Against the Wild (13 page)

“Hot damn!” Caleb called out. “I found something.”

Dylan stood up, his adrenaline kicking in. He shined his light toward the ceiling, where Caleb used his pocketknife to pry out a tiny plastic circle. “What is it?”

Caleb tossed the object down to Dylan.

“Son of a bitch. I knew it. It's a miniature speaker.”

Caleb moved the ladder, climbed back up. “There's another one in the same place on the opposite side of the hall.”

Dylan shined the flashlight on the second speaker, then scanned the ceiling farther along the corridor. “Here's another one. There's another one across from it.” They were the same off-white color as the walls and wedged in out of sight.

“I bet they bought them on the Internet,” Caleb said. “All kinds of sites sell stuff like this: miniature speakers, recorders, cameras—you name it.”

“We need to find the device they were using to play the recordings.”

“The speakers are wireless. Could be anywhere in the house.”

Down the hallway, Emily's bedroom door burst open and Lane hurried into the hall. “I found something.”

“So did we.” Dylan held up one of the speakers. “Speakers. We've got four of them so far.”

“Wow. That's how they faked the crying child.”

“Looks like. And don't forget the clanging pipes.”

Lane turned and started back the way she had come. “Wait till you see this.”

Dylan almost smiled at her enthusiasm. Clearly she'd changed her mind about the haunting. One less obstacle to overcome.

 

 

Lane knelt next to the little rocking chair in Emily's bedroom. “Down here,” she said. Dylan knelt beside her on the carpet, close enough to make her skin tingle. She shoved aside thoughts of the fantastic sex they'd had last night and pointed to a tiny piece of clear nylon string attached to the leg of the rocker.

“Fishing line,” Dylan said.

“See where it goes?” She followed the fine piece of nylon to where it disappeared into a section of the baseboard. Removing the cut-out piece, she pointed to a homemade device with an arm that swung back and forth like a metronome. When she tugged on the fishing line, the rocker moved back and forth as if it were occupied by some invisible force.

“The arm that moves is attached to parts from a wind-up alarm clock,” she said. “That's what makes it work.”

“Damn. I've seen the chair moving. I thought it was just the wind.”

“Pretty clever, don't you think?”

Dylan's features tightened. “Clever, yes. But someone has to be coming into Emily's room to wind it up and that scares the hell out of me.”

Caleb frowned as he looked at the rocker. “Probably used some version of the trick on Jeff Fenton's family to drive them out of here.”

Lane thought of the eerie sounds she had heard and a chill went through her. “What about the ghost? I definitely saw a blue Indian warrior in the hall. How did they do that?”

Since no one seemed to have the foggiest idea, they all filed back into the corridor. Lane looked up at the sound of Paddy's voice.

“Hey, boss, there's something up here.” The ruddy-faced man leaned down through the opening into the attic. “I got no idea what it is.”

Lane exchanged a glance with Dylan. Caleb grabbed the ladder and put it in position beneath the opening. They each grabbed a flashlight and climbed up into the attic.

There wasn't much up there, just a wooden floor and a small window letting in light from the far end of the room. It was the odd-looking apparatus on the floor that snagged their attention.

“What do you think it is?” Paddy asked.

Dylan crouched down to examine the equipment, which involved mirrors, something that looked like a laser projector, and a photographic plate. “Whatever it is, it wasn't here when I bought the lodge.”

“There! That's him!” Lane pointed to a photo of a Tlingit warrior in full battle dress. “That's the ghost I saw at the end of the hallway—except he was blue and kind of wavy.”

Dylan looked back down at the equipment. “I don't know much about this kind of thing, but I think what you saw was a hologram.” He skimmed his flashlight over the floor of the attic, looking for the opening where the image had been projected onto the floor below. “Here it is.”

There was a well-disguised hole they would have eventually discovered if they had examined more of the second-floor ceiling.

Paddy looked over at the holographic apparatus. “Should we take the damned thing down, or leave it here?”

“Leave it,” Dylan said. “If we have to call in the police, maybe they can get some fingerprints or something.”

“I usually hate admitting I'm wrong,” Lane said, “but not this time.”

“At least we found our ghost,” Caleb said with obvious relief.

Dylan flicked a dark glance his way. “Great. Now all we have to do is figure out who the fuck is trying to scare us the hell into leaving—and why.”

Lane thought of the house, of the murders all those years ago, tried to imagine who might be prowling the corridors while they were asleep, and felt an ominous shiver.

It was overcast, but only slightly windy. Dylan made the trip to Juneau, left the blood sample with Rex, and was on his way back to the lodge by early evening.

Now that he knew the haunting was a hoax, he needed to know how far the perpetrators were willing to go to get him to follow in his predecessor's shoes and abandon the lodge. He needed to make sure the blood on the wall wasn't human.

With everything that had happened, he hadn't wanted to leave his family alone, but he needed the information. Flying up with the sample was the fastest way to get it. While he was gone, Paddy and Caleb planned to search the outside of the house, try to find out how the intruders were getting inside. He hoped they'd been successful.

Across the water, the sun was just setting, turning the sky a pinkish orange that tinted the snow-topped peaks in the distance, a sight that packed a punch he never got tired of. Dylan started his descent, skimming the surface of the ocean, setting the pontoons gently on the top of the sea.

As he reached the dock and turned off the engine, Paddy began the task of securing the plane, and Dylan climbed down from the cockpit.

“Find anything?” he asked the brawny Irishman.

Paddy shook his head. “We didn't find squat, boss. No door, no secret entrance. Nothing.”

“Could be a tunnel comes up somewhere under the floor.”

“Could be. We'll start looking again at first light.”

“Until we find it, we need to make sure everyone is safe.”

They'd discussed security before he left. Tonight, Caleb would be sleeping in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Paddy, who lived in a small log home off the road between the lodge and Yeil, had volunteered to spend the night in Caleb's cabin, keep an eye out for anyone who might be prowling the grounds. Dylan and Caleb planned to take two-hour watches, hoping to catch whoever was sneaking inside.

“Welcome home.” Lane smiled as she walked toward the float dock, and a warm feeling expanded in his chest.

“I heard the plane landing,” she explained. “I've been worried. I'm glad you're back safe and sound.”

Dylan reached out and touched her cheek. He'd been worried about her too, worried about all of them since he'd left that afternoon. Lane must have read his thoughts. She moved closer, leaned into him, and Dylan folded her into his arms. For long seconds, he just held her.

“We're going to figure this out,” she said softly.

We.
The word tightened something in his chest. He was used to fighting his battles alone. He didn't want to think how good it felt to know Lane was willing to help.

“Rex is testing the sample,” he said. “He'll let us know sometime tomorrow.”

“Rex. That's your friend at the lab?”

He nodded. “Old fishing buddy.”

“Whatever he finds, at least now we know the lodge isn't haunted.”

Dylan bent his head and very softly kissed her, felt the immediate kick of sexual awareness, forced himself to pull away. “That's something, I guess.”

“Yes, it is. It's easier to fight a flesh-and-blood enemy than one you can see through.”

He found himself smiling, and some of the tension he was feeling slipped away. “Good point.”

Draping an arm around her shoulders, he walked her back toward the lodge. Caleb was coming from the opposite direction, a serious expression on his face.

“What is it?” Dylan asked. “Not more trouble, I hope.”

“Nothing new. Just that I've been thinking about that message on the wall.”

“And?”

“It was written in Tlingit, right? Two braves from the village killed Carmack's wife and daughter. That's the reason the ghost Lane saw was dressed as a warrior.”

“That's got to be right,” she said. “Anyone who's heard the story would understand the threat. Those braves were hanged. If you stay here, they'll come back and take revenge on you.”

“Stay and you could be murdered too,” Dylan added.

“The braves that were hanged came from the village,” Caleb repeated. “Whoever did this—there's a good chance someone from Yeil is involved.”

Dylan had already come to that conclusion.

“Couldn't it just be kids?” Lane asked. “Maybe a group of teens? Lots of people seem to think the lodge is haunted. Maybe whoever it is just thought scaring us would be funny.”

“Pretty sophisticated equipment for kids,” Dylan said.

Lane arched a burnished eyebrow. “Are you serious? The average twelve-year-old today knows more about computers than most adults.”

“Good point. Whoever it is, before we make accusations, we need some kind of proof.”

“I think we should talk to the village elders,” Caleb suggested. “We tell them what's been going on, see if they'd be willing to help.”

“All right. And we need to get the word out, let the construction guys know it's all a hoax and nothing to be afraid of. Maybe the elders can help with that, too. Can you set up a meeting?”

“I know some people in Yeil. I'll head over there first thing in the morning.”

Dylan looked up to see Winnie walking toward them across the grass, a scowl on her wrinkled face. Clearly, she had overheard their conversation. “All right, you three, that's enough talk about ghosts and murder. Supper's ready. It's time to eat.”

Lane looked up at him. “Emily's with Finn. I'll go get her.”

Dylan watched her leave, his gaze going from the dark red hair around her shoulders, past her small waist, down to her sexy behind. He clenched his jaw as he started getting hard.

Damn.
He had wanted Lane Bishop from the moment he had seen her in L.A. Stupidly, he'd hoped that once he'd had her, his hunger would lessen. Instead, he lusted after her worse than ever. He hoped to hell he could end his obsession by the end of summer.

But as he watched her striding away, remembered the way those long legs felt wrapped around his waist as he moved inside her, Dylan was beginning to doubt it.

 

 

As Emily tossed a stick for Finn, Lane crossed the side yard in the child's direction. Finn dropped the stick, woofed, and trotted toward her, all long legs and shaggy gray head. Emily stayed where she was.

Lane kept walking, Finn falling in beside her. She rubbed his ears as they reached the little girl, and Lane knelt at her side.

“Did you and Finn have fun playing?” she asked.

Emily nodded. She was a pretty little thing with her big blue eyes and glossy dark hair. With a father as good-looking as Dylan, it wasn't surprising.

“Finn never gets tired of playing. But it's time for us to go in. Mrs. Henry has supper ready. I bet you're hungry after being out here so long with Finn.” Lane rose and reached out a hand. Emily hesitated only a second before she placed her smaller hand in Lane's and the two of them started back to the house.

Every time she was with the child, it took all of her self-control not to encourage Emily to speak. But Dylan had tried for years and so had Winnie. Nothing they had done so far had worked.

They went inside and headed for the kitchen. Still holding Emily's hand, Lane inhaled the succulent smell of roast chicken. “Smells good, doesn't it?” She smiled down at the child. “I love chicken, how about you?”

Emily nodded vigorously. What kept her from speaking? What would unlock the words she kept inside? Lane wished she knew how to help, but winning the child's trust would take time, and time wasn't something she had.

She kissed the top of the little girl's head. “You better go wash up. Finn is a sweetheart, but he loves to get dirty.”

Emily giggled and raced away. Lane watched her go, aching for the child and the father who loved her. Lane turned to find Dylan watching them, saw something in his face she could only call regret.

Regret that his little girl refused to speak? Or that she would be leaving? Either way, Lane felt a touch of that same regret.

Lane extended her hand to Dylan, who caught it, pressed his mouth against her fingers, and let her lead him into the kitchen.

The men were taking two-hour shifts, making rounds through the house, then taking a position in the shadows, hoping to spot whoever was sneaking into the lodge.

With Caleb and Dylan prowling the darkness, Lane slept fitfully, waking every couple of hours to the sound of muffled voices, straining at every creak and groan that might be a possible intruder.

A little before dawn, she fell asleep, then overslept and missed breakfast. Wearily she headed for the shower. She had just turned off the water, stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, when a knock sounded at the door.

Red hair pinned up, damp tendrils stuck to the back of her neck, she hurried to open it and found Dylan standing in the hallway, looking tired and frustrated and sexier than any man had a right to.

“I just came by to tell you . . .” His words trailed off as his eyes ran over her half-naked body. “Jesus, you look good enough to eat.” Dylan backed her into the room and closed the door, hauled her into his arms and kissed her, a fiery kiss that deepened into something erotic and had her moaning into his mouth.

Dylan Brodie was her weakness, like eating chocolate bonbons, or curling up in the sun with a really good book. From the moment she had seen him crossing the deck with his cousin Ty in L.A., striding toward her as if he already knew what was going to happen between them, she had wanted him.

She wanted him now.

Lane slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her towel falling to the floor. Dylan filled his hands with her breasts. She could feel the calluses of a hardworking man abrading her nipples, inhaled his clean woodsy scent, and heat poured through her.

“I missed you last night,” he said, kissing the side of her neck as he kneaded her breasts, then moved down to cup her bottom and pull her against him. She could feel the thick, hard ridge inside his jeans, and a sharp stab of need cut through her. Her body burned for him the way it always did, and her heart beat so hard she could hear it.

“I missed you, too,” she whispered, nipping his earlobe, then kissing him hotly again. When he lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, felt the washboard muscles beneath his flannel shirt as he carried her across the room and set her down on the edge of the bed.

Lane gasped as he eased her back on the mattress, parted her legs and knelt between them, kissed and nipped his way from her breasts to her belly, then lower, tasting her and making every nerve ending in her body jump.

She was shaking, hot and wet and needy. Lane cried out at the feel of his mouth and tongue, teasing and tantalizing, driving her to the brink of climax. Trembling all over, she laced her fingers in his thick dark hair and a wave of need washed through her.

Her climax hit hard, pleasure spreading through her body, sliding out through her limbs. Before she had time to spiral down, Dylan came up over her, pinned her wrists above her head to hold her in place, and drove himself deep.

Lane moaned. In seconds, she was tipping into another powerful climax, the sensations so hot and sweet she could taste them on her tongue. Dylan followed her to release, his body going rigid, a low growl locked in his throat.

For several long moments, neither of them moved.

Dylan kissed her softly one last time, then lifted himself away and began to straighten his clothes. He bent and retrieved her towel, tossed it in her direction.

“I can't believe that happened.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I've got a thousand things on my mind and none of them include having sex with a beautiful woman. One look at you in that towel . . .” He shook his head. “Jesus, Lane.”

Ridiculously pleased she could affect him that way, Lane sat up on the bed and wrapped the towel around her, tucking the end between her breasts to hold it in place.

“If you have so much to do, why are you here? Did something happen last night?”

He sighed. “Not a damn thing happened last night. Probably because of the wireless mini-cam we found this morning in the stairwell, aimed down the hall. They could have watched us taking down the speakers or heard us talking. Odds are they know we're onto them.”

“With a camera focused on the hall, they could play one of their recordings—footsteps or crying—then watch to see what happened when we heard it.”

“That's right. And they'd also know when to make the ghost appear. I'm pretty sure that's how they scared the Fentons into selling.”

“And maybe other people over the years.”

“That's the way it looks.”

“Everything's wireless. All they need is a laptop somewhere within range to make their equipment work.”

“Except for the rocker.” His jaw tightened. “Someone had to come upstairs for that.”

“I'm surprised no one saw them.”

“Maybe we did and didn't realize they were part of this.”