Terror Mansion (Decorah Security Series, Book #12): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novella (4 page)

When Wyatt got back to the workshop, Kate was throwing a bucket of water into the can. She turned away to cough as heavy smoke rushed into the air. It must not be the first bucket she’d thrown because the fire was already out.

He looked around, expecting to see a crowd gather the way they always did at the scene of a disaster. But incredibly, it seemed that nobody else was aware of the fire and smoke.

He took in Kate’s appearance. She was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, probably the same ones she’d had on earlier.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She started to speak, coughed, and then answered, “Yes.”

“Did you breathe in much smoke? Maybe you should stop by the emergency room.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he answered, knowing he couldn’t force her to get checked out. “I was trying to catch the bastard.”

“I figured.”

She turned to face him, and the devastated look on her face filled him with protective instincts that he was no longer able to deny.

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, feeling her slender body stiffen at the physical contact.

He was elated when he felt her relax against him. Making low reassuring noises, he ran his hands up and down her back, feeling her tremble in his embrace.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

“Is it?” she asked in a broken voice, which hinted at the vulnerability she had hidden earlier.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he answered. He longed to tip her face up and brush his lips against hers. Just a light kiss to make sure she understood that he meant what he said. Or would she even take it that way?

She stayed in the circle of his arms for a few moments longer. Then he could sense that she was pulling herself together and steeling herself against the comfort he was offering. When she pushed against his chest, he dropped his arms and took a step back.

“How did you know about the fire?” she asked, searching his face.

“We shouldn’t talk out here,” he said.

She glanced up, realizing that they were in a public area. For all he knew, the perp could come running back, pretending to be a concerned citizen.

“Okay.” She stepped into her workshop, and he followed, closing the door to shut out the smoke and block the sound of their voices.

Now that the emergency was over, she was returning to her former cautious state. She switched on a lamp in the corner and turned to face him, repeating her question.

“How did you know about the fire?”

“I saw it.”

“From where?”

He gestured toward the big white house on the other side of the bridge. “I got a room at the Crow’s Nest. I was looking out the window and saw someone sneaking around—again,” he added, because he’d said the same thing before. Only this time, it was true.

“You were spying on me?” she said in a gritty voice, making him the focus of the discussion.

“No. I was trying to watch out for you.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t explain that he felt more for her than he had any right to feel. He settled for saying, “You don’t believe the psychic stuff. I do. And I was worried. So I stuck around.”

She looked away, then back to him. “No I don’t believe the psychic stuff. But someone did set that fire. Was it you?”

The bluntly delivered question was like a slap in the face. “Jesus, is that what you really think?”

“I guess not.”

“I walked around town this afternoon, poking through tourist shops. I heard one of the other silversmiths complaining about you.”

“Who?”

“A middle-aged woman with curly hair, wearing a rainbow dress.”

“That sounds like Margot Redding.”

“She says you’re undercutting everybody’s prices.”

“I didn’t even know what they were charging. I just set my prices so I’ll make a modest profit. I guess I work faster than they do. And I’m able to come up with good designs that are easy to execute.”

“And you’re not making friends in town.”

She sighed. “I know.”

It was her first acknowledgment to him that something might be wrong.

“You were here late. Do you live in the building, too?” he asked, gesturing toward the workshop.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying? That you’re going to sleep on my couch.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

He kept his gaze steady. “Why not?”

“You really expect me to go to sleep with you in my apartment? I mean, I don’t know you. I only know what you’ve told me.”

“And what you saw.”

When she didn’t answer, he shrugged. “Have it your way.”

Before she could come up with another objection, he walked out of the workshop and down toward the dock area, giving the impression that he was leaving.

He didn’t look back, but he heard her close and lock the door behind him.

So much for establishing a relationship of trust with her, he thought with a snort. To clear the last of the smoke from his lungs, he took a deep breath of the river air. He wasn’t going back to his room and contemplated a damned uncomfortable night, but as he prowled along the dock, he spotted a cheap folded aluminum chaise longue with a blanket lying on top. He’d been planning to sit with his knees up and his back against the side of the building. Now he had a better place to spend the night.

He picked up the chaise and blanket and carried them back to the workshop, choosing the side where he wouldn’t have to breathe in the scent of the doused fire.

First he walked all the way around the building, making sure he knew all the escape routes. On the far side near the harbor, he saw several small windows with their shades drawn and figured that was where Kate’s apartment was. Listening hard, he heard her moving around inside and tried not to imagine what intimate things she might be doing. Probably not getting undressed. But would she even be able to sleep knowing that someone had set a fire right outside?

He didn’t plan to sleep—only rest.

Returning to the chaise, he stretched out and pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

Deep down he was thinking that staying here was a waste of time. The perp had seen him and probably wouldn’t return tonight. But logic had nothing to do with his decision to protect Kate. He simply couldn’t make himself leave.

He lay for a long time staring out at the harbor and the boats bobbing in the water. He’d had every intention of remaining alert, but it had been a long day—starting with the nightmare that had awakened him. And since he didn’t really think anyone was coming back to attack Kate, he closed his eyes. Just for a little while.

Before he could stop himself from drifting off, he was asleep. For a couple of hours, he was able to catch up on the rest he needed. And then one of his dreams caught him by the throat.

This time he was watching a gray-haired man, standing in a darkened corridor. He turned and tried to retreat through the door where he’d entered, but a voice boomed from overhead,

“You’d better get going.”

“No. Please.”

“Move.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You know.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

The booming voice ignored the comment.

“If you don’t play the game, you’re a dead man. If you play, you might get out of this alive.”

The man took a tentative step, then another. When the floor wobbled under his feet, he screamed and grabbed for the wall. It was hot, and he wrenched his hand away, collapsing to the floor.

“How do you like it?” the disembodied voice boomed again.

“Stop, for God’s sake.”

The plea was greeted with a laugh. “It’s what you deserve.” More laughter rang out from above. His face set in a grim line, the man straightened up and looked around. There were pictures on the walls, some of clowns, some of monsters, and one was a mirror which showed his own frightened visage.

When he didn’t move, something dripped from the ceiling onto his head. He shrieked and jumped out of the way, then started walking again—trying to move cautiously.

Soon he came to a place where the floor gave way beneath his feet. Screaming, he flailed his arms as he fell through a trapdoor and landed on cold concrete. When he tried to push himself up, it was clear that he had hurt his shoulder.

With gritted teeth, he got to his feet, swaying, probing the dim light.

In the distance was a red exit sign glowing like a beacon of hope. He looked at it longingly, then shook his head and turned in the other direction, walking slowly across the large room. Something in the dark air above his head screeched and swooped at him. He swatted at feathers that grazed the top of his hair, then yelped as something sharp dug into his scalp. Ducking, he tried to run again, but before he’d gotten very far, the floor sloped sharply down, and he fell, then rolled down an incline. At the bottom he hit a board spiked with nails and cried out as they dug into his flesh.

Wyatt couldn’t get into the man’s mind, but he could see the terror.

oOo

Although Kate hadn’t expected to sleep, somehow she drifted off. But a sudden scream outside woke her. She sat up in bed, listening. After a few minutes, she heard a moaning sound.

Glancing at the clock on the stand beside the bed, she saw that it was a little after five in the morning.

Cautiously, she climbed out of bed and scuffed into the loafers she’d left on the rug. When she was steady on her feet, she picked up the gun from the bedside table and stepped out of her apartment into the workshop. In the darkness, she couldn’t see anything out of place, and when she flipped the switch for the overhead light, she saw no one.

As she stood listening, she realized that the sounds were coming from outside. Moving as quietly as possible, she crossed the workshop and unlocked the door. With her gun in her hand, she stepped outside—and saw nothing in the gray light that comes before dawn. But now she clearly heard a moan, coming from the side of the building facing the dock.

After checking to make sure no one was behind or to the side of her, she moved along the edge of the building and turned the corner—where it took a few moments for her to figure out what she was seeing. A man lay on a chaise longue that had been pulled up against the wall. It was Wyatt. She’d told him to go away, but he’d obviously ignored the order because he hadn’t been willing to just leave her unprotected. That realization brought a surge of wonder and warmth. He’d stayed here because he cared about her. In the next second, she told herself maybe he was simply intent on doing his job.

In any case, it looked like he’d found the chaise and also a blanket—which had now slipped to the ground. As she watched, she saw him moving in his sleep, his head thrashing from side to side as though he were trying to escape some terrible fate. Hadn’t he told her some story about a bad dream that had brought him here? And now he was having another nightmare?

She hated to credit that fairy tale about psychic dreams, but as she watched, he moaned in his sleep again, obviously caught by some threat that came from his subconscious mind.

“Wyatt?” she called softly.

When he didn’t answer, she moved toward him, then put the gun on the ground, since she knew she wasn’t facing an unknown intruder.

“Wyatt?” she called again.

She thought he wasn’t aware of her standing beside him, but when she leaned over him, his hand shot up and clamped her arm in an iron grip.

With a hard yank, Wyatt pulled the intruder down. He’d woken disoriented in the predawn light, cursing himself for falling asleep. And then he’d realized someone was leaning over him.

Thinking that they were getting ready to attack, he acted on instinct and pulled them off balance. But as soon as a warm body sprawled on top of him, he realized it was Kate.

He knew he should turn her loose, but he simply couldn’t do it. Since he’d first been aware of her, he’d dreamed of pressing her body to his. And now here she was, draped tantalizingly over him.

“Kate,” he said, his voice thick as he ran his hands up and down her back and tangled them in her hair.

She raised up, staring down at him, and it was like that first charged moment when he’d seen her standing outside her workshop.

But this time, only a few layers of fabric separated them. Still not fully in control of what he was doing, he cupped the back of her head and brought her mouth down to his, moving his lips against hers as he’d longed to do.

It was his fantasy come true, only better because now she was really in his arms.

He turned his head one way and then the other, tasting her, feeling her resistance. And then to his delight, she stopped protesting and kissed him back.

His tongue played with the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, giving him access to her sweetness. He drank his fill from her, glorying in the hot sensations surging through him. His hands drifted down her body, over the curve of her butt, pressing her middle to the erection straining at the front of his jeans.

She sighed and moved against him before he felt her stiffen and wrench herself away.

When she sprang off the chaise and stood swaying on her feet, he stared up at her in confusion.

“What the hell were you doing?” she demanded.

“You came to me.”

“I heard something outside. I found you here, asleep and moaning.”

“Christ.” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. The dream had been the furthest thing from his mind when she’d landed on top of him. Now the details came zinging back to him.

“I was having nightmare. We have to talk about it.” He looked around the dock area. “And not out here.”

She hesitated for a moment, then picked up the gun she’d set on the ground and took a step back the way she’d come. He followed her into the workshop and walked past her toward the open door to what must be her apartment.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as she trailed after him.

“We have some things to talk about. I think we need to be comfortable.”

oOo

Kate was still trying to process what had happened. She’d come out and found Wyatt caught in the grip of a nightmare. And when she’d tried to find out what was wrong, he’d pulled her down. He’d acted like he was going to attack her. Then everything had changed, and he’d kissed the living daylights out of her. Maybe he’d still be kissing her if he hadn’t cupped her bottom and pressed her against his erection.

It was at that moment she knew she’d let herself go too far; she didn’t even know why she’d stayed on top of him until then. She didn’t trust the man. Yet he exhibited a powerful pull on her, a pull that she hadn’t wanted to admit. Now he was walking into her apartment.

Lord, it was probably a mess. At that thought, she repressed a hollow laugh. She’d just made a fool of herself, and she was worried about how her apartment looked?

She stepped through the door, turned on a couple of lamps, and saw him looking around the small lounge area with a love seat and comfortable chairs that were separated from the bedroom by a screen draped with a Central American woven throw. The kitchen was a counter, stove top and small refrigerator along one wall.

“Nice,” he said as he took in the cozy environment she’d put together with other people’s castoffs and her own imagination.

He turned his head toward an acrylic painting of a St. Stephens wetlands scene that hung over the love seat.

“Did you paint that?” he asked.

“No. That’s by a talented local artist. I traded him for a piece of silver jewelry.”

“Clever.”

He sat down on the love seat covered with an Indian blanket that she’d gotten from a thrift shop, and she watched him making himself at home in her living space, thinking that he shouldn’t even be here. Maybe there were dangers lurking outside, but he represented another kind of danger. She’d kept her emotions under strict control for years. But this man had undone her resolve. When he’d started to kiss her, she should have disentangled herself at once. But she hadn’t been able to keep her priorities straight. Instead of yanking herself away, she’d kissed him back. She couldn’t even say why. Was she so needy that she started making out with the first guy who came on to her?

Even as the thought flitted through her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. There was something about Wyatt Granger that drew her, even when she didn’t want a relationship, and even when she hated the reason why he’d stepped uninvited into her life.

“You had something you wanted to talk about?” she said, directing the conversation away from herself.

He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. It looked like a relaxed pose, but she could see tension zinging through him. She started to take the chair to his right, then said, “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Yeah, that would be good. Thanks.”

She poured water from the refrigerator into one of the pottery mugs she’d also gotten in trade for her jewelry.

He took a couple of swallows of the water, then set the cup down on the marble-topped table that she’d made from a pastry board and a plant stand.

When he asked, “What does a fun house have to do with you?” she gasped.