She had to be crazy to think of working at The Bluffs…

But there was no denying Becca wanted to see Dr. David Bryson. She liked his voice. Or perhaps had been mesmerized by it. Rich, with a whisper of heartbreak.

Now she sounded like a guide giving a spiel to tourists! The simple truth was the man was a recluse who dressed in black and came out of his fortress only at night. And she had agreed to go to his castle like some poor lamb to slaughter.

The only thing to do was call in the morning and back out.

I need you, Becca.

The words slammed into her senses, and her heart thundered in her chest. The voice of David Bryson haunted her. Smooth, mysterious. Seductive.

She’d have to make tomorrow’s visit. If only to satisfy her own curiosity and convince herself that Dr. David Bryson was just a man with no power over her.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

May holds more mayhem for you in this action-packed month of terrific titles.

Patricia Rosemoor revisits her popular series THE MCKENNA LEGACY in this first of a two-book miniseries. Irishman Curran McKenna has a gift for gentling horses—and the ladies. But Thoroughbred horse owner Jane Grantham refuses to be tamed—especially when she is guarding not only her heart, but secrets that could turn deadly. Will she succumb to this Mysterious Stranger?

Bestselling author Joanna Wayne delivers the final book in our MORIAH’S LANDING in-line continuity series. In Behind the Veil, we finally meet the brooding recluse Dr. David Bryson. Haunted for years by his fiancée’s death, he meets a new woman in town who wants to teach him how to love again. But when she is targeted as a killer’s next victim, David will use any means necessary to make sure that history doesn’t repeat itself.

The Bride and the Mercenary continues Harper Allen’s suspenseful miniseries THE AVENGERS. For two years Ainslie O’Connor believed that the man she’d passionately loved—Seamus Malone—was dead. But then she arrives at her own society wedding, only to find that her dead lover is still alive! Will Seamus’s memory return in time to save them both?

And finally, we are thrilled to introduce a brand-new author—Lisa Childs. You won’t want to miss her very first book Return of the Lawman—with so many twists and turns, it will keep you guessing…and looking for more great stories from her!

Happy reading,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Behind the Veil

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Joanna Wayne for her contribution to the

MORIAH’S LANDING series.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans, but her home is the perfect writer’s hideaway. A lazy bayou, complete with graceful herons, colorful wood ducks and an occasional alligator, winds just below her back garden. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heartwarming romance, she enjoys reading, traveling, playing golf and spending time with family and friends. Joanna believes that one of the special joys of writing is knowing that her stories have brought enjoyment to or somehow touched the lives of her readers. You can write Joanna at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Becca Smith—She’s intrigued by the mysterious recluse who lives in the castle on top of the cliff, but will her attraction for him lead her into a killer’s trap?

Dr. David Bryson—Tortured by the loss of his beloved fiancée, he lives only to find the man responsible for the tragedy—until he meets Becca Smith.

Marley Glasglow—He’s surly and bitter, and his opinions about David Bryson—none of them good—are set in stone.

Brie, Kat and Elizabeth—New friends of Becca’s who were present the night Claire Cavendish was abducted.

Claire Cavendish—Becca’s friend who is still mentally and emotionally unstable from her abduction and subsequent torture five years ago.

Kevin Pinelle—A happy-go-lucky young fisherman with an eye for the ladies.

Larry Gayle—A young male friend of Becca and Claire who thinks the town would be better off without David Bryson.

Shamus McManus—An old fisherman who knows a lot about what goes on in the wharf area.

Tasha Pierce—David Bryson’s fiancée, who was killed in an explosion on the eve of their wedding.

Geoffrey Pierce—Tasha’s uncle.

Carson Megham—A homicide detective hell-bent on capturing the killer who’s terrifying the citizens of Moriah’s Landing.

Contents

About the Author

Cast of Characters

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

To Priscilla Berthiaume for putting together

the idea for this wonderful Gothic series, and to my

friends Amanda Stevens, B.J. Daniels and Dani Sinclair for

being such an agreeable, fun and talented group to work

with. A special thank-you to Dr. David Cavanaugh for

answering my endless questions. And to Wayne, always.

Prologue

Sweat beaded on the man’s brow as he struggled to drag the lifeless body into the thick clump of bushes and untamed undergrowth. The stench of death punctuated the night air and clogged his nostrils, but he couldn’t leave her like this. The job had to be done exactly according to plan.

Her leg caught on a rock, and he yanked it free, his hand brushing the delicate curve of her ankle as he did. She’d been an easy victim. Weak, innocent, gullible.

So easy. Almost too easy. He’d expected it to be more of a challenge, more satisfying to watch life seep from her body when he’d strangled her, watch blood gush from the two slashes that had severed her arteries. Instead it was over so quickly, he barely had time to appreciate the perfection of his work.

Just like it had been done twenty years ago. And, like twenty years ago, the stupid Moriah’s Landing police would never solve the murders. There had been four then, but only three remained unsolved and attributed to the serial killer. He’d probably stop at three now, as well. Or maybe he wouldn’t stop at all.

He took the knife, ran his gloved fingers along the edge of the blade, and then plunged it once more into the cold, pale flesh.

Easy. Easy. Easy. And perfect. Only one thing left to do. Working meticulously, he carved an M and an L into her abdomen. Something new to make certain everyone knew that McFarland Leary had returned.

Chapter One

Rebecca Smith snipped the emerald thread, laid her scissors on the table and held up the full satin dress for a critical look at the finished garment. The fabric swished as it fell into iridescent folds, catching the glow of the bright overhead lights.

Standing, she held it to her shoulders and took a few twirls around the room. It was the first piece of clothing she’d made for herself in months, but she’d outdone herself this time. The fabric was fabulous, the color rich, the sheen almost glittery.

Stopping to admire the finished creation in front of the full-length mirror, she could almost imagine herself attending a ball in old England. It would be the perfect dress for the Fall Extravaganza. On that night the town of Moriah’s Landing would be transported back in time, to the way it had been the year it was first inhabited. The night would be magical, a celebration that would hopefully dispel the sense of danger and fear that prevailed every fifth year when McFarland Leary was said to rise from the grave. If everything went as planned, tourists from miles around would flock into the narrow streets to celebrate the town’s three hundred and fiftieth anniversary year in a spectacular evening of dancing, vignettes, music and food.

If all went as planned, they would return to their homes when the festivities were over—alive.

The dress slipped through Becca’s fingers, and she barely caught it before it fell to the floor of the shop. The uneasy feeling that had lurked just beneath her consciousness all day had leapt to the forefront, icy and onerous and threatening to squeeze the life from her lungs.

She hated these moments when she seemed to slip into the depths of some world far beyond the one she knew as a simple seamstress. She never told anyone about these experiences, the same way she never admitted that she was anyone but Rebecca Smith, a young woman with simple values and meager expectations. It was better this way, made her less of an oddity, gave people no reason to pity her or to speculate about her past.

She laid the dress across the worktable, then walked to the front window and stared into the grayness of twilight. The streetlights had come on along Main Street, tiny globes of illumination, blurred and dulled by the thick fog that coated the air. A black car pulled up in front of the liquor store next door and a tall man in a pair of worn jeans and a windbreaker climbed from the passenger side of the car and sauntered to the entrance. He nodded and waved when he caught sight of her watching through the window. She waved back.

Moriah’s Landing was ordinarily a quiet, safe town in spite of the popular tales of witches and warlocks and ghosts who rose from their graves to kill innocent women. She didn’t believe in such nonsense, anyway. Humans committed murders, and though the town of Moriah’s Landing had experienced its share of those, there was no reason to believe that evil still lurked in dark graveyards or strolled the rocky beaches at midnight.

No reason at all, unless you believed the legend of McFarland Leary, a man who’d been dead for centuries and still rose from the grave every five years to torture and kill innocent females.

Or if you bought into the stories that circulated about the monster on the hill. She closed her eyes, and the image of a lean, brooding man with swarthy skin and dark, piercing eyes walked through her mind. Thick hair fell across his forehead and hung past his ears, only half hiding the nasty scar that crawled down the right side of his face.

Dr. David Bryson. Living in the Bluffs, his formidable castle of stone and menacing turrets, guarded by hideous, lifeless gargoyles that bared rusted teeth and sharpened claws.

When she thought of danger and foreboding, his was always the face that appeared in her mind, and still the man intrigued her. She’d asked questions of all her friends, listened to the talk about him, watched for him, half hoping he’d materialize from the shadows when she walked home by herself after dark.

She’d spotted him one night just as she’d finished turning the key to lock the shop door. He’d been standing at the corner near her shop. She’d looked him straight in the eye, studied his features in the faint glow of the streetlight. Her heart had beat erratically, but she’d stood as if frozen to the spot, mesmerized, drawn to the man half the town claimed was a mad murderer.

The jangling of the telephone jolted her from her thoughts. She took a deep breath and forced the image of Dr. Bryson from her mind before she answered. “Threads. How may I help you?”

“Becca, it’s Larry Gayle. Some of us are heading over to the carnival tonight. Want to join us?”

She hesitated. “The weatherman is predicting thundershowers.”

“Aw, come on. It’s Friday night. Kat and Jonah are going, and if it rains, we’ll duck into one of the bars along the wharf.”

“In that case, count me in.” She hadn’t seen Kat nearly enough since her friend had fallen in love with and married Jonah. Jonah was with the FBI and Kat was one of the toughest private investigators around. Still, it had been a rough year for Kat. After twenty years, the man who’d killed her mother in Kat’s presence had finally been arrested. The first of the infamous Moriah’s Landing murders of twenty years ago had been solved. The last three had not.

“What time?” she asked, pushing thoughts of the murder aside.

“I’ll pick you up about seven,” Larry answered, “unless that’s too soon.”

Her gaze rose to the clock over the door. It was already a quarter after six, but it was only a ten-minute walk to the room she rented from the Cavendish family, and it wouldn’t take long to slip into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. “I’ll be ready.”

A few minutes later, she’d straightened her work area, hung her dress on a hanger so that the wrinkles could fall out and turned out the lights in the shop. Pulling the door closed, she fit the key into the lock and turned it, checking before she walked away to make sure the lock had caught and held.

There was little breaking and entering in Moriah’s Landing, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious, especially since she only managed the shop for the owner. One day she hoped to buy it, but for now she was content to have a job she enjoyed.

Picking up her pace, she turned off of Main Street and onto a narrow unlit side street. It was the one secluded area on her short walk home. It didn’t really frighten her, but still she always picked up her pace when she started down it. The lots on either side of the road belonged to one of the Pierces, but they had never built here.

The wind blew in from the ocean, sharp and damp and prickling her flesh. Not a great night for a carnival, but she was relieved not to be staying home tonight. The chilling presence that had haunted her all day began to swell into an almost palpable sensation as she rounded the last corner and walked beneath a canopy of tree branches and shadows.

If she believed in witchcraft, she would fear she was one, and that the chill inside her predicted the imminence of danger or death.

If she believed. But she didn’t.

DAVID BRYSON WALKED the rocky path along the edge of the craggy cliffs and stared down at the swirling water as it crashed against the treacherous rocks below. Once the sight had filled him with awe and excitement. Now it was only a bitter reminder that it was the place where he had lost his world.

Some claimed he’d also lost his sanity that horrible night five years ago, and perhaps they were the ones who understood best.

Instinctively, his hand moved to his face, and his fingers traced the jagged lines of the scar that ran from his right temple to below his ear. The facial disfiguration, his conspicuous limp and the hideous patches of coarse, red skin on his chest and stomach were always with him to remind him of the explosion.

Still, the plastic surgeons had worked wonders, rebuilt his face, transformed him from something so ghastly he couldn’t bear to pass in front of a mirror to something merely hideous. The doctors had saved his life even while he’d begged them for the release of death. To this day, he’d never fully forgiven them.

“Dr. Bryson.”

He turned at the sound of his name and located the lone figure standing behind the Bluffs. The man was no more than an outline in the deepening darkness, but David didn’t have to see his butler to recognize him. He knew the voice well.

He waved and called up to him. “I’m down here, Richard.”

David took one last look at the water below him, then tilted his face and examined the turbulent layers of dark clouds before starting back up the rocky path.

Too bad about the gathering storm, but if the carnies were lucky, it would hold off for a few hours. The carnival had been a highlight of the fall season for years, coming to town just after the students at the all-girls college of Heathrow had plunged into the sea of sorority activities and before they became immersed in serious studies.

Memories sneaked into his mind. A kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel, Tasha’s body pressing into his as they spun on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

A ragged ache tore at his insides. He fought it by pushing his body to the limits, ignoring the stabbing pain in his right leg and jogging up the slippery path that ran along the edge of the cliff. In minutes, he’d covered the ground between him and Richard and stopped at the man’s side.

“You risk your life when you do that, sir.”

“What do you expect from a madman?”

“Indeed. You’re no more mad than I am.”

“You need to get out more, Richard. Mingle with the townspeople. They’ll tell you what an insane monster you work for.”

“I take no stock in the tales of people who walk around in fear that some old ghost is going to rise from the cemetery and kill their virgins.”

“Ghost tales are good for tourism.”

“They’re the invention of superstitious fools. There’s evil in this town, cruelty, too. But it doesn’t come from ghosts or witches.” Richard turned and started back toward the house. David followed him, wondering as always what he’d do without the man.

Richard Crawford had come to work for him five and a half years ago when David had returned to Moriah’s Landing and purchased the Bluffs. Richard’s hair had grayed around the ears since then and receded from his forehead, but he was still fit and youthful for a man who’d celebrate his sixtieth birthday this year.

More important, Richard was probably the only one who understood how much David still loved his dead fiancée. He missed Tasha’s voice, her smile, the way she’d made him feel. She’d been so young and innocent. And beautiful.

“…dinner?”

“I’m sorry, Richard. Did you ask me a question?”

Richard turned and raised an eyebrow. “Is something the matter, sir?”

“I was just a bit preoccupied. Nothing new.” He’d told Richard repeatedly that he didn’t need to refer to him as sir, but the man was from the old school, and even though he was as much friend and confidant as servant, Richard always made certain to keep that defining edge of separation between them.

“I asked if you were ready for dinner,” Richard repeated. “The cook’s gone for the day, but she left everything in the oven. It will take me only a few minutes to serve it.”

“Dinner. I’d almost forgotten that we hadn’t eaten.”

“I think you would forget to eat entirely, sir, if someone weren’t around to remind you.”

“I might at that. It’s my work that keeps me going these days.” His work and a new fascination, one that frightened him even more than the impenetrable moods that had almost destroyed him after Tasha’s death. One that he would never dare mention, not even to Richard.

“Will you be going out tonight, sir?”

“Maybe later. First I plan to go back to the lab and work.”

The question was ritual. The answer was automatic. After dinner, he either went to his office in the dark corridors beneath the rambling castle or to the test tubes and microscopes that filled the west wing of the Bluffs. He’d work until his mind was numb and fatigue robbed him of the control that kept his inner demons in check. Then he’d lose all perspective and turn into the madman every one believed him to be.

He’d slip from the confines of the Bluffs and drive to the edge of town. He’d park his car and walk the streets and back alleys, searching endlessly for answers he never found. One day he would. And when he did, revenge would be swift and unbelievably sweet.

Becca Smith was not part of the answers or the revenge. But lately, he’d ended up on her street far too often. Something about her haunted him, and try as he might, he couldn’t seem to shake her from his mind.

Richard paused at the back door. “I hear the whole town is gearing up for the Fall Extravaganza. Perhaps you should go. One night of fun won’t ruin your reputation as a serious scientist.”

He touched his fingers to the scar. “I’d frighten the children.”

“With one little scar? I seriously doubt that, sir.”

“With one ghastly scar. I suppose I could dig out the mask I wore in the first years after the explosion and go as the Phantom.”

“Just go as yourself. I predict you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

David turned away. “Moriah’s Landings has always had lots of surprises for me. Only one was ever pleasant, and in the end, it was the cruelest surprise of all.”

“That was five years ago. Besides, test tubes make lonely bedfellows.”

“True, but they never pull away in disgust when I stand in front of them.”

David pushed through the door and stepped inside the bleak interior of the Bluffs. Nothing but grays and browns and thick, opaque draperies. Tasha had planned to redecorate the place, fill it with light and brighter fabrics to compliment the richness of the dark woods of the furniture.

Her plans had died with her. Without Tasha, there was no light. Besides, he’d lost all interest in the structure that had so intrigued him when he’d purchased it. Now he spent most of his days in the lab or out staring at the water breaking over the treacherous rocks at the foot of the jagged cliffs.

A bleak and isolated life. But a few miles away, the carnival was in full swing. Coeds’ laughter, painted horses, music, a kaleidoscope of colors. And for the first time in five long years, he felt himself almost wishing he were part of it.

He closed his eyes for a second as Richard walked ahead of him toward the kitchen. He expected Tahsa’s face to materialize in his mind, but this time it was the image of Becca Smith that danced behind his eyelids. Tall and willowy, her long blond hair falling around her shoulders.

He’d have to be very careful if he left the house tonight. And he knew he’d leave. The town was already beckoning.

“STEP RIGHT UP. All you have to do is break three plates to win a prize. Or give me the prize you have walking next to you, and I’ll hand over all the stuffed bears I own.” The hawker tipped a faded baseball cat at Becca as she and Larry walked past his booth.

“Keep your bears,” Larry said. “I know a good thing when I see one.” He grinned and wrapped his right arm around Becca’s shoulder, slowing so that Kat and Jonah could catch up with them.

“Do you want a bear?” Jonah asked Kat. “I pitch a mean fastball.”

“Let’s see. A bear or a beer? I’ll take a beer.”

“Aw,” the hawker groaned. “She’s only kidding. Every woman wants a teddy bear. Or how about one of these cute pink cats? Come on, ladies. Help me out here.”

A large drop of rain plopped on the tip of Becca’s nose, the first of the evening. “Looks like our luck is running out,” she said, quickly forgetting the hawker, who was already rescuing his best prizes from the unprotected edge of his booth.

“Head for Wheels,” Jonah said, indicating the biker bar down by the wharf. “It’s the closest cover.”

The four of them took off running, leaving the lit area of the carnival behind and heading toward the wharf as the rain grew harder. They cut over to Waterfront Avenue by dashing down the street between the ice cream parlor and the fortune-telling stand, both of which had closed for the evening.

A gust of wind coming off of Raven’s Cove blew rain into Becca’s face and whipped her clothes against her body before they finally reached the overhang in front of Wheels. They stomped the mud from their shoes and pushed through the door of the bar to a loud twanging of guitar music from the aging jukebox.

“Tables are all taken,” a buxom blond waitress said as she sashayed by them, “but there’s room at the bar.”

“The bar’s fine with me,” Jonah said, “as long as the beer’s cold. How about you ladies?”

“I can handle that,” Becca said.

“I’ve been known to straddle a stool,” Kat agreed, slipping out of her wet jacket and tossing it over a hook by the door. The others followed suit as a couple of guys moved over to give them four seats together. Becca and Kat took the inside seats so they could talk to each other over the music and loud voices.

The middle-aged bartender wiped his hands on a stained apron and leaned over the counter. “Looks like you got caught in the rain. You must have been at the carnival.”

“Yeah,” Jonah answered. “Poor planning on our part, Jake. If we’d started at the far end and worked our way back, we’d have been at the car by the time the rain hit. As it was, we were at the end by the wharf.”

“Well, at least you got to see it all. Not that it changes much from year to year. What’ll it be?”

They gave him their orders, and Becca and Larry showed their IDs. Jonah and Kat didn’t bother. Jonah’s cousin had owned the bar across the street before he died, and both Jonah and Kat had been in Wheels often enough that the bartender knew they were legal age.

Becca propped her booted feet on the foot rail and let her gaze scan the dim bar while Larry excused himself to go to the men’s room.

The wharf area always intrigued her. The environment stripped away pretense and social niceties. What you saw was what you got, and no one bothered to mince words just to spare someone’s feelings. Like the two men who were sitting a few seats down from them. She wasn’t eavesdropping, but their gruff voices carried easily.

“I’m not afraid of no damn ghost. Not after what I face day in and day out. I say if that Leary fellow rises from his grave, put him on a fishing boat and send him out into a raging storm. One giant wave, and the man will go running back to his safe spot six feet under.”

“Well, someone killed that girl. Matt Jackson was the first cop on the scene and his old lady told mine it was as gory a sight he’d ever seen. Blood everywhere. Hardly had a drop left in her.”

A guy in faded jeans and a worn leather jacket banged his fork on the table. “Would you guys keep it down? Some people are trying to eat in here.”

Kat waited until the bartender set the beers in front of them. “What is this about a murder?”

He leaned in close. “A young woman, late teens or early twenties. Some boys out on their mud bikes found the body in the bushes off of Old Mountain Road just before dark. The police are trying to keep a lid on it until they find out more about it, but you can’t keep anything quiet around this town. You know that.”

“Did they identify her?”

“Not as far as I know. She’d been dead awhile. That’s all I heard.”

Becca felt herself getting sick and wished she hadn’t eaten the chili-soaked hot dog at the carnival.

The man two seats down from Becca broke into the conversation. “It’s that Bryson fellow that done it.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that when you have no proof,” Kat warned.

“I got all the proof I need. The man sits up there in his castle all day, supposedly brooding over some lost lover. Then he comes snooping around town at night. I’ve seen him plenty of times. If he wasn’t up to no good, he’d show himself in the daytime like a real man. He did it. I’d bet my Harley on it.”

Jake slid a foamy beer toward him. “Your Harley? Put up a night with your woman, and I’ll take your bet.”

“Marie wouldn’t have you, you beer-splattered buzzard.” He took a long drag on his beer. “So are you on the side of the beast?”

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Jake answered, “but I don’t think the man’s dangerous. He’s just a little addled, that’s all. You’d be, too, if you lost your fiancée the way he did.”

“Humph!” The second man slapped a beefy hand on the counter. “I say he was the one who murdered Tasha Pierce. She went up to that haunted house of his to break up with him, and he killed her. Almost killed himself in the process.”

“He’s crazy, all right,” the first man added. “Should be locked up in that same hospital where they put that poor Cavendish girl when she was kidnapped from the graveyard.”

The words ground into Becca’s mind, and David Bryson’s face appeared in front of her, so real she felt she could reach out and touch it. The beer almost slipped from her hands as she set it back on the bar.

“This talk is getting to you, isn’t it?” Kat said, turning her attention to Becca. “You’re shaking, and perspiration is popping out on your forehead.”

“It’s the smoke and the stale air,” she lied. “I think I’ll step out the door and get a breath of air.”

“You’ll get wet.”

“I’ll stay under the overhang,” Becca assured her, already climbing down from the barstool.

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. Please. Stay and visit with Jonah. I’ll be just outside the door.”

Kat touched her arm. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” She walked away, yanked her jacket from the hook and pushed through the door. Once outside, she leaned against the side of the building for support. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the wind howled around the corners and cut through her light windbreaker.

Only the real chill came from somewhere deep inside her. She’d had the crazy feeling all day that something terrible was going to happen. Now she found out a young woman’s body had been found off the road leading up to the Bluffs.

But how did she know? Why? She buried her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket.

“Rebecca Smith.”

Her heart jumped to her throat at the sound of her name. She spun around and stared at a figure, half hidden in the shadows of the old clapboard building. He stepped toward her. Her knees grew weak and rubbery and she stood frozen to the cement beneath her feet.

Escape would probably be impossible, anyway. The beast from the Bluffs had come for her.

Chapter Two

The voice was hypnotic, almost haunting and emotions thick as chowder churned inside Becca. “What do you want?” she whispered, her throat so dry, she could barely form the words.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, stepping closer.

She stared at him but only saw his profile. He kept his face turned toward the street. “You don’t frighten me. I was only startled because I didn’t realize you were out there.”

“Then I apologize for not making more noise on my approach.”

“Why don’t you look at me when you talk?”

“I have my reasons.”

“If it’s to save me from the sight of your face, you needn’t bother, Dr. Bryson. I’m sure I can handle it.”

“So you know who I am?”

“Of course. Everyone does.” And they’d all tremble in terror if they knew she was alone with him on a dark, deserted street. Yet the strange feelings coursing through her senses right now lacked the stringent sting of fear she’d felt when he’d first called her name. She pulled her windbreaker tighter. “What do you want from me?”

“Professional services.”

“In what way?”

“My house, the Bluffs. Do you know it?”

“I’ve only seen it from a distance. It appears more a castle than a house.”

“A dark castle.”

“I still don’t understand, Dr. Bryson. What does your dark castle have to do with me?”

“I’d like for you to change it. Let in the light. You know, add color.”

“Are you looking for someone to redecorate the Bluffs?”

“Yes.” He exhaled sharply, as if her saying the words gave him some kind of release. “Can you do that?”

“I’m merely a seamstress, not an interior designer.”

“But you do sometimes sew drapes and slipcovers?”

“Occasionally.”

“Then I’d like to hire you.”

His voice seemed to reach inside her and awake some unexplainable eros, which defied reason. Fear edged along her nerve endings now, but she had no idea if it was due to the doctor’s presence or to her own bizarre reaction to him. “I’m not the person you need.”

He drew away and put his hand to his face as if to shield her from the infamous scar that was already hidden from her line of vision. “You won’t have to see me,” he said. “I’ll stay in my lab while you work and you can correspond with me through my butler, Richard Crawford.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? I’ll pay you well.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”

He shuffled and stuck his hands deep into the front pockets of his trousers. “I understand. I’m sorry I bothered you. I promise I won’t do it again.”

Hurt seeped into his voice. She recognized the sound of it but had never expected to hear it coming from his mouth. It humanized him in a way nothing else could have and made her wonder at her own heartlessness.

The door opened behind her and Larry stepped through it. “Kat said you were feeling a little nauseous. Do you want me to borrow Jake’s car and…” He stopped midsentence as his gaze took in the shadowy profile of David Bryson. His hands knotted into fists, and he stepped between the two of them as if blocking her from some type of attack. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Frightening defenseless women?”

David’s muscles tensed. “Something like that,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m leaving now.”

“Yes.” The word flew from her mouth. She didn’t know why or when she’d changed her mind. “I accept your offer.”

David stopped in his tracks. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “I’ll come out to your place tomorrow if that’s convenient.”

“Tomorrow will be fine. I’ll send Richard for you. Would ten be too early?”

“No. He can pick me up at the shop.”

Larry clamped his hand around her arm as David disappeared into the shadows. “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”

Crazy? The term seemed fitting, but she wasn’t going to stand outside and argue with him about it. She owed him no explanation. It wasn’t as if they were more than casual friends. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Maybe not, but you can’t be serious about going to the Bluffs. What did he tell you? Did he threaten you?”

“No.” She pulled the door open and marched back inside the bar with Larry at her heels. She had an idea that it was going to be a long, long night.

BECCA STRETCHED BETWEEN the cool sheets and stared out the window near her bed. The rain had stopped, and the clouds moved across the night sky like black sheets being tossed by the wind. She never felt truly at home, but she usually felt safe and protected in her small, rented nook inside the Cavendish home. Tonight even the familiar surroundings seemed eerily foreign.

Kat and Jonah hadn’t agreed with Larry’s assessment that she was crazy, but even they had warned her to be cautious. A lot of people in town didn’t trust Dr. Bryson. The superstitious rumors of ghosts and warlocks aside, the man was antisocial and decidedly weird. Some even thought he was a killer.

She had no argument for them. If someone had suggested before tonight that she’d be paying Dr. David Bryson a visit tomorrow, she’d have thought them nuts. But there was no denying that she wanted to see him again. She’d liked his voice, or perhaps been mesmerized by it would be the more apt description. Rich, but with a hint of sadness and a whisper of heartbreak.

Hints and whispers. Egads! Now she was beginning to sound like one of the guides giving a practiced spiel to paying tourists. The simple, unadorned truth was that the man was a recluse who dressed in black and only came out of his fortress at night. And she had agreed to go to his castle like some poor sheep being led to slaughter.

The only thing to do was call the man in the morning and back out. Rolling over, she pounded her fists into the pillow before plopping her head back in the middle of it. All she had to say was that she’d changed her mind. What could he do but take no for an answer?

The wind whistled around the corner of the house, and she tugged the covers up to her neck and closed her eyes. “Sorry, Dr. Bryson. I’m not coming,” she whispered.

“Please, I need you, Becca.”

The words slammed into her senses, and her heart thundered in her chest. Opening her eyes wide, she jerked to a sitting position. The room was empty. The voice had been only her imagination working overtime. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, wishing she’d never gone to the carnival and never run into David Bryson. Perhaps it would have been better if she’d never moved to Moriah’s Landing at all.

A town with a history of witch trials and hangings on the town green. A town haunted by ghosts and abductions and unsolved murders. Yet, from the very first day she’d visited Moriah’s Landing, she’d felt as if she belonged here. And she desperately needed to belong somewhere.

Thunder crashed and lightning zigzagged in a blinding display of electric current, and the rain started up again. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the screaming wind and the sound of rain pelting against the windows. Instead, the voice of David Bryson haunted her mind. Smooth, mysterious, seductive.

The storm had passed and the first rays of the sun were already peeking over the horizon before she finally fell asleep. By then she knew that she’d have to make tomorrow’s visit to the Bluffs, if only to satisfy her own curiosity and convince herself that Dr. David Bryson was just a man with no power over her. She would not lose another night’s sleep over him.

CLAIRE CAVENDISH HURRIED down the narrow streets, dodging puddles left from last night’s deluge. Foreboding pooled inside her, much like the water that gathered in the cracks and crevices of the cobbled street. She couldn’t imagine what Becca was thinking, but she knew she had to stop her.

She had liked Becca from the moment she met her, already knew all about her from Elizabeth, Brie and Kat, three of Claire’s closest friends.

It wasn’t unusual that Becca had become part of the same circle of friends that Claire had shared all her life. Once Becca and Elizabeth had become friends, it was only natural that Elizabeth would introduce her to the others. Now they were all friends, and Claire would not stand by and watch while Becca made a horrible mistake.

Becca had no way of knowing the things that Claire knew. She couldn’t know how Dr. David Bryson had bewitched her friend Tasha Pierce, lured her into his life and led her to her death. Claire pictured Tasha as she’d been then. Vivacious, innocent, drunk on life. Both of them had been so excited over beginning their first year at Heathrow College.

Within a month of starting at Heathrow, the hopes and dreams vanished for both of them. Tasha had died. Claire had lived, at least that’s what the psychiatrists had kept reminding her. All she knew know was that she would not stand by and watch Becca fall into the same trap she’d stepped into during sorority rush week five years ago. A lifetime ago. Stepped into that dark mausoleum.

Stepped into hell.

Apprehension churned in her stomach. Becca would have to listen to her. She’d make her. The Bluffs was not the same as a mausoleum, but it could prove just as dangerous.

BECCA FILLED TWO MUGS with fresh perked coffee from the large pot in Threads and handed one to Claire. Claire’s hands shook as she took the cup, and Becca’s heart went out to her. She’d been through so much. Still, she’d been steadily improving over the last few weeks and months, and Becca hated to see her as upset as she was right now.

She reached out and laid a hand on Claire’s shoulder. “If you’re having a bad day, it might help to talk about it.”

Claire wrapped both hands around her cup. “I talked to Larry Gayle this morning.”

If Larry had been available right now, Becca would have gladly wrung his neck. “He shouldn’t have called you, Claire. Everything’s fine.”

“He didn’t call. Mother’s old Ford was sounding funny and she asked him to take a look at it. He’s good with cars, and planned to become a mechanic before he went to work in his dad’s hardware store. We talked while he was there and he told me about last night.”

“Larry Gayle talks too much.”

“You can’t go to the Bluffs, Becca. You can’t work for that—that beast.”

“Oh, Claire, he’s not a beast. He’s just a recluse, and if anyone here had reason to become one, it’s him. And he certainly can’t help the fact that he’s scarred. You surely don’t hold that against him.”

“No. This isn’t about the way he looks.” Claire set her coffee cup on the table and walked to the window. She stared through it for long, pregnant seconds before turning back to Becca. “You’re new in town, Becca. You weren’t here five years ago when the evil erupted. You didn’t know Tasha, how beautiful she was, how sweet.”

“I’ve heard you and her other friends speak of her. I know she must have been a very special person.”

“She was. And then David Bryson came into her life. He used his powers to seduce her—mentally, physically, spiritually. He was all she could talk about, all she thought about.”

“They were in love. It’s like that when you’re in love, or so I’ve heard.” She spoke tenderly, trying to ease the pain and fear that still claimed so much of Claire.

“Tasha was too young to be in love, especially with a man like David Bryson. She was naive and innocent, only eighteen. He was thirty-five, polished, sophisticated. But he was a fake. He’d grown up right here in Moriah’s Landing, the son of a woman who sold her body for men to—well, you know…”

“If you’re saying his mother was a prostitute, I’m sure he had no control over that.”

“It wasn’t just his mother. David was a hotheaded kid who was always in trouble. My mother remembers him, and so does everyone else in this town who’s over forty.”

“People change, Claire. David Bryson changed. He’s become a doctor. There’s no reason to think he’s anything like he was as a teenager.”

“Then how do you explain how he got the money to buy the Bluffs?”

“I’m guessing he earned it.”

Claire turned from the window and stared at Becca. Her long blond hair hung around her sunken cheeks and her blue eyes appeared haunted. That, combined with the paleness of her skin and her slim build, made her appear like an abandoned child much younger than her twenty-three years. She placed both hands on the cutting table and leaned forward.

“Please, Becca, even if you think David Bryson is harmless, stay away from him. A lot of people in this town believe he murdered Tasha.”

“I asked Kat about that when I first heard about him. She said there was never any real evidence against him and that eventually the explosion that killed Tasha was ruled an accident.”

“Only because they couldn’t find any evidence that it was a planted explosion, but the Pierces don’t think he’s innocent.”

“Oh, Claire, honey, the Pierces lost a member of their family. You can’t expect them to be objective about all of this. But from what I can tell, Dr. Bryson is just a man who’s had a very difficult life.”

“He’s not what he seems, Becca. Whatever he wants from you, it has nothing to do with redecorating his house.”

Claire’s voice trembled and Becca’s heart went out to her. She knew the story of how Claire had gone with Tasha, Kat, Brie and Elizabeth to the cemetery as part of a sorority initiation. The one who drew the piece of paper with the picture of McFarland Leary on it had to go into the haunted mausoleum. That had been Claire. While inside, she’d been abducted, and whatever had happened to her while she was in the hands of the madman had left her a shattered shell of the young woman she’d been.

It was no wonder she was so afraid of a mysterious man like David. But Becca had to make her own decisions this time, and she couldn’t base them on groundless fear. “I’m sure the Bluffs can use a little updating,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I have no reason to think that’s not the reason he came to me.”

“But why you, Becca? With his money he can hire a professional from Boston to come out and redecorate the Bluffs or hire one of the local interior designers. Why would he seek out a young seamstress without any experience in interior design? And why would he come to you in the dark of night instead of during shop hours?”

The questions Claire asked were all valid. Becca couldn’t deny that. The man could afford to hire anyone he wanted and yet he’d come to her. “I appreciate your concern, but…”

“But you’re not backing out of the job.”

Becca stared into her coffee cup, hating to meet Claire’s worried gaze. “I can’t, not yet, anyway.”

“See, he’s already gotten to you.”

Becca looked up. It was straight up ten o’clock, and a tall, neatly dressed gentleman was headed up the walk. She couldn’t deny feeling anxious and uneasy, but she also knew that she was going with David’s butler. She walked over and gave her friend a comforting hug. “I have to go now, Claire, but I’ll be home early tonight. Why don’t the two of us go for dinner at the Beachway Diner? I’ll tell you all about my visit to the Bluffs and you’ll see that I’m fine.”

Claire turned to the door. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Becca shook her head. “Dinner at seven.” She forced a smile as she escorted Claire to the door. “I’ll meet you at the diner, and don’t worry. Who’s afraid of the big, bad beast?”

“Me,” Claire said, but she squeezed Becca’s hand as she opened the door and stepped around the imposing man without even looking at him.

Becca held the door open. “I’m Becca Smith, and you must be Richard Crawford.”

“Yes. Are you ready for me to drive you to the Bluffs?”

“As soon as I lock up and put the Be Back Later sign on the door.” Luckily the owner gave her permission to set her own hours.

“There’s no hurry, but if I can be of assistance, just let me know,” Richard offered.

“That’s okay. I have everything under control.” She picked up a large sketch pad and a couple of sharpened pencils and dropped them into a canvas tote bag that already held her tape measure and a calculator.

Who’s afraid of the big, bad beast? The chant echoed in her head as she hung the sign over the hook on the door. In approximately half an hour, she’d step inside the massive stone castle on the top of the highest cliff in this part of the state, a structure that no one she knew had set foot in for the last five years. Hidden away from the city, in a world of secrets guarded by a stone fence and an electric gate. Just she and Richard and Dr. David Bryson.

Who was afraid now that the time had come?

She was. That’s who.

FROM A DISTANCE, the Bluffs was impressive and imposing. Up close and personal it was downright formidable. The stone was dark gray, scarred by centuries of gale-force winds, driving rains and the burning heat of summer. The curves and angles of the structure stretched out in all directions, large enough to house a small army, with turrets and parapets along the roof line and hideous gargoyles and ferocious creatures from some imaginary animal kingdom posed as silent, ominous guards over it all.

“Don’t let the size intimidate you,” Richard offered as they stepped to the massive wooden door. “It’s basically just a house.”

Yeah, and the Taj Mahal was just a tomb. Anxiety and anticipation warred inside her as Richard fitted a large metal key into the lock and turned it. This would be her first look inside the edifice that had fascinated her from her first glimpse of it. Her first step inside the bastion of a man half the town thought was a blood-sucking vampire and the other half believed was a murderer.

Her heart hammered against her chest as the heavy door creaked open. Claire’s warning crept into her mind, but she pushed it aside. If she’d been afraid to face the new and unfamiliar, she’d have died years ago.

“This is it,” Richard said as he followed her inside. “Welcome to the home of Dr. David Bryson.”

“Wow.” Juvenile comment, but she was lucky to have gotten that out. “It’s so…I mean, it’s awesome.” She turned, her gaze jumping from the magnificent ceilings to the Victorian chandeliers, from the beautiful but worn Persian rugs to the exquisite antique furnishings. Dark, dreary colors, and yet the sheer grandeur was enough to take her breath away. She walked over and stopped in front of the massive marble fireplace. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t even know places like this existed outside of fairy tales.”

“I know exactly how you feel. I felt that way myself the first time I came here to interview for the position of Dr. Bryson’s butler.”

She doubted that. Richard Crawford had been nice and friendly enough on the drive up to the Bluffs, but he was far too sophisticated for her to ever imagine him all but drooling over a house the way she was. She needed to get a grip, make herself sound more professional. “The house and furnishings are quite resplendent, but I must agree with the doctor’s assessment that the place needs updating.” Resplendent? She sounded more like some society snob than a professional. “New window treatments and more colorful coverings for the furniture would make the place much brighter and more livable,” she added, trying to salvage a shred of credibility out of the conversation.

“I agree wholeheartedly. I’ve mentioned it many times over the last few years, but David, Dr. Bryson that is, never seemed interested until now.”

“And are you and Dr. Bryson the only ones who live here?”

“It’s just the two of us, though there are others who work here during the day. There’s a cook and a small staff of gardeners and housekeepers. None of them are here today, though. Saturdays and Sundays are typically the days off for all the staff.”

“When is your day off?”

“Whenever I need one. Are you ready for me to show you around?”

So David was planning to keep the promise he made last night, stay out of sight and leave her in the hands of Richard. She should be thankful. She wasn’t. Now that she’d seen where he lived, she was even more intrigued by him. Besides, unless she talked to him face-to-face, dealt with him as a real flesh-and-blood person, she might never banish him from her thoughts and fantasies or stop hearing his mesmerizing voice echo in her mind. “I would prefer to do the walk-through with the owner.”

“I’m sorry, but he gave specific instructions that I was to deal with you myself. Of course, I’ll take all your ideas to him and he will be the one to make any final decisions on what is to be changed.”

“Then we may as well get started. Since only two of you live here and it doesn’t appear that your employer does much entertaining, you can’t possibly use all the rooms.”

“No, there’re over seventy of them, not counting the lab in the west wing.”

Seventy rooms. It baffled the mind, but she had no trouble believing that it was true. She surveyed the room they were in. New drapes were definitely needed. The ones hanging were streaked and faded and so thick they blocked every trace of sunlight from the room. The chairs should be recovered, too, in something soft and welcoming. And the room needed lamps, low wattage, to throw halos of light where it was needed.

And that was in just one room. If she took this job, it would take her months to even begin to make a showing, especially if she had to fit it in between her regular sewing jobs.

“Could I get you something to drink before we get started?” Richard asked.

“No, and to tell you the truth, Mr. Crawford, I’m not at all sure I can handle this job.”

“I’m sure Dr. Bryson didn’t contact you about this without checking into your credentials first.”

“My credentials are that I design and sew dresses for local ladies who want something a little different from what they can buy off the rack in a department store. I’m good at that, and I work at reasonable rates. Now, if there’s any way David Bryson can stretch that into proper qualifications for this job, I certainly don’t see it.”

She walked to the cluster of windows that covered the entire back wall and tugged the heavy drape to the side. The breath rushed from her lungs as she took in the view. This room overlooked the cliff, looked down on the swirling blue water that splashed against the jagged rocks of Raven’s Cove.

She spotted a man kneeling on the edge of the cliff, a beautiful bouquet of pure white roses in his hand. He scattered them over the rocks and then stood, staring at the water far below. It wasn’t until he turned back toward the house that she recognized him. Her breath caught unexpectedly.

“I see your boss now. Why is he laying roses out to dry?”

“He’s not. He lost his fiancée to those waters below us. The roses are his way of honoring her memory.”

“But that was years ago.”

“It’s a tradition he’s kept up over the years.”

“You know, Richard, since he’s the one who’ll be paying me if I take this job, I think I’ll just go and discuss the redecorating project with him.”

“That is not a good idea.”

“Why not? He’s obviously not working.”

“His wishes are that you deal with me.”

“I don’t work that way.”

He motioned to his left. “There’s a back exit just down that hall, but I’m warning you that Dr. Bryson will not be happy to see you.”

Fine. She hadn’t been that happy to see him in the shadows last night, either, but he’d looked her up all the same. Credentials be hanged. She had none and she was beginning to agree with Claire. Whatever David Bryson wanted from her, it probably had nothing to do with redecorating his house. There was no time like the present to find out for certain.

She started down the hall.

Richard followed her. “You’re making a mistake.”

“It won’t be my first and hopefully not my last.” Strange, but she could have sworn Richard was smiling when she caught that last glimpse of him as she headed out the door for a meeting with Moriah Landing’s most infamous mad scientist.

Mad, maybe. But a man who strew flowers in honor of a fiancée who’d been dead for five years couldn’t be all bad. At least she hoped that was true, because he’d spotted her coming toward him now and he’d ducked into a small stone structure that sat precipitously close to the edge of the cliff. And she was about to join him.

Chapter Three

David let the last of the roses slip from his hands and onto the potting table as he watched Rebecca Smith walk down the cobbled path, her hips swaying in a full cotton skirt that swished around her calves. Hair the color of cornsilk bounced along the collar of a tailored white blouse, and a soft heather cardigan was tied around her narrow shoulders. Feminine, with an understated sexuality that clung like an invisible but intoxicating aura.

Old feelings stirred inside him, and his hands grew clammy. He took one step backward, suddenly painfully aware of his limp and the jagged edges of the scar that ran its freakish path down his face. Picking up a clay pot half filled with dirt, he added water and splattered the muddy concoction over the one window, all but blocking the sunlight from the back of the small, angular structure.

He’d been a fool to seek Becca out and invite her into his world—a fool to bring any woman into his life. Had he not been outwardly disfigured, he’d still have nothing to offer. The unseen scars that cut a barbed swath clear across his heart and soul had proved to be the most destructive wounds of all.

She paused at the door, staring tentatively inside.

He stayed in the back shadows but turned to the right in an attempt to shield her as much as possible from the disgusting sight of the damaged side of his face. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Smith?”

“Please, call me Becca. Everyone does. And, yes, there is something you can do.”

“If it’s about the house, Richard has the authority to make any decisions necessary based on what you tell him. I trust your judgment.”

“To be quite honest with you, Dr. Bryson, I’m not certain my judgment is worth much in this situation.”

“I’m sure you underestimate your ability.”

“No. If you want a party dress, I’m your woman. I’ve even made drapes and slipcovers before, but I’ve always done it according to the wishes of the owner or a professional decorator. I’ve never taken on an entire remodeling job on my own.”

Her manner of speaking caught him off guard. He’d expected her to be softer, more reticent. A big mistake on his part. She was forthright and spunky as hell. “Are you refusing my offer, Becca?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then I don’t see a problem. I trust you, and Richard is authorized to handle this project. I will meet with you from time to time, but in the future, I will choose the time and the place.” He was coming on too strong. If he wasn’t careful, he’d frighten her away, and now that he was so close to her, he wanted her here at the Bluffs even more than he’d wanted her before.

And knowing that filled him with a choking wave of guilt that defied all reason. Guilt and the knowledge that having her on the premises was a dreadful mistake. And still he wanted her.

ANGER SURFACED, SWELLED, shook Becca to the core. The man had some nerve, but she would not be treated like a second-rate servant of his, dismissed with a nod of his head. “I haven’t agreed to take this job yet, but I won’t even consider tackling it without your full cooperation.”

He turned the left side of his face toward her and met her gaze. His eyes were dark, piercing, totally unnerving. “Exactly what do you mean by my cooperation?”

“I’d like for you to walk with me through the rooms that you’d like updated. You can tell me what colors you like, what style you prefer, the function of each room in your everyday life.”

“You want me to walk with you?” He made it sound like an incredible request, as if she’d asked him to sleep with her or father her unborn children.

“Walk and talk, Dr. Bryson. It’s really not all that difficult. I’m an intelligent and quite charming woman, once you get to know me.”

“Your intelligence was never in question.”

“If this is because of your face, I can assure you that your staying in the shadows is not necessary.”

His eyes grew hard, the muscles in his face rigid. “How I handle my deformity is actually none of your concern.”

Poor guy. Had Moriah’s Landing done that to him, made him think of himself as a monster? Or did the feeling come from something far deeper than his physical wounds? When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “A man is more than the way he looks.”

“True. And you must trust me the way I trust you. I want you to do the work at the Bluffs, but I can only deal with you on my terms. You will be safe here, and I will pay you whatever you ask.”

“Even if the amount is unreasonable?”

“It won’t be.”

“How do you know?

“Because I know you, Becca.”

His voice crawled inside her, then spread through her like fingers of fire. She could turn and walk away right now, never come to this place again, never see David again. But even if she did, she knew she’d still hear his voice at night. He’d still stalk the corners of her consciousness. The only way she would ever get over him would be to get to know him, to realize he was just a man and that he held no paranormal powers over her.

Besides, the job would pay well, help her start saving money so that she could eventually buy Threads. It would also keep her busy over the long winter months when other work would be scarce. Once the Fall Extravaganza and the Christmas ball were over, life in Moriah’s Landing would settle back into the routine of daily living, and the need for party dresses would come to an abrupt end.

The decision-making was over. She would take the job. David Bryson was not your average citizen of Moriah’s Landing, but then neither was she.

“I’ll take the job,” she said.

“I’m glad.”

And that was it. A few seconds later, she turned, left the stone gardening building and started back to the house. Alone.

THE BEACHWAY DINER WAS noisy and filled with the odors of grease, onions and fishermen in nubby, worn sweaters and rubber boots. Not the classiest spot in town, but the food was always good. Shamus McManus sat at a back table, only half listening to the ranting of Marley Glasglow and Kevin Pinelle. His cod sandwich and bowl of chowder would have gone down a lot easier in better company than either one of them, but when the diner was this crowded, a man had to share with whoever needed a seat.

Marley had lived in Moriah’s Landing all his life—probably close to thirty-five years. He didn’t do any kind of work too regularly, but he hired on with a boat captain often enough to keep his beer belly and his sour disposition. Shamus was sixty-eight, and he’d seen Marley grow more surly and disagreeable with every passing year. This one was no exception.

Kevin was a young fly-by-night, who was working the boats for the summer, signing up with first one fisherman and then another. He was way too sociable for Shamus’s taste, hung out in the wharf bars every night he wasn’t out on a boat, usually with some sweet, young looker on his arm. Obviously, the women went for his physique and boyish charm. Of course, if one of them showed up pregnant and claiming he was the father, he’d probably be out of town before the sun set.

“I think we should march up to the Bluffs and tell that murderer to keep his hands off our women,” Marley said, talking with his mouth full—a thoroughly disgusting sight.

“I didn’t know you had any women,” Kevin joked. “The way you complain about the fairer sex, I’m surprised you’re not glad to let Bryson or the ghost of Leary have his pick.”

Marley sneered and stuffed a few more French fries into his mouth. “I like them fine. Wouldn’t trust one as far as I can spit, but they’re all right in their place.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “I feel the same way, except I’ll take them in their place or mine.”

“I just don’t get it,” Marley continued, this time swallowing first. “Why would a good-looking woman like that seamstress go up to the Bluffs to see a dangerous lunatic? Unless she’s a descendant of one of the Moriah’s Landing witches and is going up there to consort with her own kind.”

Shamus shook his head and pushed his plate away. He’d had his fill of the sandwich and Marley. “Becca Smith’s no witch and you damned well know it. And if it was any of your business what she was doing at the Bluffs, she’d have told you.”

Kevin propped his elbows on the table. “Yeah, but as much as I hate to admit it, Marley might actually have a valid point this time. Bryson is weird, acts like some freaking vampire, never coming out except at night. And I saw him talking to Becca outside Wheels last night.”

“A freaking vampire. That’s him, all right. So why would a beautiful woman let herself get picked up in the man’s own car and driven to his godforsaken castle?”

“Do you know for a fact that she did?” Shamus asked.

Marley leaned forward. “I saw her with my own eyes. I was just leaving the liquor store when I saw her get in the car with Bryson’s butler. I followed them all the way to the road for the Bluffs.”

“Maybe Bryson’s trying to get to Claire Cavendish through Becca,” Kevin offered. “That would make sense if he’s the one who kidnapped Claire in the first place, and a lot of folks think he is.”

Shamus plucked his fishing hat from the back of his chair. “That’s hogwash.”

“Yeah, but if he did kidnap Claire, he might be afraid she’s going to remember enough to get him arrested now that she’s out of the hospital,” Kevin argued. “Becca does live in the Cavendish house, you know. And the two of them are friends. I’ve seen them out together.”

“It would be just like the guy,” Marley said, his face growing red and his voice lowering to a husky whisper. “The dirty, murdering son of a bitch. We’ve had enough of David Bryson in this town. It’s time somebody around here gets rid of him once and for all.”

Shamus stared him down. “Someone might one day, but it won’t be you. You’re a dirty coward to the bone, Marley Glasglow. All bark and not enough teeth left in your ugly mouth to bite.”

“Go to hell.”

“I probably will. I’m just hoping it’s not today.” Shamus pulled a few wrinkled bills from his front pocket and dropped enough money on the table to cover his tab and a small tip.

A few seconds later, he stepped out the door, the news about Becca Smith visiting David Bryson hitting him like a bottle of cheap wine. But unlike Kevin and Marley, he had enough sense to keep his opinions to himself.

IT WAS FIFTEEN MINUTES past three o’clock when Becca thanked Richard for the ride home and climbed out of David’s black sedan. The partial tour of the house had lasted until one-thirty. After that, she had eaten the lunch Richard had served, a cream-based soup, a green salad and a chicken-pasta dish as good as any she’d ever eaten. He’d said the accolades belonged to the cook, who was off today.

Richard had joined her for lunch, and they’d talked at length about possibilities for the house. Once she’d taken the tour, ideas had leapt into her mind at the speed of light, and she’d worried that she sounded more like a kid with a new toy than a professional with a new challenge. It seemed that money would not be an object and that both David and Richard trusted her judgment implicitly. The only restriction was that she limit her work to the bottom floor of the east wing of the house.

Reaching into the deep pockets of her skirt, she pulled out the key and fit it into the lock. A white envelope was taped to the door just above the knob. Apparently one of her customers had dropped by while she was out, though she always encouraged them to call first. She pulled the note from the door and stuffed it into the canvas tote.

The familiarity of the shop wrapped around her as she stepped inside and switched on the light. Although she only managed Threads, the owner seldom took any interest in the place anymore. That worked out well for Becca. In a lot of ways the shop was more home to her than her room in the Cavendish house. At work, her mind stayed busy, found creative outlets for the restlessness and waves of undefinable anxiety that never fully deserted her. But alone at night, there was no escaping the fact that no matter how hard she pretended otherwise, Becca Smith was a total fraud.

She started a pot of fresh coffee, then retrieved the envelope that had been taped to her door. Fitting the tip of a silver letter opener beneath the seal, she ripped the envelope and slipped the note out and into the light. It was written on lined notebook paper, with black magic marker, the print crude and uneven.

Stay away from David Bryson or risk meeting the same fate as Natasha Pierce.

The print was childlike. The message was not. She read the note out loud, then shook her head as the initial wave of anxiety settled into disgust. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny. But more likely it was a genuine warning from one of the locals who had been exposed to the tales of witchcraft and murderous mad scientists for so long, they actually believed them.

She kept busy as the coffee finished perking, putting away her samples, straightening a stack of fabrics, watering her potted ivy. When the coffee was ready, she poured a cup and dropped to her sewing chair.

Images of the Bluffs crowded her mind. The place was magnificent. It was difficult to believe that someone in the seventeenth century had the vision or the money to build such an incredible structure.

For the first time in—in as long as she could remember—she had found a project she could sink her teeth into. She would bring the Bluffs back to life, and just maybe she’d bring its strange owner back to life, as well. If she did, some woman would thank her for it.

Unless…She picked up the note and stared at it again. Unless David Bryson really wasn’t the man he seemed. Unless he really was the man who had killed those women twenty years ago. Unless he was the man who had kidnapped and tortured poor Claire Cavendish until he’d driven her out of her mind.

She tried to picture him in that role. The image didn’t jell. Still, she’d make better decisions if she relied on facts instead of rumors and groundless superstitions. She usually kept the shop open on Saturday for the benefit of customers who worked during the week, but she’d already been out of the shop for hours so a couple more wouldn’t matter.

And right now sitting at the sewing machine didn’t seem nearly as urgent as going to the library to peruse the microfilm file of newspapers from twenty years ago. She knew they were there—just one more of the famous tourist draws to a town that made a lucrative business out of fear and superstition. But Moriah’s Landing didn’t have the monopoly on that. Everyone believed what they wanted.

In the end, she probably would, too.

FOURTH YOUNG WOMAN This Year Found Murdered.

Becca shivered and crossed her arms over her chest as she read the sketchy but chilling account of the murder. Apparently, few facts had been released to the paper, but she’d heard bizarre tales about the gruesome side of the killings from several of her customers. The events had occurred twenty years ago, but sitting alone in the library, immersed in the newspaper articles, she had the eerie feeling that the bodies were still as fresh as the one that had just been found on Old Mountain Road, not far from the Bluffs.

The first murder had been solved. The last three had not. The fourth victim had been Joyce Telatia, of the Boston Telatias, one of the wealthiest families in the Northeast. The killer could have probably made millions in ransom if he’d only kidnapped her and not killed her. But apparently it was death and not money that drove the monster. And his lust for murder might well have been fueled by publicity surrounding the vicious murder of Leslie Ridgemont, Kat’s mother. In that case the motive had been jealousy and lust, but with the three later victims, there appeared to be no motive, just random killings of innocent victims.

Becca blinked and tried to clear her eyes, but a couple of salty tears mingled with her fatigue, and she pushed away from the viewer. She’d had all she could take for one day. She glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she’d have enough time to locate and check out a couple of books that had been written on the history of witchcraft in Moriah’s Landing before she met Claire for dinner.

Bedtime reading sure to produce nightmares. So much for sleep.

THE AFTERNOON IN THE LAB had been totally unproductive, and David had given up on his current experiment after a couple of hours. He’d taken the secret passage that led from the library to an ancient world of darkness, always wondering when he did why he frequently found that world of black chambers studded with skulls and bones more welcoming than the one he lived in.

He’d stayed there the rest of the afternoon, perusing the mountain of meticulously kept notes that had once belonged to Dr. Leland Manning. Dr. Manning had been the major influencing factor in David’s decision to go into medical research. Now the man was in prison for conducting illegal and unethical experiments in genetic engineering. It seemed there was no explaining how far a man could go once he passed the line from reason to madness.

David exited the secret door and closed it behind him, leaving only a wall of bookcases where the opening had been. He crossed the library and started down the long hallway, the echoes of his footsteps a lonesome sound that always reminded him how different it would have been in the Bluffs had Tasha lived. He stopped at the door to the bedroom they would have shared.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out the key ring and fit the key into the lock, then hesitated as thoughts of Becca haunted his mind. So different from Tasha. Far less innocent. Spunky, instead. Determined. Direct. Full, rounded breasts. Sensuous, swaying hips.

His throat constricted, and he dropped his hand from the door. The room belonged to the past, to a love as pure as the white roses he scattered on the cliffs every week, and he wouldn’t defile it with the thoughts running roughshod through his mind now.

He hurried down the hall and descended the steps, not stopping until he reached the back door. Pushing through it, he breathed deeply, letting a rush of brisk, damp air penetrate to the deepest cells of his lungs.

“Is something the matter, sir?”

He turned at the sound of Richard’s voice behind him. “No. Should there be?”

“No, sir.”

David read the doubt in his butler’s eyes. It was uncanny the way the man read his moods—uncanny and at times extremely disconcerting. Not that David had ever considered himself a complex person. He simply did what he had to do in order to survive, a skill he’d been forced to learn at a very young age.

Reaching into his pocket, Richard retrieved a white handkerchief and dusted the seats of a couple of wrought-iron garden chairs. “Why don’t you have a seat, sir? Let me fix you a martini.”

“Not yet. I just want to watch the sun set.”

Richard settled in one of the chairs and undid the top button of his shirt. After five, he tended to be slightly more relaxed, though David had never requested or understood his need to be more formal during the day. It wasn’t as if they ever had unexpected guests drop by for tea.

“I thought the day went well,” Richard said. “I like Becca Smith. What do you think of her?”

The question caught him off guard. Not because he hadn’t considered it, but because he had considered it so frequently since the first night he’d spotted her leaving her shop, head high, unafraid even when she’d noticed him in the shadows. She’d looked him in the eye and met his gaze.

The moment lasted briefly, yet something strange and incomprehensible had passed between them. He’d felt it in every part of his body, and the unfamiliar feelings had left him so shaken, he’d missed his turn on the way home. Driving as if in a trance, he’d wound up five miles past the winding road to the Bluffs.

Now, weeks later, he still couldn’t get her out of his mind. In five years, no woman had elicited any interest for him. But with one look, Becca had cast a spell on him that he seemed powerless to break.

“She’s open and direct and she has lots of ideas for the Bluffs,” Richard said. “I think she’ll do an excellent job.”

“I don’t see any reason why she wouldn’t.” David stared at the horizon, at the sprays of orange-and-gold bands that painted the undersides of the puffy clouds. “I hope the two of you will be able to work together agreeably on this project.”

“I think she’d prefer working with you.”

“I doubt that very seriously,” David said, finally turning back to face his butler. “Besides, I don’t deal well with people anymore.”

“You deal well with me.” Richard crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. “I think you’d do fine with her. You’ll never know unless you give yourself a chance.”

David touched his fingers to the side of his face, bitterly aware of the effect it had had on the nurses in the hospital when they’d been forced to change the dressings on his wounds and deal with the countless skin grafts. And his face, as disfigured as it was, was no match for the blotchy red patches of skin that covered his stomach like some infectious disease. “My chances ran out five years ago, Richard. I’ve learned to live with the fact.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.” At least his mind had accepted the truth. Until Becca came along, his heart and body had, as well. Surely, in time, it would be that way again.

The wind picked up, tearing dry leaves from the branches of the trees and sending them flying in an avalanche of golds, reds and browns. “Fall has definitely arrived,” David said, past ready to change the subject.

“Yes. Time for McFarland Leary to rise from the grave.”

“The guy has been buried since the late 1600s. He’s probably already come back—as a handful of dust.”

Richard rubbed his right hand along his jaw. “Not if the locals are right. They say he was consort to a witch. When she caught him cheating on her with a mortal woman, she damned him to an eternity of torment. Not only that, but he still seeks revenge on Moriah’s Landing for claiming he was a warlock and sentencing him to death.”

“I know. I’ve heard it all since I was a child. He supposedly comes back every five years and kills a young woman or two, to exact revenge on the town and in hopes the sacrifice will appease the witch so that she’ll set him free. Mostly it’s a tale for the tourists, but I’m sure there are some poor superstitious folk in the town who actually believe that nonsense, even though the facts don’t bear it out. There have been no unsolved murders in town in twenty years.”

“There’s already talk in town that it was Leary who killed the woman whose body was found on Old Mountain Road last night.”

“How did you hear that?”

“I stopped at the grocers when I took Becca back to Threads.”

“And while they’re worried about a ghost, some dangerous lunatic is running around free.”

“So is the man who abducted and tortured Claire Cavendish five years ago.”

“Surely you haven’t succumbed to ghost tales.”

“No. I don’t believe Leary’s responsible for any of those horrors, but there’s something evil and angry in Moriah’s Landing. I can never put my finger on it, but it’s always present, as if the heart of the town is beating inside a madman.”

David had no argument for that. The evil was in the black heart of a killer who’d destroyed his world. The anger and the madness lived inside him. He took one last look as the rays from the setting sun glanced off the rocks along the cliff. “I think I’ll go for a walk,” he said, standing and stretching his weak leg.

“Would you like dinner at seven?”

“Let’s make it eight tonight.”

“Whatever you say.”

Would that all of his life were that easy. If it were, he’d be with Becca Smith tonight. His body came alive at the thought, the need inside him so strong it rocked through him with the force of a tidal wave, making it difficult for him to keep walking.

He shouldn’t want her this way. He had no right. Even if he wasn’t still in love with Tasha, he had nothing at all to give Becca Smith. He was forty. She was surely no more than in her early twenties. He was scarred and hideous. She was young and beautiful, with her whole life in front of her. He was the Beast. She was Beauty.

And he’d given up believing there would ever be a happy ending for him five years ago.

But he wouldn’t give up on having her near him. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Chapter Four

Becca arrived at the Beachway Diner at ten before seven. The place was less crowded than it would have been during the week. Dates went to the more classy Crow’s Nest for Saturday dinner and families took advantage of the gorgeous fall weather to drive up in the mountains for the weekend or to barbecue hot dogs and steaks on their back decks.

But the diner would pick up later, when craggy old fishermen needed some food to soak up the whiskey they’d been tossing down their throats and when the college kids and locals tired of the carnival and came wandering in for hot bowls of chowder and steaming mugs of apple cider.

Becca scanned the area and spotted Brie Pierce and Elizabeth Ryan at a table in the back. The sight reassured her and took away some of the chill she’d experienced while reading the sparse details of the murders from twenty years ago. She’d met lots of people since moving to Moriah’s Landing just under a year ago, but Brie, Elizabeth, Kat and Claire were the only ones she’d call true friends.

Brie looked up and waved her over. Becca waved back and started in their direction. Her pumps clicked along the slick coating of grease that had accumulated on the plank flooring over the years, and she wished she had on her loafers the way she usually did when she came here. Comfortable jeans and a sweater would have been nice, too. As it was, she was seriously overdressed.

“Are you meeting someone?” Brie asked, as soon as she could be heard above the splattering of meat patties on the grill and the clattering coming from the kitchen.

“Claire Cavendish.”

“Then join us,” Elizabeth insisted. “Drew’s speaking to a group of students at Heathrow and Cullen’s on duty tonight.”

“And they trust you two out on the town?” Becca teased, sliding into one of the two empty chairs at their table.

A blast of cold air circulated as the front door swung open. Becca turned, but the newest customers were a couple of uniformed cops. She directed her attention back to her friends, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake about the time or the place she’d arranged to meet Claire.

The conversation stayed light, tiptoed along the edges of the murder, though Becca was certain it was in the backs of both Elizabeth’s and Brie’s minds. Elizabeth was a few years younger than Brie, though they had both been freshmen at Heathrow at the same time as Tasha, Kat and Claire. Becca had heard that Elizabeth’s IQ fell somewhere in the genius range and she’d earned her Ph.D. in criminology by the age most students got their undergraduate degrees. With her long brown hair and flawless complexion, she looked more like a student than the professor she was.

Every time the door opened, Becca turned, but after ten minutes, there was still no sign of Claire. If she’d forgotten or changed her mind, that was fine, but Becca couldn’t help but worry that something might be wrong.

Brie pushed a clump of curly red hair back from her face. “What time were you meeting Claire?” she asked, her green eyes shadowed and her usual quick smile drawn into a worried frown.

Becca was certain they were picking up on her apprehension. “Seven.”

“Then I’m certain she’ll be here any minute. It’s only ten after, and promptness was never one of Claire’s virtues.” Brie squeezed a wedge of lemon into her iced tea and stirred the mixture, sending the ice cubes chasing around the inside of the glass. “Drew and I were just commenting earlier today on how well Claire’s doing. I think the fact that you’ve befriended her has helped a lot.”

“I hope,” Becca said. “It’s hard to tell. Some days she seems fine, but others she gets lost so deeply in one of her depressed moods, I can’t seem to reach her at all.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It’s the same for me. I keep thinking it’s because I was one of the girls there the night she was abducted, that by just being with her, I bring on the depressed moods.”

“I doubt that’s it,” Brie said. “I know she needs her friends now, the new and the old. I’m certain she’s upset by the news of the body that was found on Old Mountain Road.”

“We all are,” Elizabeth said.

“I know, but I don’t want to think about the murder tonight,” Brie said. “It’s just too terrible, as if the horror of five years ago is about to start all over again.”

“No one was murdered five years ago,” Elizabeth reminded her.

“I know, but Claire was abducted and she’ll never be the same again. And then poor Tasha was killed in that horrible explosion. And look at David Bryson. He’s been wounded, slinking around in the shadows and never having anything to do with anyone in town.

“David’s not so different.” Becca felt the glare of her friends even before she’d gotten the whole sentence out of her mouth. She’d been too assertive, sounded more like a defense lawyer than a casual observer. “I mean, he’s probably just more comfortable staying out of crowds.”

“He does more than stay out of crowds,” Elizabeth reminded her. “He stays out of town altogether during the daylight, and when he does come to town, he hangs out by himself in the shadows.” Elizabeth stared at the front of the diner, then turned and put a hand on Brie’s arm. “Isn’t that Drew’s uncle standing at the cash register?”

Brie turned. “That’s Geoffrey Pierce, all right. I’m surprised to see him in here. He never came in when I was working here.”

“Aren’t you going to go over and say hello?” Becca asked.

“I don’t think so. We haven’t been on the best of terms since I heard him accuse Drew of marrying me just to avert a scandal. Not that he has that much to do with any of the Pierce family anymore. Mostly, he stays at the beach house.”

Becca watched Geoffrey. He was in his mid-forties with thinning blond hair and a wiry mustache and beard that made him look ten years older than the last time she’d see him. In fact, if Elizabeth hadn’t said something, she doubted she’d have recognized him at all. His eyes were narrowed as he paid the cashier, and he had an air about him that gave the impression he was not to be messed with. Still, he’d been polite and very attentive the few times Becca had met him.

“Was there a falling out between him and the rest of the family?” Elizabeth asked as Geoffrey finished paying his tab and left the diner.

“Not exactly, but Drew doesn’t fully trust him. He thinks he may have been involved in some of Dr. Leland Manning’s projects, though Geoffrey’s denied it.”

Becca listened to the talk. She found the Pierces fascinating. If it was true that every town had one family that seemed to be the rulers, the Pierces were definitely that family in Moriah’s Landing. Not only were they the founding family, they were the wealthiest and most influential in town. A close-knit group, they all lived in the same area of town, a huge walled-in family compound with a number of private homes clustered around a parklike setting that had served as the backdrop for Drew and Brie’s garden wedding.

The largest home in the compound belonged to William and Maureen. William was a United States senator, already a local legend. His son Drew was running for mayor and, according to the polls, was going to win by a landslide.

She hoped it worked out like that. Of all the Pierces that she’d met, Drew was her favorite, especially since he’d married Brie, his first love from the wrong side of the tracks. Theirs was a true Cinderella story. Brie had worked as a waitress in the Beachway Diner up until Drew had found out that Brie’s young daughter was his. Now he and Brie were as happy as any couple Becca had ever seen.

The door opened again and this time it was Claire who stepped inside, and the minute she did, Becca was certain she had not had a good day. Her face seemed paler than usual, and her eyes were red as if she’d been crying.

But no matter what had spooked her, Becca was certain that wouldn’t keep her from making Becca’s meeting with David Bryson the main topic of conversation.

DINNER WITH CLAIRE turned out to be a very bad idea. As Brie had feared, news of the murder had really upset her. She was distracted, lost in her own thoughts for much of the meal, barely touching her food or even trying to make conversation with any of them.

And, just as Becca had feared, when Claire did talk, it was to beg her not to go back to the Bluffs. Brie and Elizabeth jumped right into that conversation, questions popping as quickly and as randomly as kernels of corn in a hot skillet. Neither of them felt as negatively about David but they agreed that Becca’s working for him was asking for trouble.

For the first time since Becca had settled in Moriah’s Landing, she was beginning to think she might have made a mistake in moving to such a small town. She wasn’t used to having people tell her how to handle her business. But then, she wasn’t used to anyone’s caring about her safety, either. Perhaps it was a fair trade-off. Still, she was thankful when they paid the bill and exited the restaurant.

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