Читать книгу Return To Falcon Ridge - Rita Herron - Страница 11

“Leave Wildcat Manor or die.”

Panic pumped through Elsie. The man’s acrid breath brushed her ear, and he loosened his grip on the pillow slightly. “Let the dead rest in peace,” he murmured. “Or you’ll be one of them.”

Icy fingers of fear tore up her spine, and she tried to wrench herself away. The years rolled back as if it had only been seconds since she’d run from Wildcat Manor.

The devil was in the house and he’d come to get her. Unspeakable horrors awaited.

He slid one hand down to her throat. His fingers dug into her skin, and Elsie summoned her fighter spirit. She’d found it the night she’d murdered Howard Hodges. And on the streets she’d practically become an animal.

She had to act now. A second longer, and he would cut off her windpipe completely.

Gathering her strength, she thrust her elbow up sharply, catching him in the ribs. He yelped and loosened his hold at the unexpected blow. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she spun around and stared at him, trying to see his face, but a long black cloak shrouded her view. He lurched forward, but she jabbed his eyes with her fingers, then rammed her fist into his belly. He bellowed in pain, grabbed her hair and yanked her head so hard pain rippled through her scalp. Then he flung her across the room. Like a beast, he shot toward her with a roar.

She scrambled away, reached for the fire poker and swung it sideways at his legs. The metal end hit him in the groin, and he doubled over. She jumped to her feet and ran from the room, down the steps, nearly tripping in her haste.

Outside, the wind howled and rain pounded the ground. She grabbed her purse and ran toward her car in her pajamas. Barefoot, the ice stung her feet, sharp pains knifing through her toes. Running as fast as she could, she jumped inside her car and locked the door. Her hands shook as she tried to insert the key. It jammed. Good grief, she had it upside down! She had to hurry!

The roar from the porch bled through the haze of fear, and she glanced up to see the creature running toward her. She cried out and tried the key again, hands trembling. But this time she got it in and the engine sparked to life.

He raced after her, his cloak billowing around him, but she gunned the engine and flew down the mountain.

DEKE JERKED AWAKE with a start. Something was wrong. He sensed it.

Rising quickly, he jerked on a pair of jeans, boots and a denim shirt, then grabbed his coat and headed into the wooded mountains. Were the birds of prey in danger? Were there werecats preying on others or was the old man senile?

No, Elsie was in trouble.

He’d felt an instant connection with her just as he did with some animals, as if his sixth sense told him they were now bonded.

He considered driving straight to the orphanage, but decided he’d scare her to death if he appeared at her door this early. He could go in on foot, though, and watch the house. Wait for the sun to break through the clouds. Then pay her a visit.

Snow and ice crunched beneath his feet as he hiked deep into the forest and climbed toward Wildcat Manor. Inhaling the fresh raw scent of pine and winter, he paused to check the area for any injured animals, but saw nothing. Yet he sensed the evil. The predators. That there might be wildcats hiding behind the trees, sneaking through the forest. Or hybrids—human animals…

The uncanny feeling that Elsie was in danger here in Wildcat hit him again, this time so strong he began to jog.

Nearby, animals scrounged for food in the bed of ice and dead leaves. The piercing eyes of a wild animal, maybe a bobcat or mountain lion, caused him to pause, and he searched the trees for predators. Was the old man at the motel right? Were there strange creatures in these woods? Was the devil really hiding behind the shadows of the caves and snow-laden trees?

He came to a ridge that jutted out overlooking the valley, giving him a clear view of Wildcat Manor, which was only a quarter mile above him. He stepped onto the precipice, sensing the hollow emptiness below and the churning tide of tension in the area. Secrets. Evil. The town of the damned.

He had to know what had happened here.

He scanned the mountain property housing Wildcat Manor and glimpsed a swish of black feathers flying along the top of the house. Vultures. They squawked, falling into predator mode, circling and spiraling downward toward the chimney as if they had just found fresh fodder.

His stomach clenched. Elsie. Years of honed instincts roared with the certainty that she was in trouble.

Adrenaline kicking in, he sprinted up the hill. Veering between the massive trees and brush was second nature, expecting the worst a nightmare that dogged him daily. What if something had happened to Elsie last night? Or this morning?

What if he’d misjudged her and she’d run again or someone had hurt her? What would he tell Deanna?

He increased his pace, climbing higher, higher, ignoring the biting cold and brisk wind. He was one with the birds.

The metallic taste of death sent a flood of bile to his throat. He had to hurry.

PANIC ROLLED THROUGH Elsie in waves. Where could she go now? What should she do?

The tremors intensified as she remembered the dark-cloaked attacker, but she quickly banished them. She was alive. She had fought him off.

And she was going to survive. No one was going to scare her away.

But she needed protection.

She’d buy a gun today, install dead bolts on the doors and get the power connected so she wouldn’t have to live in the darkness.

For now, she needed coffee to warm her and help her stop trembling. But she couldn’t go inside the town café wearing her pajamas. There was an all-night diner on the edge of town with a drive-through window. She headed toward it, slowing her pace as the rain intensified. Another car met her at the foot of the mountain, and she blinked, tensing as it approached. But the sedan flew by her, and veered onto another street that led to the river.

Her breathing finally steadied as she approached the diner. The temptation to go inside where she would be safe taunted her. Yet no one in this town had helped her ten years ago. Why would she think they might now? And if she told the police…

They might look into her story. Maybe her past. And she would go to jail for murder. Now that Hattie Mae had died, there was no one to verify that she was telling the truth. Admitting to killing Howard Hodges would be foolish.

Shivering at the thought of that horrible night, she rolled down the window at the drive-through, wishing she had a coat to hide her predicament.

A balding middle-aged man with a missing tooth narrowed his eyes at her momentarily, then grinned. “What can I do for you?”

She shuddered, then realized he probably assumed she was picking up coffee for her and an overnight lover. Let him think what he wanted. She’d long ago lost a good-girl’s reputation. Survival was all that mattered.

“A large coffee,” she said.

“Breakfast with that, ma’am?”

Her stomach was churning too badly to eat. But she’d need something later. In her haste to escape Deke Falcon, she hadn’t stopped to shop.

“Yes, a…a biscuit and sausage.

“Coming right up.”

She dug in her purse and handed him a twenty. With a toothless grin, he dropped the change into her hand, then shoved the food toward her.

She placed the paper bag on the seat beside her, taking a small sip of her coffee as she pulled away from the window. Still shaken, she parked in the corner and tried to calm herself before she headed back to Wildcat Manor.

She’d come too far to turn back now. Her destiny was here, she knew it.

Her breathing rattled in the quiet as she started back up the mountain a few minutes later. Dawn broke the sky, but dark storm clouds obliterated the light. When she pulled up to the manor, her heart clenched. Could she really face her demons?

Yes, she had to or she’d be hiding out the rest of her life. And she didn’t want to hide out. She wanted a life.

She took a deep breath, circled her hand around the mace in her purse, grabbed the food and coffee and climbed out, scanning the woods and property as she neared the porch. The forest seemed ominous, shadows clinging to the thick rows of trees, but she saw no one. Her heart racing, she slowly walked up the steps, listening for sounds that her attacker had returned.

Suddenly a man stepped from the shadows.

Deke Falcon. Tall. Imposing. His dark expression was hooded. But his eyes flared with questions.

He squared those broad shoulders, making him look even more intimidating. So he had followed her to Wildcat. Did he know about her past?

A shudder splintered through her.

Was he the man who’d attacked her?

“ELSIE?”

“What are you doing here?” she said, although her voice came out a mere whisper, fading in the wind.

“I have to talk to you.” He narrowed his eyes, wondering why in the hell she was outside, had been driving, in her pajamas. His gaze fell to her feet, and he grimaced. She had to be freezing. Her toes were red, the sharp sting of cold flushing her face, and she was trembling.

“Were you in my house earlier?”

He shook his head. “No, why do you ask?”

She shrugged, her teeth chattering, the coffee cup in her hand wavering.

“Come inside and get warmed up,” he said in a gruff voice. “I swear, I’m not here to hurt you.”

Her chin jerked up, a wariness there that cut him to the bone. Women had been scared of him before. His family history. His size, his brusque manner, his frown—he knew he looked cold, that women found him imposing. It had never bothered him before.

But Elsie looked like a small kitten, and he felt like an ogre knowing that he’d frightened her. What had happened to make her so distrustful?

“You followed me,” she said in an accusatory voice, making no attempt to go inside or come near him. “I want to know why.”

“I’ll explain when we get inside.” He removed his faded leather jacket, then lifted it in offering to her. She shook her head, and anger hit him.

“For God’s sake, Elsie, I’m not going to hurt you. I came here to help you.” His mouth clenched when she backed away. But he managed to catch her, then slid the coat around her trembling shoulders. “Come on. I refuse to stand out here and watch you freeze. Your feet are going to be frostbitten.”

Her mouth parted in a small strangled sound, but he ignored it and coaxed her up the steps and inside. The interior was dark, and she set the bag and coffee down, then grabbed a lantern. He took it from her and lit it.

“Is the power off?”

“I’ll have it connected today.”

“I’ll build a fire then.”

She hesitated, but he ignored her as he glanced around to find the den or parlor, whatever they called it in this monstrosity. Old dusty furniture, macabre paintings and cobwebs made the place feel dreary. And a collection of stuffed wildlife including a hawk, a mountain lion and a raccoon occupied the corner near the fireplace. Anger surged through him at the sight. He wondered how she’d stayed here the night before. Or ever.

A stack of wood by a fireplace in the room to the right drew his eyes, and he strode toward it. Within seconds, he’d built a fire. The warmth from the blaze lit the room, knocking off the worst of the bitter chill.

Elsie moved near the heat, keeping a safe distance, but shrugged off his coat. She quickly grabbed a blanket off the sofa and wrapped it around her, still hugging the coffee to her, but curling within it as if the blanket and fire offered her protection.

“Why were you out in your pajamas?” he asked.

“I…someone broke in and attacked me this morning,” she said in a faint whisper. “W-was it you?”

He swallowed hard. He’d never been good with women, but the fact that she thought he might have attacked her made his gut churn. Still, he lowered his voice, containing his emotions. “No, Elsie. I stayed at the inn down the road. Mountain Man’s Lodge. You can call and ask Homer if you want.” He cleared his throat, more alert. “Did he hurt you?”

“No…I’m okay.” She rubbed at her neck and his gaze fell to her pale skin. Bruises marked the edge of her collarbone and neck.

He gritted his jaw. “Did you call the police?”

“No.”

Panic tightened her face, and he frowned. He reached for the cell phone clipped to his belt. “Do you want me to call them?”

She stared down into her coffee. “No…please don’t.”

“Why not?”

She self-consciously tried to hide the bruise with her hand. “I just don’t trust them,” she whispered.

He gave her a clipped nod, although her fear of the police raised his suspicions. Why wouldn’t she report the attack? Was she in trouble with the cops?

“Would you tell me if you had broken in?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not a liar,” he said in a gruff voice. “And I’m going to search the house to make sure he isn’t still here.”

Her eyes widened when he bent over and retrieved his gun from the strap beneath his jeans. “What is that for?”

“Protection. I don’t intend to meet an intruder unarmed.” Ignoring the fear on her face, he stalked through the rooms, his senses on alert. First the drab kitchen, then the dining area, then the master suite. There was no evidence that Elsie had stayed in the room, making him curious. But the dark furnishings, lack of natural light and old-fashioned furnace reminded him of Falcon Ridge when he was growing up. Now, Rex had renovated the place and updated it, it had a homey feeling, not as daunting as the stone walls that their mother had hated.

Slowly he padded up the stairs, pausing every few steps to listen. He’d half expected Elsie to follow, but she must have decided she was safer in the den away from him, close to the front door so she could run if she needed to. The realization stung, but he ignored it. Why did he care what Elsie Timmons thought of him?

He veered to the left and found a wing composed of two large bedrooms that appeared to be dorm rooms for the orphans. Several small cots lined each pea green wall, the faded gold spreads and dusty furniture a sign that the place had been deserted for some time. The walls were scarred, a threadbare ratty yellow curtain hung askew, and a battered wooden toy box sat in one corner. An image of lonely children locked in the glum rooms brought a flash of sympathy. Had the toy chest ever held toys? Had the children celebrated Christmases and birthdays and gotten presents?

Had Elsie been one of those kids? He had to find out why she had come here….

He found a similar wing to the right, then a smaller private bedroom that actually felt more normal. The furniture was oak, not new, but not weathered like the children’s rooms. He scanned the corners before entering, then realized Elsie had slept in this smaller room. The unmade bed indicated she had left in a hurry.

Had the man attacked her here?

He stepped forward, and examined the rumpled bed-clothes, but saw nothing that might identify her attacker. A suitcase was open in the corner, and a small travel bag sat on the floor in the bathroom, but there was no intruder. Anxious to get back to her, he noticed a door to an attic, but it was locked on the outside, so the intruder couldn’t have entered through it. He also spotted a similar lock on the basement door on the main floor.

She glanced up at him when he entered, still wary, but at least she had stopped shivering. And she hadn’t run, either.

“I didn’t see anyone. Do you know how he got in?”

A curtain of her long curly hair fell across one cheek. “No.”

“Were the basement and attic doors locked last night?”

She shivered visibly. “Yes. They stay locked.”

He walked back to the fire and started to kneel in front of her, but she drew back her shoulders and he paused, keeping his distance. He had to win her trust if he was going to convince her to return to Falcon Ridge with him.

“Did you see what the man looked like?” he asked.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and she sipped the coffee. “No, but he had the devil’s eyes,” she said in a low voice.

He frowned. “And you thought it was me?” Anger hardened his voice this time as the memory of his father being falsely accused of murder raced back.

She shrugged. “You are following me. I…still don’t know the reason.”

He heaved a breath. If she believed the tales about the devil living in the woods and thought he’d attacked her, maybe she wasn’t quite stable. How could he take her back to Falcon Ridge like this? Deanna Timmons would be devastated.

“Either tell me or get out,” she said, her voice stronger.

He nodded, considered a lie, but that wouldn’t be fair and would only prolong the process. He needed to know if she wanted to go home to see her mother. Then he could decide what to do.

“Your mother hired me to find you.”

Elsie gasped, a strained silence stretching between them. She’d almost gotten her trembling under control, but the cruelty of his statement triggered another onslaught. Her hand shook so hard she sloshed coffee over her fingers and had to set the cup down. His eyes pierced her. But he said nothing, simply waited.

Pain so raw and deep she felt as if she’d been sliced open tore through her. How many times had she told herself it didn’t matter that her mother had sent her away? That no one wanted her?

Elsie finally found her voice, although she hated the tears that laced it. “You’re lying,” she choked out. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He arched a black eyebrow. “I’m not lying, Elsie. It’s true. She sent me to find you.”

The anger she’d relied on for years resurfaced to give her strength. “My mother is dead,” she snapped. “Now, get out of here.”