Читать книгу Phantom Lover - Rebecca York, Rebecca York - Страница 9

Troy London squinted against the wind blowing salt spray into his face and matting the dark hair to his forehead. Tipping back his head, he looked up to the cliffs at the great house towering above the ocean.

Ravencrest. The estate his great-grandfather had built. For the first time in months he felt the joy of coming home to this place. Well, a muted joy, with the present problems hanging over him. But he would solve them— one way or the other. And then he’d get his life back on track again.

Deftly he maneuvered the small craft through the swells, finding the calm channel between the towering rocks.

He had sailed these waters since he was a boy. For sport and for the challenge of pitting his mind and body against the elements.

He found the ring anchored to the rock and tied up the boat, then waited for a swell to crest before stepping off onto the landing platform, slippery with ocean water. Using the familiar handholds, he climbed the rough-hewn steps toward the top of the cliff.

He could have approached the house from the headlands. But then he would be visible from the west-facing windows. Instead, he stopped at the entrance to one of the secret tunnels carved into the stone. Opening the door, he slipped into a dark passage.

A flashlight was hanging from the wall, and he used it to guide his way up a steep slope and then more stairs.

At breakfast he’d announced his intention to go sailing. He’d made sure they saw him heading out into the ocean. But he’d come back sooner than they expected, hugging the coast to keep from being spotted.

And now perhaps he could get the evidence he needed, because he wouldn’t act without proof.

A sick feeling overtook him. It was tinged with his own guilt—over what he’d done and what he hadn’t done, if the truth be told.

Still, he’d expected better than this, and he’d thought long and hard about what to do. He was still hoping he was mistaken. Hoping against hope that he’d read all the signals wrong.

Stopping at a fork in the passage, he listened intently, then moved silent as a panther toward one of the rooms.

He’d laid a trap there the day before. Now he would see what he had caught.

He set down the flashlight, then pressed on a hidden panel and stepped into the back of a closet. Slowly he opened the door, just enough to see into the room. The man was there, just as he’d suspected, just as he’d feared.

“What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low and steady as he walked into the room.

The man’s eyes widened. “Where did you come from?”

“That’s not important. Answer my question.” He walked forward, his gaze focused on the interloper, so that he didn’t see that another person was standing in the bathroom.

At the last second a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye and he realized his mistake. But it was too late. The blow came crashing down on his head. And then there was only blackness.