Читать книгу The Secret Heiress - Terri Reed - Страница 10
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“Hey, Cavanaugh, lady here to see you.”
Amid the buzz of conversations, phones ringing and the faint sound of keyboards that served as background noise at the offices of Trent Associates, Donovan Cavanaugh saved the document he was working on—the final report on the case he’d just wrapped up.
A real doozy. He’d provided protection for a manager turned whistleblower of a pharmaceutical company. The guy’s conscience hadn’t allowed him to ignore the release of a drug with adverse side effects, regardless of the company bigwigs wanting to make all the money they could without informing the public of the hazards.
He pushed his chair away from the desk. “Name?”
“Gorgeous. At least that’s what I’d name her,” Kyle Martin said from the doorway of the “war room,” the place where each Trent employee had his or her own space—desk, phone, laptop and file cabinet—within the brownstone of Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood that housed the protection specialists agency. Kyle grinned, his too-handsome face beaming, making him look younger than twenty-nine.
Okay, the laid-back attitude helped make the perennial surfer dude seem young, too. But Don knew better than to underestimate his colleague, no matter how young he looked. Kyle was good at what he did. He’d been a SEAL before James Trent brought him on board. Those guys were as tough as they were smart.
Dubbed the best in the business of protection, Trent Associates employed ten operatives, all highly trained with either a background in military like Don or in law enforcement.
“Did Gorgeous say what she wanted?”
Kyle wiggled his eyebrows. “You, dude. She wants you.”
A low whistle came from Don’s right. Ex-paratrooper and definite ladies’ man Trevor Jordan smirked. “Sounds interesting. Something we should know about?”
Ignoring Trevor’s and the other curious glances aimed his way, Don strode to the door. “Where’s Lisa?” The young woman who usually manned the agency’s front desk would have been more discreet in announcing a potential client.
“On lunch break.” Kyle dogged his steps down the hall. “I’m covering the front desk.”
A smart retort froze on Don’s tongue the second his gaze landed on the petite brunette dwarfed by the ten-foot-tall Christmas tree in the “client” room just off the entryway. She had her back to him, but he didn’t need to see her face to recognize the pretty woman who’d once captured his attention.
She inspected an ornament. A gold, sparkly star. Her small, delicate hands trembled.
As the name “Gorgeous” echoed with unerring accuracy inside his head, he forced out her real name. “Caroline?”
She turned around. Her big amber-colored eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. A square white bandage, in stark contrast to her olive skin, covered half her forehead. Not that anything could mar her looks. She was still as beautiful as he remembered.
He hated the vulnerability he saw on her pretty face. Concern and something distinctly protective hammered at him. “What’s going on?”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Don, I need to hire you. Someone’s trying to kill me.”
Absorbing the announcement with surprise, Don was at her side in two strides.
“Come, sit down.” He took her by the arm and led her to one of the cushy sofas. “Tell me what’s happened so we can figure out what to do next.”
“I—” She took a shuddering breath. “When I got home from work yesterday, my apartment door had been wired with explosives. The police are investigating.”
Don sucked in a sharp breath of shock. A bomb. His right hand flexed, stretching the scar tissue along the outer edge. His gaze went to the bandage on her head. “Are you okay?”
She touched her fingertip to her forehead. “Yes. A mild concussion. My hearing still isn’t completely back, since part of my front door hit me in the head.”
He sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that she hadn’t suffered worse injury. There was no mistaking the fear on her face. He understood. He’d felt the same way the first time he’d faced a life-threatening situation during his military tour. Only time and repeated exposure to danger had dulled the panic. His faith had kept him sane. But this wasn’t a war zone. Caroline shouldn’t have to be afraid in her own home.
“You did the right thing coming here. Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”
Visibly shaking, she nodded.
He gathered her cold hands in his and rubbed them. Appreciation flared in her eyes.
“For a month, I kept seeing the same man hanging around my apartment building, my shop, even the grocery store. Then last week my apartment was broken into. The intruder left the place a mess and yet nothing was missing, as far as I could tell. The police thought maybe I’d interrupted the thieves before they could take anything. Then two days ago I received this letter from a lawyer in Mississippi.” She removed an envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “At first I thought it was a hoax or scam or something.”
He opened the letter and read the contents.
Dear Ms. Tully,
I’m writing on behalf of the Maddox Estate, of which you may be named coheir as we have reason to believe you are Isabella Maddox’s daughter. There are conditions, however, that must be met. Please contact me at your earliest convenience to discuss the next steps.
“You’d never heard of this lawyer, Randall Paladin?”
“No, I hadn’t.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of the letter. “So you contacted him?”
“First, I did some research. I didn’t want to call just to get pulled into some kind of scam. But the Maddox family is certainly real. They’ve lived in Mississippi for the past two centuries. And Mr. Paladin is an established lawyer in the same community.”
She took a breath. “You see, I was adopted as a baby. A closed adoption.”
He hadn’t known that. But then again, they hadn’t really known each other well. He’d made sure of that.
“So I called Mr. Paladin. Elijah Maddox recently discovered that his daughter, Isabella, had given up a child twenty-seven years ago. He had no idea who the father could be.”
“And he’s sure Isabella’s baby is you?”
She nodded. “So he claims. I asked about DNA testing to be sure, but Mr. Paladin said they have conclusive evidence already.”
“The not-so-random break-in. They were after your DNA.”
“Mr. Maddox hired a private investigator to find me. I guess he wanted to be sure of who I was before he reported back.” Her anxious expression tore at him. “But what’s more troubling is the other thing I found in my research—Isabella Maddox was murdered.”
His gut clenched. “Was her killer brought to justice?”
Her mouth twisted in an aggravated frown. “I don’t have any details. The newspaper articles I found didn’t mention any trial, and Mr. Paladin wouldn’t give me any further information about her when I tried to ask. He only wanted to talk about the new will Mr. Maddox had drawn up. He said in order for me to secure a place in Elijah Maddox’s estate I must go to Mississippi and stay with the Maddox family from Christmas Eve through New Year’s.”
“They can’t legally compel you to do this.” Wariness took hold. “Why would they want you to come there? And why specifically those dates?”
“He wouldn’t say, only that it was important that I do.”
Ridiculous. “You’re not thinking of going.”
A determined light entered her tawny-colored gaze. “I have to.” Her expression implored him to understand. “Not for the money, though. I’ve been looking for my birth parents since I was eighteen. I need to know who these people are and what happened to my birth mother. Besides, I wouldn’t be any safer staying here. My apartment door is proof enough of that.” She touched his scarred hand. “Will you take me on as a client and accompany me?”
As she waited for an answer, he hesitated as a firestorm of sensation raced up his arm. He cleared his throat. “Trent Associates can help you.”
Relief swept across her face. “I knew I made the right decision contacting you after all you did to keep Kristina safe.”
He’d been protecting socialite Kristina Worthington when he’d met Caroline in the course of his assignment. The two women were good friends. “Nice of you to think of me.”
The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile. Her gaze caressed his face, filling him with a fierce compulsion to gather her into his arms.
Uh-oh. He was pulling a Carlucci. He inhaled sharply, reining in his attraction. Not going to happen. Don was a professional. He played by the rules. Because doing so was the only way to guarantee any amount of success.
A few months back Trent had hired ex-Secret Service agent Anthony Carlucci. But during his first assignment—protecting the widow of a murdered U.S. senator—the guy up and fell in love with his protectee. As soon as she was safe, he’d proposed, and decided to go to work for the Department of Justice. Don’s boss, James Trent, had declared this a good thing for Trent Associates. Now they had a trusted contact in the D.O.J. to call on when needed.
Maybe.
But in Don’s book, Carlucci had crossed the line. He should have bowed out of the assignment the second he realized his feelings had turned personal. That would have been the right thing, the honorable thing, to do.
The second most important Rule of Protection—don’t get emotionally involved with clients. Doing so impaired judgment and put everyone involved in danger.
If he was already so easily distracted by Caroline then it was time for reinforcements.
“Stay here.” He rose from the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”
Don hustled upstairs and knocked on his boss’s door.
“Enter,” came James Trent’s muffled invitation.
Don stepped inside the large office. Natural light from the high, arched windows gleamed on the mahogany floor. James sat at his massive desk. Wiry and full of energy, he smiled and waved Don closer.
Rather than sit in the chair facing the desk, Don paced and quickly detailed Caroline’s predicament.
James steepled his hands, his elbows resting on the desk, making Don feel like an errant teen facing the principal.
“So what is your plan?”
Don cleared his throat and hardened his resolve. “Actually, sir, I was thinking it would be better if Simone or Jackie were assigned to Ms. Tully.”
Simone Walker was an ex-homicide detective for the Detroit Police Department, while Jackie Blain had been a deputy sheriff for some small Midwest town before moving to Boston and joining Trent Associates.
A crease appeared between James’s eyebrows. “Really? Why is that?”
Don hooked a finger in the collar of his gray sweater, needing a bit of the cold December air. “Their law-enforcement backgrounds would be useful in this situation.”
“If Ms. Tully wants a full-scale investigation she needs to go to the police or hire a private investigator,” James said.
“She’s already been to the police. What she wants now is protection on her trip to Mississippi.”
“Then you sound perfect for the job.”
The only way to arrange the best protection for Caroline was to be straightforward with James. “I have a prior history with Ms. Tully.”
“Oh?” James’s gaze narrowed, belying the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “Do tell.”
“I met Ms. Tully last year while on assignment guarding Kristina Worthington. The two are close friends.”
“And?”
“There was…attraction.” She’d been the first woman in a long time to capture Don’s notice and make him yearn for something he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to have—a committed relationship.
“How long did you date?”
Don dropped his chin and stared at his boss. “She was part of an assignment, sir. We didn’t date.”
Though she’d given off signals suggesting she’d have been receptive to his attention.
“Ah.” A gleam entered James eyes. “Did she ask for you specifically today, or did you draw the short straw?”
Don swallowed, sensing a trap. “She asked for me, sir.”
Like a Cheshire cat, James smiled. “Then you’ll have to figure out how to put your personal attraction and feelings aside, because she obviously trusts you enough to ask for your help.”
“But, sir, she needs twenty-four-hour protection. I’m not a good fit for that.” Even as the words left his mouth he knew James would see through the bogus excuse. He’d provided around-the-clock security for numerous women and children. Just none who had made his heart pound or his blood race.
A droll look crossed James’s face. “Didn’t you say this woman is a friend of the Worthingtons? They’re very good clients.”
James stood and rounded the desk, halting to put a hand on Don’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine. You’re a professional. Though I must say it’s entertaining to finally see you a little flustered.”
Don opened his mouth to protest, but James was already walking toward the door.
“I’d like to meet Ms. Tully and assure her you’ll be taking her case,” James said before exiting.
Don sat for a moment, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. He’d come to James’s office intending to have someone else assigned to Caroline. For both their sakes.
Too bad his plan backfired. Big time.
Caroline glanced toward the staircase Don had quickly ascended. Would he take her on as a client?
Seeking help from Don had seemed like such a good idea when she was in the hospital yesterday, but now… The instant she’d seen him, she’d been flooded with overwhelming relief and something else—something close to a coming-home feeling that both astounded and confused her. She barely knew him, yet it had taken all her strength not to sink to the floor in a heap of relief beneath that big beautiful Christmas tree as soon as he came near. It was almost like a part of her knew she could relax, that she was safe with him. How strange to feel such trust for a man, especially one she barely knew. But now that he’d walked away, fear was returning.
She clasped her hands tightly together to still the evidence of the tremors racing along her limbs.
For so many years, she’d hoped and prayed that she’d someday find her family. But now her dream was turning into a nightmare. Who wanted her dead, and why? Was she truly in danger from her newfound family? How could she possibly face it without Don by her side?
Don appeared pretty much as she remembered. The same honey-blond hair cut short around his ears and collar and a little longer on top. Same tall, muscular frame that made him look like he could carry the weight of the world and not be bothered by the load. The dove-gray sweater he wore so well emphasized his broad shoulders.
His eyes drew her in as before, too. Inviting liquid pools of teal reflecting the firelight from the hearth.
She wanted to melt into his gaze and forget the past few days. Not a good idea. She wasn’t looking for a romance, had no intention of putting her heart at risk again. Even with Don, a man whom she hadn’t been able to forget this past year. She only needed Don to protect her.
Acutely aware of the throbbing in her temples and the ache in her back from the blast slamming her into the wall the previous day, she shifted gingerly against the sofa’s rich chintz fabric covering and focused on her surroundings rather than her pain. Crown molding, high-quality furniture and an understated color scheme in muted rose and greens created a pleasing atmosphere in the waiting room. The Christmas tree added a nice, homey touch and the fresh scent of pine. She liked the warm and comfortable feel of Trent Associates. She hadn’t really been sure what to expect, since she’d never been here.
Or hired a bodyguard. She could barely believe she was hiring one now. But she knew it wouldn’t be safe to go to Mississippi alone. Honestly, it probably wasn’t safe to go to Mississippi at all—but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.
She’d been truthful when she’d told Don she didn’t want Mr. Maddox’s money. At least not for herself—her dress boutique had a booming business despite the troubled economy. There were charities she supported that could use the funds.
But learning more about her birth mother and the family whose DNA she shared was important to her. She had so many unanswered questions.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents—the older couple who’d adopted and raised her. She loved them with every fiber of her being.
But a part of her had always felt out of place. Her dark hair and olive complexion made it obvious she didn’t belong in a statuesque family of Swedish descent. She was the odd duck, the outsider. Though she never questioned her adoptive parents’ love for her, she’d always longed for a more basic sense of connection.
The front door opened and two women walked in, distracting Caroline from her thoughts. The tall brunette, her hair slicked back into a French twist, wore a sleek black coat and knee-high black, low-heeled boots. The very picture of sophistication. In contrast, the other woman had a wild head of blond curls and a very animated face. Plus, she was tiny. Even more petite than Caroline. Her clunky bright pink snow boots made squishy noises on the hardwood floor as the two women walked past and disappeared down the hall.
More bodyguards? Okay, the dark one looked the part, maybe. But the other? She looked more like a kindergarten teacher.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Caroline lifted her gaze, hoping for Don’s return, but instead a well-dressed man, closer to fifty, approached. Though not nearly as tall as Don, there was nothing diminutive about him. His craggy face showed a life well lived. A quiet strength inspiring trust emanated from him as he sat beside Caroline on the sofa. He stuck out his hand. “Ms. Tully, I’m James Trent.”
Bemused and impressed that the man behind the name of the company was seeing her personally, she slipped her hand into his. “Mr. Trent.”
He covered her hand in a fatherly gesture. She suddenly longed for her parents, the people who loved her. She didn’t go home to New Hampshire nearly often enough. She vowed to make a better effort to spend time with her mother and father.
“Don explained your situation,” James said. “I have every confidence in his ability to keep you safe.”
The tension inside of Caroline eased. Don would be her bodyguard. She’d be safe in his care. She felt almost light-headed with gratitude.
Don stepped into the room. His features that moments ago had shown compassion and kindness were now as hard as granite. His square jaw looked firm, his blue-green eyes watchful, but guarded.
She tilted her head, unsure why he’d become so cool.
Then she noticed he’d put on a shoulder holster. It held a big, black gun against his left side. A shiver tripped over her.
“I’ll escort you to Mississippi, Ms. Tully,” Don said.
Ms. Tully? Was he kidding? Her gaze darted to Mr. Trent. Was Don acting so weird and formal because of his boss? “Thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh. Mr. Trent.”
Trent patted her hand before rising from the sofa. “Don’t worry, Ms. Tully. You’ll be well protected.”
“I know,” she murmured, her gaze on Don.
Don inclined his head in deference to his boss as the man left the room. Then he turned to her, his expression still hard and unreadable. Mr. Trent was gone, so why was Don still being so distant?
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“With the Burkes,” she replied. Kristina and her homicide-detective husband, Gabe, had been adamant she stay in their guest bedroom until the investigation was over. She’d gratefully accepted.
“We have a lot to arrange before we head south.”
She grasped his outstretched hand. Their palms pressed together. Her fingers curled automatically around his as he pulled her to her feet. She didn’t want to let go. His touch not only warmed, but made her feel connected to him. And kicked up an anxious flutter inside for yearning for that connection.
Not going there, she reminded herself. Ever. Again.
She extracted her hand. “How do we explain your presence in Mississippi?”
His mouth twisted in a grim smile. “I’m your new fiancé.”
Two days later, Caroline sat next to Don on a plane bound for Jackson, Mississippi. Though the police were still investigating the bombing of her apartment, they had yet to find a suspect. The lead detective had said he’d contact her if they came up with any answers. He saw no reason she should stick close. He did warn her to be careful. That was what Don was for. To make sure she was cared for. Safe.
Anticipation bubbled in her tummy.
Once she’d made the decision to journey south to the Maddox estate, everything had come together in a whirl of activity. She’d called Mr. Paladin to explain that she and her fiancé would be coming. He’d made the necessary preparations for their arrival.
After arranging for her assistant to take care of Caroline’s clothing store through the holidays, she and Don traveled to New Hampshire to explain to her parents why she wouldn’t be spending Christmas with them.
Telling them had been hard, but they’d understood her need to know where she came from. Love for the people who’d raised her filled her heart to overflowing. She thanked God for giving her Evangeline and Herbert Tully. They made plans to celebrate Christmas together after her return. Wanting to keep them from worrying, she refrained from telling them about the attempt on her life. And while she explained that her mother was deceased, she didn’t admit that Isabella had been murdered.
“You okay?”
She slanted a glance at Don. “Nervous.”
“Understandable.”
Don had researched the Maddox family beyond what she had been able to find. Apparently, Trent Associates had enough law enforcement connections to do some real digging. Caroline had been fascinated by what he’d told her of the family’s history…but she’d been very disturbed by what he’d learned about her mother’s death in New Orleans twenty-seven years ago. The case had never been solved. A ripple of unease cascaded over her at the thought of it.
Even if Caroline found answers to some of her questions, other questions would remain unanswered—like who killed her mother and why?
Don’s warm hand covered hers, comfort sweeping up her arm and chasing away her distress. She turned her hand and held on, needing his strength.
Not good. Not good at all. He was her pretend fiancé. They didn’t have to pretend when it was only the two of them alone. But she couldn’t bring herself to withdraw her hand.
Thirty minutes after touchdown they were on their way in a compact rental with a map of the area. The rental car agent had drawn out the quickest route from Jackson to the Maddox estate in Jefferson County in the middle of the Mississippi Valley.
Low, gray clouds had hovered menacingly when they started driving. Half an hour later, they opened up to a torrent of rain. The rhythmic swoosh of the wipers and the hum of the tires on the road were the only sounds as Don drove.
The rural landscape was vastly different from her beloved New England. Flat, green fields extended for acres on both sides of the highway, dotted by the occasional modest home, rusted car or abandoned farm equipment overgrown with weeds. It all looked so lonely and desolate.
Caroline consulted the map, then pointed to a sign that read Fayette Road. “It looks like we turn right up here.”
They left the main highway for a more rural road. Another turn put them on a narrow, unpaved road that ran along a creek. Tall pine and hardwoods provided some relief from the pelting rain but there was no respite from the hot, choking humidity, even with the air conditioning on. Her winter wool jacket wasn’t very practical for this climate. She hadn’t thought to check the weather or even bring an umbrella. Her mind had been focused on meeting her biological family and learning something—anything—about the woman who’d given birth to her.
“What in the world?”
Don’s mutter drew Caroline’s attention. His gaze was fixed on a truck bearing down on them at a rapid speed from the opposite direction. Don slowed and edged as close to the side of the roadway as possible. Trees and brush lined the road, their branches scratching the paint of the car. The truck mirrored their movement without slowing.
Gripping the door handle, Caroline tried to breathe past the knot of apprehension tightening her chest. The older model Ford truck seemed intent on playing some sort of game of chicken as it roared ever closer, directly in their path.
“Don?”
“Hang on!”
At the last second Don revved the motor and swerved to the other side of the road out of the path of the oncoming vehicle. The truck passed close to the passenger side in a rain-splashed whirl of color. Caroline couldn’t make out the driver’s face, only that he wore a baseball cap.
Don accelerated. Caroline twisted in her seat to stare after the truck until it roared out of sight.
“That was random, right?” She worked to calm her heart rate.
“Given someone stalked you, broke into your apartment, then bombed said apartment? No.”
Dread chilled her blood. “This incident can’t be related to… I mean, how would anyone know what kind of vehicle we rented and that we’d be on this road at this time?”
“I don’t know. But apparently someone is keeping tabs on your movements.” He slanted her a glance as the car slowed to a normal speed. “We could turn back and go home right now.”
She shook her head. “No. Whoever is after me clearly knows where to find me. Running won’t help. And it won’t give me any answers about my family.”
He gave a rueful shake of his head and resumed staring out the front window. Tension rolled off him in waves, making her taut nerves stretch tighter.
“The road leading to the Maddox estate shouldn’t be much farther,” she said.
At the five-mile mark, Don turned the car down a long graveled drive. Large trees lined the road, their spindly branches tangling together overhead to form a canopy. Soon the tree line ended, opening up to a flat lawn stretching on either side eventually leading to more trees.
A large, two-story, redbrick home with a white colonnade across the front came into view at the end of the drive.
Through the pouring rain, Caroline studied the structure.
At first glance it appeared majestic, as if they’d stumbled on an old pre-Civil War movie set. But soon she started noticing signs of decay and disrepair. They passed a shed that looked ready to crumble and a more modern detached garage big enough for at least three cars. It seemed more stable than the shed—but not by much. As they drew closer to the main house, she noticed the peeling paint on the columns, the brown and green moss creeping up the edges of the foundation. Several of the cracked blue window shutters hung off their hinges.
The old plantation home appeared uncared for, resembling something more fitting for a horrible B slasher movie than a wealthy Southern family at Christmas time. No festive decorations spruced up the place. No sign of celebration at all. A stark contrast to her parents’ home with twinkling lights, a glittering tree visible through the front bay window, and a nativity scene on the front lawn.
A shiver of disquiet skated across her flesh. Maybe she really had made a mistake in coming here. This felt all wrong—nothing at all as she’d imagined when she thought of coming here. Maybe she should have left well enough alone.
No. She squared her shoulders, determined not to back down now.
Don parked at the foot of a set of crooked stairs leading to the front entrance. “This isn’t exactly the prosperous Southern estate I expected.”
More misgivings stirred. “I don’t get it. Someone tried to kill me for this?”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“True.”
“Not too late to turn back.”
Keeping her gaze on the house, she shook her head. Now was not the time to lose her courage.
“Okay, then.” He shrugged into his water-resistant coat. “You ready?”
Not really. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Nervous tingles made her feel a bit queasy. Pushing her anxiety aside, she quickly buttoned her jacket to protect her blouse from the steady stream of rain.
Forcing herself to appear more confident than she felt, she nodded. “Yes. I need to do this.”
They exited the car and hustled up the stairs to the porch under the overhang. Humidity hung in the air, making her rethink the buttoning of her coat. Empty wooden rockers creaked in the blowing wind. The faint noise of dogs barking unchecked somewhere in the distance accentuated how different this country setting was from her life in Boston, where animal control would be called for such a racket.
She shook out her loose hair. Water dripped down the collar of her coat, the sensation causing a chill despite the mild temperature. She must have shuddered because Don stepped closer, his protection as enveloping and unspoken as the warmth radiating off him.
The wide, wooden front door swung open with a creak that gave her the same creepy feeling as if she were watching a horror movie and the unsuspecting hero and heroine were about to find themselves in peril. What utter nonsense! She gave herself a mental shake.
A tall, lean man stood on the threshold. He wore a sorely outdated dark suit and a white dress shirt that needed some bleach. His gray eyes studied Caroline as if she were a piece of artwork and he sought the flaw.
She smiled, though she felt more like squirming. “Hello. I’m Caroline Tully. You should be expecting me.”
Solemnly, the man nodded and stepped back. “Come in. I’m Horace,” the man said in a nasal drawl. His gaze flicked to the sky. “Nasty weather we’re having. The weatherman says the rain will continue on ’til New Year’s.”
Not sure what to do with that tidbit of information, Caroline stepped inside. Don kept his hand at her back, the pressure soothing.
“I’ll tell Mr. Maddox you’ve arrived,” Horace said with a deferential nod before quietly disappearing down the hall.
“Interesting place,” Don muttered.
Caroline nodded in agreement. “Most of the furniture looks like it’s been here since the house was built.”
Despite the graceful and refined lines of the Federal style furnishings, the pieces did little to impress or offer welcome. The rose-colored damask material covering the horseshoe-shaped seats on two fiddleback chairs had faded to a lackluster hue. Everything looked worn and threadbare, including a thick and tattered leather-bound Bible that sat on an oil varnished table. The gold lettering on the cover was nearly worn away.
A hutch loaded with dusty books sat against the wall beside an arched doorway. She noticed there were no signs of Christmas here, either, regardless of the presence of a Bible.
Not even a hint of the commercialism of the season, no mistletoe in the arched doorways, no tree, snowmen or Santas, even.
No nativity set commemorating the true meaning of the holiday.
The strange sensation of being watched raised the fine hairs at the nape of Caroline’s neck. She tensed and searched for the source.
Scarred hardwood floors stretched across the entryway and fed into a wide staircase with an ornately carved banister leading to the second story where two teens, a boy and a girl, waited at the top. Both had raven hair and light hazel eyes.
Caroline smiled a greeting. Neither teen smiled back.
Creeped-out, she glanced at Don. He’d been watching the teenagers, too. He met her gaze and shrugged.
The butler returned. The teenagers scurried out of sight. “Mr. Maddox will see you now.”
A flutter of nerves hit Caroline as they followed Horace up the stairs and down the hall to the other end of the second story. He opened a door and stepped aside.
The room was shrouded in shadows. The curtains were closed and only a small table lamp in the corner glowed near a full-size bed where a wizened old man lay. Thinning silver hair covered his head. He stared at her with bloodshot eyes and lifted a hand, beckoning them closer. “Isabella?”
Heart hammering in her chest, Caroline walked forward. She wasn’t sure what to say to this obviously ill man. Her grandfather. Compassion filled her, as it would for anyone brought low by sickness. She took his hand in hers. His skin had darkened on his arm and felt clammy, and the bones were so fragile. “No, I’m Caroline. And this is…my fiancé, Don.”
The old man seemed to shrink a little. “I’m sorry,” Elijah Maddox said in a raspy voice. “I shouldn’t have brought you here, child. It’s not safe.”
Stunned, Caroline glanced at Don. Good thing she had him to protect her.
A thundercloud of anger darkened Don’s expression. He stepped closer. “So you know someone has tried to kill her?”
Elijah’s eyes widened. “No!” He closed his eyes for a moment, a spasm of pain crossed his bony features. When he opened his eyes, real fear shone bright in the amber depths. He looked toward the door then back to Caroline. “Someone’s killing me!”
