Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) (7 page)

“We should have looked around inside before it got dark,” he said as they mounted the rickety front steps.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it will be fine.”

He wondered if she was that foolhardy, or only that reluctant to be alone with him. He also wanted to think her lack of fear suggested an innocent notion of personal safety, but couldn’t help a cynical suspicion that she thought he might be the greater danger.

“Probably,” he answered, “but I’ll still take a look around before heading back to the RV.”

“If you must.”

That reply was tepid to say the least. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

All right then.

Lance went ahead of her to open the tall front door. It was stuck, and he used his shoulder to push inside. The big front hall and parlor that opened to one side were about as expected; musty and layered with ancient rags of spider webs, heavy with the smell of mold and something warm-blooded, probably feral cats. Lumpy shadows of furniture covered with old sheets and blankets sat here and there. The dust and dirt was so thick on the ancient wood floor it was like walking on gray velvet.

The bedrooms were upstairs, as he remembered. He led the way, but stepped sidewise on the staircase so he could shine the flashlight’s beam on the treads for his companion. She followed close, but refused the hand he offered. Or maybe she didn’t see it; he couldn’t tell.

He lighted the hallway, and waited to see which bedroom she might choose. She waved at the first door as if it didn’t matter. Nor did it, as they were all similar.

The tall panel creaked, an extended squeal as eerie as any old horror movie, as he pushed it open. Amanda Caret stepped past him and looked around at the simple double bed, chest of drawers, and dressing table with a matching stool.

“This will do,” she said with a lift of her chin, and reached to take the flashlight from his hand. “I’ll light your way back down the stairs.”

Lance didn’t want to go.

It was ridiculous, considering how anxious she was to be rid of him. He didn’t owe her a thing. It was only that anything could happen in the big, rambling old house, and he’d be too far away to do much good.

No matter. He wasn’t big on staying where he wasn’t wanted.

He wasn’t much for neglecting his duty, either.

“Don’t bother,” he said as evenly as he was able. “I can find my way out.”

Lance had been right yet again, as much as it pained Mandy to admit it. The old house was full of weird noises and odd air currents. Something bumped with a random sound, possibly a loose shutter or unsecured door. The breeze in the tree outside the bedroom she’d chosen sounded restless and fitful, increasing as if trying to blow up some kind of storm.

She lay rigid, staring into the darkness above her. She was hot, but couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed and open a window. It seemed something might be waiting under the bed to grab her ankle, or else come from one of the dark corners to lift her up and take her away.

Stop it, she scolded herself. Just stop it.

If she pretended to be brave, maybe the real thing would happen. It had worked when she was a kid, after all.

She hadn’t always slept alone. When she and Clare were small, they huddled together in one bed like two puppies, trying to keep warm under a single ancient quilt. It was only later that she became paranoid.

That was years ago and far behind her. It had nothing to do with getting through a night in this old house.

There was not a thing in the dark of night that wasn’t there in the clear light of day. She hadn’t been particularly relaxed or able to sleep in the house next door to Granny Chauvin, but neither had she jumped at every sound. This old Benedict family home might be long empty and more isolated, but it couldn’t be that different.

Surely, it couldn’t.

The events of the day spooling through her mind like a roll of film didn’t help. Watching Lance work. Emerging from the safety of the house she’d been allotted as if she had good sense. The shots that had come so silently, zipped past so close that it was only blind luck none had hit her.

Yes, and then the deputy’s hard body against hers as they tumbled to safety. The moment when she was pressed to him from chest to ankles, had cradled the heat and power of him between her thighs as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mandy gave a low moan and wrenched over in the bed to lie on her side. She had no business thinking such thoughts about a man who wasn’t her husband.

Was Bruce alive or dead? She had no idea.

Not a single thing had been different about that last morning at home. She’d gone over and over it in her mind, as well as for the police, but could come up with nothing. She’d been out on her morning run when he got up, showered, and had his coffee in the dining room. At half past seven he picked up his briefcase and left the house. He had no visitors and spoke to no one during that time, except for the housekeeper who had outlined his movements for the police.

He’d been grim and distant for a year or more, ever since Clare died, but that hardly counted as different. Certainly, it wasn’t something that might be useful to the police.

Bruce had become more than distant, if the truth was known. He’d been demanding, wanting to know every place she went, what time she left, when she returned, and who she saw while she was out. He’d reduced the cash allowance he gave her, insisting she use credit cards, with the invoices sent to his office. He’d had his secretary make her regular spa and hairdresser appointments so he could keep tabs on dates and times. He’d had her followed, setting a man to trail after her even on her morning runs. Toward the last, it was he who instructed the housekeeper to do most of the shopping, cutting back on her need to leave the house.

It was as if he was afraid she was slipping away from him, Mandy thought; that with Clare gone, he no longer had a hold on her. The sad truth was that he was right.

She’d been thinking of leaving him. The problem was his stranglehold on her life left her nothing to live on until she could find a job, nothing of her own except the clothes in her closet. Even the jewelry he’d given her for birthdays and holidays had been kept in a wall safe in his office.

A soft thump sounded from somewhere nearby. She sat up, tilting her head to listen.

Nothing.

It must have been a limb falling on the roof, or maybe a night bird flying into a wall or window pane. When it didn’t come again, she lay back down.

She didn’t want to return to thoughts of Bruce, yet their life together was on constant rewind in her mind, had been since he failed to come home. It was such a puzzle.

He’d been kind when she first met him. He was interested in everything she felt, thought, or dreamed. Within days, he was telling her he adored her.

It was nice to be loved, even if she could offer little more than gratitude in return. And she had been grateful, she really had. He had taken away so much worry and fear, given her the security she’d never known before. He’d been a rock of support when she needed it, and generous in many small ways.

The sex was little enough to allow him in return. It seldom lasted more than a couple of minutes anyway, even when he swallowed one of his pills. If she felt next to nothing while it was happening, that was okay; she hadn’t expected fireworks. And after the first few weeks, his interest slowly declined. The times grew further apart until it had been nearly a year since they’d had sex by the time he disappeared.

She had hoped children might come of the marriage, the nucleus of a real family, real home. It never happened, but that didn’t stop her from daydreaming about it.

The hinges of the bedroom door creaked. A draft feathered over her skin, coming from that direction. It felt cool on her heated skin.

Flinging away from that current of air, she stretched to reach the flashlight she’d left on the bedside table. Grabbing it up, she flicked it on.

The door was half open, but no one was there. The joke made earlier about ghosts flitted through her mind. Goose bumps prickled over her skin while her pulse throbbed in the hollow of her throat. She turned the flashlight this way and that so the beam traveled over the walls, up to the high ceiling, to the window.

Not a thing. No sound, no hint of movement. She turned off the flashlight and set it back where it came from. Lying back down, she closed her eyes.

The bed shifted as if something had pounced upon it. She came upright with a shriek, fighting the sheet that covered her. Free of it, she sprang upright and ran for the door. Surging through it, she swung toward where the stairs lay in a well of darkness.

She hit a solid wall. Warm, unmoving, it closed around her, held her no matter how she fought. A cry of frustration rasped in her throat.

“Be still, Mandy. It’s just me, that’s all. Just me.”

She caught Lance’s arms, clutching their solid muscular strength while relief poured over her in a wave. “Something was—was in my room. I heard it. It jumped on the bed!”

“A cat, that’s all. Breathe deep and think about it. It was a feral cat.”

“How do you know?” She ceased shaking, ceased moving, even ceased breathing for strained seconds.

“Didn’t you smell them when we came in? Trey’s grandmother used to feed every stray that came around. People knew it, so dumped those they didn’t want at the end of the driveway. The barn out back, and woods behind it, are full of them. I guess this one discovered someone was in the house and came looking for a handout.”

He was talking to calm her down, his tone quiet, reasonable. She wanted to believe him, but it wasn’t easy.

He hadn’t wanted her to stay in the house. Would he stoop to frightening her out of it?

Some would. She’d known a few like that in her life. It was hard to think about that, however, while absorbing the comfort of strong arms and firm muscles along with a spicy soap smell mingling with sleepy male.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice husky from stress and something more she didn’t care to examine.

“I couldn’t let you stay by yourself, now could I? Not after what happened this afternoon. I was assigned to look out for you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

She was an assignment, that was all. His hold was firm but no more personal than if she were his sister. He made no move to pull her closer, seemed almost reluctant to allow his lower body to touch her. She let her eyes fall shut for a second, breathing deep, before releasing the air from her lungs in a sigh.

“There he is now,” Lance said, nodding at something behind her. “Black as night and nearly tame, from the looks of him. Didn’t I tell you?”

The cat emerged from darkness, stepping lightly and with purpose. It meowed, a soft, pleading sound as it came closer. It wound around their ankles, weaving in and out between them.

“So you did,” she answered, and pushed against the solid wall of his chest until he released her. “I suppose we had better feed him.”

“Nothing here to give him.”

She felt the resigned twitch of his shoulder instead of seeing it. “But there must be something he will eat back at the RV.”

“Right,” he said after a beat of silence, his tone devoid of triumph. “I expect we can find something.”

Lance opened a can of tuna and dumped it on one of the cheap foam plates from Trey’s cabinets. He set it outside on the doormat for the cat that had followed them to the RV then stepped back inside. He might have brought the animal in with him, but the chance of it having fleas was better than even.

Mandy, sitting on the bed made from the collapsible table, looked up as he closed the outer door behind him. “He’s eating?”

“She,” he answered. “It’s plainly a female, now that I see her in better light. And she’s chowing down as if she’s eating for four or five, which I suspect she probably is.”

“You mean she’s—poor thing. Maybe we should give her some milk.”

“Tomorrow, if she’s still around. She’s okay for now. Of course, a dozen or more of her close relatives may show up with her for breakfast in the morning.”

“I suppose we could go get cat food for them,” she suggested with a troubled look in the depths of her eyes.