Wolf Island (14 page)

Abby’s
temper cooled slightly as she walked over to the windows in Dev’s office and
gazed out at the cloudless blue sky. If Miranda was okay, why hadn’t she called
her, or at least gotten a message to Abby that she was safe? But deep in Abby’s
heart, she felt that Dev was telling her the truth. She and Miranda were very
close, and she was certain she would know if her sister was dead or hurt.

What
about Ms. Townsend’s warning?

Don’t leave this island. Devlin’s life depends on it.

Why
would she warn Abby that Devlin’s life was in danger, and why would she be
worried about him if he had harmed Miranda?

Abby
felt Devlin ease up behind her; the warmth of his body and scent of his skin
made her senses spin. “Do you believe me, Abby?” His low, seductive voice
curled around her.

Through
the glass, she watched a hawk riding on the thermals. “I want to. I really do,
but why didn’t you tell me about the helicopter in the beginning?”

He
turned her around until she faced him. “Because it was too dangerous.”

Sunlight
misted through the window, illuminating his handsome face and bright green
eyes, making her breath hitch. “Dangerous? How? Where is Miranda? Why hasn’t
she contacted me?”

His
gaze moved slowly over her face, pausing briefly on each of her features,
studying her intently. “Miranda’s and J.D.’s safety depends on me keeping their
whereabouts a secret. If I tell you where they are, you’ll run to your sister’s
side. I can’t risk that happening.” Devlin held her head between his hands and
caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “You might be followed.”

A
frisson of anxiety tiptoed down her spine. “Followed? By whom? Does this have
something to do with that rabbit you found?” Her voice was unsteady, instead of
calm and matter-of-fact as she would have liked.

Devlin
brushed a lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. His
thumb grazed her ear lobe. A flare of arousal ignited in the pit of her
stomach. “Please don’t ask me any more questions I can’t answer. You just have
to trust me when I tell you that Miranda is safe.”

Before
Abby could respond, he dipped his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth. His
warm breath fanned her lips, while the blood rushed hot and heavy through her
veins.

He
kissed her again, more demanding this time, with a hint of tongue and a firm
nip of her bottom lip. Heat plummeted to her stomach and lower. A soft white
haze formed over her brain, and she could no longer feel the floor beneath her
feet.

Devlin
lifted his head and gazed at her. “I would never lie to you or hurt you or your
sister. You must believe me.”

Her
lips tingled from his kisses, and a delicious euphoria swam through her body.
Every time Devlin got close to her, he slipped a little further under her skin.

Abby
wanted -- no, needed -- to believe that he would not harm her or
Miranda. He’d been with her when the chimes tinkled out in the hallway. Could
he have put Otis up to it or perhaps planted the rabbit and chimes earlier in
the evening to cover his tracks? “I’m not sure about anything anymore.”

“Yes,
you are. You know I’m telling you the truth, Abby.” He touched her chest over
her heart. “In here.”

Oh,
God, what was he doing to her?

Abby
eased from Devlin’s arms and licked her lips. Her breath heaved raggedly from
her lungs, and her skin felt tight. “I’m feeling tired. I’d like to go back to
my room.”

A
worried frown appeared on his brow. “I’m sorry, I almost forgot about the
accident.” He clasped her elbow and led her toward the door of his office. “Come,
I’ll walk with you.”

* * * * *

Later
that evening, Abby paced restlessly around her room. She’d tried burying her
nose in a book, but found herself reading the same page over and over. She’d
called some charter companies that rented helicopters, and discovered one that
Morgan R&D owned, but they didn’t tell her very much. At least that part of
Devlin’s explanation was true. But what kind of danger were J.D. and Miranda
in?

She
glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

What
did Ms. Townsend mean about Devlin’s blood? How was a British schoolteacher
with a normal, uneventful life supposed to save him? When would the creature,
whatever it was, strike? The phone jingled on her nightstand, startling her.
She picked up the receiver and started to say hello when she heard Devlin’s
voice and realized the call wasn’t for her. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop,
but if she listened in on the conversation, she might discover some new
information about Miranda.

“Yeah,
I’m okay.” She heard Devlin’s voice over the phone. “He spent a night or two on
the boat, made a big mess, then cut the lines during a storm. It drifted a bit,
but I got it back.”

Who
was on the boat? What was Dev talking about?

Abby
heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, then another male voice, one
she’d never heard before. “He’s getting closer. God, I hope this is over soon.
I wish you could have come with us. If you were off island --”

“If
I were off island, he might follow me, and then the two of you would be in even
more danger. How’s she doing, by the way?”

“Fine.
I’ll be in touch.”

He
rang off. Abby slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle, with a slight shake
in her hand. She swallowed and wiped her suddenly damp palms over her black
leggings.
He’s getting closer.
Could that be the creature Ms. Townsend
warned her about?

Chapter Eight

Abby
rose from the bed and walked to the window in her room. The moon floated across
the night sky, covered with the gray strands of a few ragged clouds. Wind
currents moaned outside the castle, and the trees cast long, undulating shadows
over the ground. She opened the window and inhaled a breath of pine-scented
air. Chimes jingled softly on the night air until the sound gradually faded
into the darkness.

Abby
closed the window with a snap. She was sick of hearing about predictions and
danger and chiming ghosts. She wanted more than anything to just go home where
it was safe, where her life could be normal again.

She
turned and looked at her half-packed suitcase. She desperately wanted to leave
tomorrow. Dev had told her Miranda was with his brother, and the explanation
about him owning the helicopter checked out ... but where exactly were
they?

Miranda
had to know she was worried. Surely she would get in touch with Abby soon. Miranda
could just as easily get in touch with her in England. Right?

Wrong.
Abby slumped in a chair next to the fireplace and watched the flames dance
around the wood. She toyed with a button on her long-sleeved white shirt and
stretched her jeans-covered legs out in front of her. How could she run back
home where it was safe, until she heard from Miranda? And what about Devlin?
His life was in danger, and she had the chance to save him. Didn’t she?

She
popped up from the chair and stalked over to her suitcase. Her fingers closed
around two shirts and tossed them on the bed. Maybe she should tell him what
Ms. Townsend had said and let him decide if she should go or stay.

Before
she could change her mind, Abby walked out into the hall and up to Devlin’s
door. With only a brief hesitation, she tapped lightly with her knuckles.

“Come
in.”

Heaving
a deep breath, Abby opened the door.

“Abby.
Can’t sleep?”

Her
heart pushed into her throat. Dev looked so handsome, she forgot to breathe.

She
stepped through the door and smiled. His eyes appeared tired, and his hair was
mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly. His ginger-colored
sweater molded the muscles of his chest. The sleeves pushed up past his elbows
revealed strong arms dusted with dark hair. Jeans covered the lower half of his
big body. In one hand he held a snifter of what she assumed was brandy. “I need
to talk to you. Ms. Townsend told me something earlier, but I wanted some time
to think about what she told me before I approached you.”

He
took a sip of his drink, watching her every move. To have something to do, she
walked to the French doors in his room and looked outside before turning to
face him. Once she started talking, the words spilled out.

When
she finished, Dev strolled to the fireplace and set his glass on the mantel. He
swiveled his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t really
believe in all that psychic mumbo-jumbo do you?”

“I
never have before, but how can I ignore what she said after what happened to
Alice? She warned everyone about her niece’s death, and no one took her
prediction seriously.”

Dev
turned and crossed his arms over his chest. He shifted his weight to his right
leg and looked at her. “Have you ever thought that Alice’s death and
Catherine’s prediction could have been a coincidence?”

“Yes,
maybe, but what if they weren’t? What if everyone had listened to her? Alice
would be alive today.” Abby was sure of it. Since when had she started
believing in predictions?

Devlin
shrugged. “You don’t know that for sure. She might still have been killed. It’s
been my experience that when someone wants to do something bad enough, they’ll
go to any lengths to achieve it.”

Her
heart jolted in her chest. What did he mean by that? Abby walked to his side. “Why
is it so dangerous here, Dev? What’s going on? What are you so afraid of? What
did Ms. Townsend mean when she said that blood was on the creature’s fur?”

Dev
shook his head. “You shouldn’t take everything she says at face value. Okay,
I’ll admit that she might have predicted Alice’s death, since it did come true,
but she’s predicted other things that never happened.”

Genuine
fear and worry crowded her heart. She cared about him. “I don’t want anything
to happen to you.” Her voice broke.

“Nothing
is going to happen to me.” His voice turned soft. “But something could happen
to you if you stay on the island. I want you to get your things together. I’m
putting you on that ferry first thing in the morning.”

He
couldn’t have pushed her in front of that vehicle the day before; if he had, he
wouldn’t be so concerned about her welfare now. He could let whatever danger
lurked around the island get rid of her. Abby held out her hand. Something warm
settled over her heart, almost like a sigh of relief as she waited for him to
place his hand in hers.

She
trusted him.

“I’m
not leaving. Not yet. How can I? Catherine said you would die if I left. I
admit I’ve never believed in psychic phenomena before, but I can’t blow this
off. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself, and I’d never know
for sure if I had chosen to stay, you might have lived.”

Devlin
drew her to him. He took her face in his hands and lowered his head. His lips
closed over hers in a kiss that was both hungry and laced with fear. His hands
trembled slightly as he held her. Devlin lifted his mouth and gazed down into
her eyes. They brimmed with yearning, an unfulfilled need. Abby raised a hand
and laid it over his. “What’s wrong, Dev? What is it you want so badly? Why are
you so unhappy?”

His
hands slid away from her face. “You don’t want to know the answer to that
question.”

·
        
* * * *

The
next morning, Abby sat at the desk in her room and opened one of the drawers,
searching for writing paper. She wanted to send a note to the headmistress at
the school where she taught to let her know she might be absent a bit longer.

She
pulled on the bottom drawer, but it wouldn’t open. Abby leaned down to look
beneath the desk. She noticed a book wedged between the drawer and the
underside of the top of the desk. Abby tried digging her fingers between the
edge of the drawer and the desk, but the book wouldn’t budge.

She’d
just about given up hope of retrieving it when finally the book slipped free. She
ran her fingers over the rose print of the small book.

Abby
switched on the lamp, opened the book, and began reading. After reading the
first couple of lines, she realized she had come upon a woman’s private
journal.

Not
just any journal and not just any woman -- Valerie Morgan, Devlin’s
mother.

Why
would she leave it here? Abby wondered. This was something extremely personal,
especially to a woman. She would probably be mortified to know that Abby had
found it.

She
really shouldn’t open it and read her private thoughts.
Devlin obviously
doesn’t know it’s here
. She doubted very seriously that he would want her
to read it, but ... she couldn’t help herself. Miranda was still missing.
Abby looked down at the delicate handwriting on the page and began to read.

The baby was born this morning. I always thought that when I had
a child, my heart would swell with so much love I wouldn’t be able to hold it
in. But I felt none of those things. I looked upon this child in whose veins my
blood flows, and I felt cold. Cold, and sick inside. But also relieved. The
pregnancy is over. I no longer have to endure carrying his child. How can a
woman suffer rape and love a child that results from such violence?