend on lõppenud.
