Dark Guardian
Jan Hambright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

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

Epilogue

Copyright

JAN HAMBRIGHT penned her first novel at seventeen, but claims it was pure rubbish. However, it did open the door on her love for storytelling. Born in Idaho, she resides there with her husband, three of their five children, a three-legged watch dog and a spoiled horse named Texas, who always has time to listen to her next story idea while they gallop along.

A self-described adrenaline junkie, Jan spent ten years as a volunteer EMT in rural Idaho, and jumped out of an aeroplane at ten thousand feet attached to a man with a parachute, just to celebrate turning forty. Now she hopes to make your adrenaline level rise along with that of her danger-seeking characters. She would like to hear from her readers and hopes you enjoy the story world she has created for you. Jan can be reached at PO Box 2537, McCall, Idaho 83638, USA.

Chapter One

Olivia Morgan pulled on her lucky red baseball cap, snagged her ponytail and dragged it through the opening in the back. She grabbed off the seat next to her the tool bag containing a lock-pick set, a screwdriver, an extra flashlight and a water bottle.

Sucking in a breath to quiet her nerves, she stared out into the moonlit night at the towering facade of gray granite that housed the Black’s Cove Clinic.

Breaking in to obtain her brother’s medical file was the only way she’d ever know if their treatment had helped him, or put him in a wheelchair and erased the knowledge of basic human functions from his brain. Her own personal question was why her parents had brought him to this macabre clinic in the first place?

Reaching for the door handle, she pulled it, let the door swing open and climbed out of her car.

The century-old building looked more like a throwback to Elizabethan England than a medical clinic. It was built in the 30’s and served as a mental institution until the Tray-borne family purchased it in 1956 and converted it into the Black’s Cove Clinic.

The hair on the back of her neck rose. She pulled the collar of her jacket up a little closer and eased the car door shut just enough to extinguish the dome light inside. Looping the tool bag strap over her shoulder, she prepared for her assault.

The place had been closed for years, but the newspaper archives she’d been digging through had revealed an interesting fact. The clinic’s medical records were still housed in the basement.

Slipping out of the grove of aspens she’d hidden her car in, she walked the edge of the cobbled drive and turned on her mini-flashlight. The skinny beam shone against the weed-laced stones leading up to the gatehouse.

Her hearing went on alert, every muscle in her body firmed in fight-or-flight standby. Why was she so tense? The place was empty. Abandoned. Standing alone in an isolated corner of southeastern Idaho. Getting answers would be like popping in to Jitter’s Espresso shop for a latte. Quick and easy.

Pulling resolve from that fact, she stared at the massive structure, its upper floors visible above the eight-foot-high stone wall surrounding it.

A shudder zig-zagged down her spine. She ducked in behind a tall arborvitae, fighting to regain her nerve. She’d taken risks before; it went with her job as a freelance investigative journalist digging for stories on medical mistakes. Ross’s condition certainly fit the description.

She swallowed and stepped out from behind the evergreen.

HE KNEW she would come; had seen her in a precognitive vision. And now she was here. Poking around where she didn’t belong, searching for answers he’d stop her from finding.

High on the stone wall blended with the tree branches and fall leaves, he watched the faint flicker of her flashlight through the window she’d entered, at the top of the fire escape. Coming to his feet from a squatting position, he willed his physical senses to heighten. Pulling in a deep breath of night air, he dissected its components in his mind, sorting threat from nonthreat in the process. He couldn’t sense them, but he knew they were here.

Sharpening his eyesight, he dragged his stare through the darkness, coming up empty. Concern fired along his nerves; he had to stop them before they hurt her.

Glancing back at the window, he turned his head slightly to the left, honing in on the sounds coming from the room. He closed his eyes, hearing her hesitant footsteps against the hardwood, the sound of the ancient knob turning, the swish of the door being pulled open and finally the pin sliding into the kick plate as she closed the door and released the knob.

There wasn’t much time.

OLIVIA LEANED against the door and shone her flashlight along a corridor to the right. A dead end with a window view. To the left, a long hallway opened up.

Ahead, fifty feet, the light beam bounced off two balusters at the midway point. The stairs, she guessed, glad when she reached them and stared down at the main-floor entrance below.

Six narrow windows rose above the double doors, allowing shards of moonlight to penetrate the interior. The platinum light cut across the great entry hall and illuminated a sitting area, crowded with furniture draped in white covers. Grains of dust danced in and out of the moonbeams, raising the level of caution in her blood.

Had someone stirred it up? Or was she just being paranoid in a dusty old building that made her want to sneeze? She chose the latter and put one foot in front of the other, descending the wide staircase to the ground floor.

She’d give the tip of her right pinky finger for a map of the place, but she’d have to rely on her sense of direction instead. The place had been built at the turn of the century. The kitchen was probably at the back of the building, and so too the stairwell leading to the basement.

Moving off the landing, she turned right, weaving her way through the cloaked furniture. Under the stairwell and directly behind the entry, she found what had once been a dining hall, probably when the building had housed mental patients. It was empty now, save a couple of tables with their chairs upended, legs to the ceiling.

How many patients had dined here?

She picked up her pace through the cavernous room, heading for a row of shutters that lined an opening in the wall to the right. The wide swinging door next to the serving window should lead into the kitchen if she’d guessed right.

Olivia eased the door open, shining the flashlight beam around first before stepping into the massive commercial kitchen. The strong smell of cooking oil and chlorine bleach overwhelmed her nose, almost making her gag.

“Ick,” she whispered as she probed the darkness, settling the beam of light on a narrow doorway at the far end of the galley, with a ladder leaned up against it.

“Yes.” She moved toward it, a sense of relief stirring in her veins. The sooner she found her brother’s file and got the heck out, the better she’d feel. This place gave her the creeps and then some.

She pulled the ladder out of the way, opened the door and stared down the stairwell, pointing the flashlight into the black hole below.

Pulling in a breath, she staved off the desire to turn and run. Down there was the truth and she’d be damned if she was going to stop hunting for it now.

Somewhere in the belly of the structure, a low mechanical groan hummed. About to jump out of her skin, she paused long enough to feel air rush from an overhead vent in the kitchen. The heat had kicked on. Shaking off her jitters, she started down the narrow wooden stairs, her senses on hyperalert.

Every creak of the ancient steps under her feet made her hesitate. At least she’d hear if anyone came down after her. Not that it was even a possibility. She was utterly alone in this place. She hoped.

Olivia reached the bottom of the steps and waved her flashlight around the basement. It had been divided into a series of rooms along the back wall. On her right was a bank of washers and dryers. The clinic’s laundry room.

One of the rooms against the wall on the left had to contain the file storage.

Stepping off the landing, she hurried to the first door and pulled it open. Inside was a food pantry, stocked with a smattering of canned goods.

She closed the door and went to the next one. It was locked. This had to be it. Snagging her tool bag off her shoulder, she fished out her lock picking set and knelt in front of the knob. With her light in between her teeth, she inserted the tension bar into the keyhole. Pushing the rake into the lock, above the tension tool, she coaxed the lock pins, feeling them give. The knob turned and she pushed open the door.

Grasping her flashlight, she shone it into the interior of the large room where rows of metal shelves stood as a testament to the number of patients who’d passed through the clinic. Thousands, she guessed. Olivia shoved her tools into the bag, stepped into the room, closed the door behind her and locked it.

She made a quick assessment moving her light around the perimeter. There were no windows.

Turning back toward the door, she focused on the light switch and flipped it on.

Overhead, a couple of incandescent bulbs dangling from shaded pendants came on, casting light down through the tall shelving units arranged in ten rows.

She could only hope each box had been marked with a month and year. It would make finding Ross’s medical records a piece of cake, but why her parents had signed a nondisclosure order in the first place, she’d never know. They’d both passed away without giving her the information.

Excitement pulsed in her veins. She turned off the flashlight and slipped it inside her tool bag. In less than ten minutes she’d have the answers she’d guessed at for years.

Staring up at the file boxes, she worked her way up and down the rows, until she spotted a box with the month and year she needed. It was on the top shelf. Frustrated, she moved out of the row, looking for something to climb on. In the corner she spotted a stepladder.

Olivia walked over to it, picked it up and carried it back into the row. She opened the ladder and put her foot on the first rung.

The stairs creaked under someone’s weight.

Olivia froze in place, her heartbeat escalating in her own eardrums.

Someone was coming.

A silent curse repeated in her mind as she stepped down off the rung. Whoever was outside the door must know she was in here? If not, the light under the door would be their first clue.

Maybe it was a maintenance man or a…security guard.

She swallowed hard, straining to hear.

There it was again, the groan of the wooden stairs.

Panic ignited in her veins. She went on the defensive. On the right bottom shelf in front of her was an opening between two boxes. She crawled into the void, listening as the doorknob was twisted back and forth a couple of times.

Closing her eyes, she worked to stay calm, pulling air into her lungs in even rhythm.

Overhead, the lights started to buzz, a low-pitched sound, like a bee circling.

A charge of fear racing through her, she opened her eyes and stared up, watching the light overhead dim and glow bright again. A power surge?

Tension held her body captive.

Pop! The glass bulb shattered, sending shards raining to the floor next to her.

A small squeak squeezed from between her lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth.

The second bulb blew into tiny pieces and hit the floor. The room went black.

Olivia reached for her tool bag. The sound of the lock releasing stirred terror in her. It was only a matter of time before she was discovered and arrested.

In desperation, she rummaged in her bag and pulled out the flashlight.

A loud scuffle erupted near the door.

She squeezed the light in her hand, determined to use it as a weapon if anyone got too close.

A deep guttural yell echoed in the room. The sound of mortal combat less than ten feet away from her played out in the dark.

Fear, solid and unmistakable, solidified in her mind.

Something scraped on the floor near her hiding spot. The stepladder she’d left in the row?

It slapped shut, grinding over the floor right past her and splinting into pieces against a wall on the opposite side of the room.

“Where is she?” a raspy male voice demanded from out of the darkness.

“Get out.” The order was unmistakable. Olivia strained to see in the blackness, to put a face with the voice, but if she turned on her flashlight, they’d find her for sure.

“Take care of it or we will.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

Bump! Bump! Bump!

All hell broke loose in the room as one by one the shelves banged into each other, falling like dominoes.

She lunged forward in the dark, aiming for a way out before she was caught in the calamity, but she miscalculated her location and slammed into a shelf, hitting her head and losing her ball cap.

Rolling onto her back, she turned on her flashlight just in time to see the first file box careen off the shelf above her.

She rolled to the left to avoid being crushed and ended up on her belly.

A scream rose in her throat.

Squeezing the flashlight as hard as she could, she aimed it toward the door.

There was a hard tug on the flashlight cylinder. Increasing her grip, she hung on to it as tight as she could. Another tug, then a jerk.

The light wrenched from her hand, rocketed across the room, slammed into the wall and went out.

Terror rocked her. What was happening? Who was in the room? Who…or what?

She felt a tiny prick in her right arm through her sleeve and slapped at it. Something clattered to the floor next to her. Patting the cement, her hand came down on a syringe. She’d been drugged?

Fear raced through her as one by one her senses dulled and went into hibernation. Still fighting, she settled into the void and closed her eyes.

“SHE’S DANGEROUS. She’ll expose us.”

He had to agree, but his methods differed from theirs. “I’ll make sure she leaves Black’s Cove. Stay away from her. Do you understand?” For emphasis, he mentally shoved them into the wall, holding them there with his mind.

“If you don’t get rid of her, we will.”

Letting them drop, he stepped back. In an instant, they were gone, leaving him alone in the room with her. The sedative he’d given her would wear off in an hour’s time; he could only hope she hadn’t seen any of their faces.

Turning in the darkness, he focused on her where she lay between two fallen shelves. She’d been minutes from death. They would have crushed her if he hadn’t intervened. But somehow he doubted only intervention was going to be enough to protect Olivia Morgan’s life. He’d have to do that and so much more.

Glancing at the file box tipped over next to her, he made a decision. He would allow her to discover enough information about her brother to be satisfied. She would leave Black’s Cove and their secret would remain secure.

Moving his hand in front of him, he willed the shelves into place.

They rocked upright, slaves of the telekinetic energy he forced on them. Next the file boxes were raised, refilled and put back into place, all except for the one she was after, that one he mentally slid onto the lowest shelf.

He knew she would return to the clinic in a couple of days—he’d seen it in a precognitive vision. And when she did, she would find what she was looking for.

OLIVIA’S SENSES RETURNED, starting with pain throbbing from a bump on her head. Awareness brought her around and she bolted straight up in the seat, almost banging her forehead on the steering wheel of her car in the process.

What had just happened?

Blinking several times, she got her bearings, shaking off the last of the fog that blanketed her mind. She couldn’t recall leaving the clinic. In fact, her last memory was of her flashlight mysteriously being jerked out of her hand.

She swallowed, fishing for memories beyond that. Nothing. Still, she couldn’t keep a shudder at bay. It ripped through her, setting her nerves on end.

“Dang.” She hadn’t gotten the file. Reaching up she patted her naked head. Her lucky red ball cap was missing. She’d dropped a clue, but she wasn’t going back for it tonight.

Turning the key in the ignition, she started her car and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was 3:20 a.m. She was missing an hour? She eyed the clinic as she pulled out into the driveway.

She had to have Ross’s file. She’d be back to try again, but next time, she’d come prepared for whatever lurked in the basement.

STEPPING OUT of the woods, he stared at the taillights of her car in the distance. He could still smell her sweet floral scent on the red baseball cap in his hand and on his clothes, still see the curve of her face as he’d carried her to her car and put her safely inside.

A wave of indignation raged through him. Olivia Morgan had to leave Black’s Cove. He wouldn’t have her blood on his hands.

He’d been watching her every move, but so had the others. They’d followed her here tonight just like he had. That knowledge worried him as he stepped out of cover and onto the cobblestone path that led him away from the building and all the secrets it contained.

Chapter Two

Olivia sat in a booth next to the window in the local coffee shop on Main Street. Her unobstructed view of the front door of Black’s Cove Gazette made the cup of weak coffee sitting in front of her almost palatable.

The newspaper would open in ten minutes. She glanced at her list, information she had to dig up from the newspaper’s archives.

A racy black Jaguar pulled up to the curb next to the restaurant. A man climbed out of the car, pausing long enough to lock the vehicle.

She gave him a once-over, sure he was the best looking thing she’d seen in this town to date. She stared at his broad shoulders as he turned, jaywalked across the street and disappeared into the Gazette office.

“Refill?” the waitress asked, holding a half-full coffeepot in her hand.

“Sure.” Olivia slid her cup to the edge of the table. “That’s a pretty great car, don’t you think?”

Glancing up at the young woman, she held her breath. The ploy was lame, but if it got her a name, then the benign question was worth it.

“That’s Jack Trayborne’s car. You should see his red convertible.”

“I bet it’s even better.” She pulled her full cup back and reached for the sugar. So this was the infamous Jack Trayborne? “He’s easy on the eyes, too. Is he single?”

The waitress’s cheeks pinked and she was about to reply, when an older woman waved at her from behind the counter. “Your order’s up, Emily.”

She nodded and turned around.

Olivia smiled to herself, pretty sure the young woman was nursing a crush. She could almost do the same, if she didn’t think Jack Trayborne was hiding secrets.

She had half a mind to march over to the Gazette and confront him face to face, but taunting the tiger before the cage door was all the way shut could get you bit. She loved risk, but not risk without a cause.

After last night’s freaky encounter in the basement of the clinic, she planned to lay low, blend in, ask the locals about Trayborne and hope to get some answers that would put her investigation back on track. Because at the moment, she didn’t have squat.

The front door of the newspaper office pushed open and he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Olivia focused on his dark good looks, enjoying the way the morning sun glinted off his coffee-colored hair. He was decked out in a charcoal gray business suit and much younger than she expected, midthirties she guessed. He didn’t look like a threat, but she couldn’t keep a sense of foreboding from coasting over her nerves.

An elderly couple paused to speak with him. He smiled at something they said, nodding his head in agreement. They waved before moving down the street, arm in arm.

Jack Trayborne crossed the road, a hint of a smile still bowing his sexy mouth. He reached his car, pausing next to it to raise his cell phone to his ear. He glanced over the car’s roof as he spoke, meeting her gaze with deep blue eyes and a placid expression.

A jolt of attraction zapped her. Her throat constricted and the heat of embarrassment rushed into her cheeks.

She broke the connection first and picked up her cup, bringing it to her lips in a nonchalant manner she didn’t feel. He’d set her damn nerves on fire and she was blowing it. There wasn’t much incognito about gawking at her enemy.

Chancing another look, she almost choked. In the instant between realization and reality, he’d slipped away.

She set down the cup, tossed a couple of bucks on the table and left the café.

Looking both ways, she crossed the street and entered the Gazette, determined to forget about the odd encounter. This was one strange town; it only stood to reason that Jack Trayborne was odd, too.

“Miss Morgan,” the receptionist said, looking up from behind a high counter positioned between the public and the newsroom, visible behind a half wall of glass. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to use the archives for a couple of hours this morning.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

A zing of caution wiggled up her spine. “Is there a problem?” She glanced at the sign-in sheet on the counter. It was blank.

“No. No problem. The exterminator is coming in to spray this morning. Everything has been draped. No one is allowed down there right now.”

Arguing didn’t appear to be an option. Anyway, who could argue for exposure to chemicals.

“When can I get into the archives?” she asked, picking up the morning’s edition of the newspaper from the desk. The headline leaped out at her. Phantom Saves Elderly Couple from Plunge off Hwy 21.

Couple claims they never saw the man who saved their lives, but they don’t dispute that the phantom played a role in their miraculous rescue and they believe he exists…

“At the end of the week.”

“Hmm?” She snapped back into the conversation, still pondering the ridiculous article.

“I’ll come back then. Thanks.” Olivia put the newspaper down, turned and left the office, pausing on the sidewalk to get her irritation under control before she crossed the street again and headed for her car. Up until this point, the Gazette had been her only source of information. She’d used archived articles to establish a time line on the clinic and its nefarious activities, but she still had to obtain Ross’s medical file.

An involuntary shiver crept over her body and bloomed on her skin as goose bumps. If she had an explanation for what had happened last night she’d feel better, but the unknown aspects left her nerves in tatters. Things definitely went bump in the night around here.

Had she simply walked to her car and climbed in without being aware? It didn’t make sense, but neither did any of the things that had taken place in that creepy basement.

Strolling at an easy pace, she headed for her vehicle.

In the distance, a siren howled and a police cruiser whizzed past, lights flashing. It turned right onto a side street.

Somehow, the commotion seemed out of place in the sleepy town of five thousand residents, where everyone seemed to know everyone else.

Curiosity zipped through her. The police car was headed in the same direction as her hotel.

Picking up her pace, she reached her car, pulled her keys out of her pocket and climbed in. She fired the engine and pulled out onto the main drag.

At the intersection of Main and 10th, one block up, she took a left, then another, finally turning onto 9th street, headed for her hotel. Up ahead, she spotted flashing emergency lights.

Caution stirred in her blood. They looked like they were corralled in front of her hotel.

Olivia pushed down on the gas pedal, an extension of her need to get to the scene as soon as possible.

She pulled into the parking lot on the side of the Emory Hotel and climbed out of her car. Moving quickly, she entered the main entrance, noting a couple of officers standing at the front desk speaking with the clerk. There didn’t appear to be anything urgent going on. She headed for the elevator. Lights and sirens usually spelled trouble for someone.

The elevator glided to a stop, illuminating the number 4 above the door before it dinged and the doors slid open.

Olivia exited into the hallway and stopped. At the end of the corridor two more uniformed officers milled around, another cop with a notepad appeared to be questioning a guest. Realization slammed into her brain at the same moment she charged down the hall.

An officer looked up. “You can’t come in here, miss. We’re investigating a break-in.”

“It’s my room!”

He stepped back, motioning her inside.

Olivia walked through the open door, almost running into another cop who was snapping pictures with a digital camera.

“What happened?” she asked, staring at the interior of the hotel room she’d occupied for the last five days. Worry laced through her as she looked for her laptop in the upheaval.

They got my laptop?

“This is your room?” the officer asked, turning his attention on her.

“Yeah.” Olivia swallowed, staring in disbelief at the chaos someone had inflicted on the place. The mattress was ripped open, stuffing scattered on the floor like puffy clouds. Dresser drawers were yanked out, her clothes tossed in every direction. One of the two lamps in the room lay smashed on the floor. The place was uninhabitable.

“Did you have valuables, miss?”

“Olivia Morgan.”

“Miss Morgan.”

“My laptop. Nothing else really matters.” Caution latched on to her nerves. She stepped to the window, pulled back the drapes and stared down into the parking lot.

Whoever broke in knew she wasn’t in her room. Was she being followed?

At the back entrance of the lot, she caught a glimpse of black, just in time to see Jack Trayborne’s Jaguar turn right out of the parking lot and jettison away.

Anger sluiced in her veins, but she held her tongue. Was it possible he’d trashed her room and stolen her laptop? It did contain her research and the makings of her exposé about the Black’s Cove Clinic. Information that could eventually convict the Trayborne Foundation and the clinic for medical mistakes.

“Any idea how they got in?”

“We’re going to dust for prints, but because the window is fixed, we believe the perpetrator came in through the door.”

“My laptop is a Mac. I have the serial number written down at home. I’ll have to phone it in to you after I leave.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I can probably salvage my clothes and personal items.”

The officer scribbled on a police report. “Do you know of anyone who might have reason to break into your room?”

Jack Trayborne. “No. I’ve been in town for less than a week. I don’t know anyone, really.”

“Okay, Miss Morgan. We’ll do what we can to catch the perpetrator and recover your laptop. Do you have a cell phone number where we can reach you?”

Olivia rattled off her number and turned toward the door. “I’m going to get another room. I’ll stop by later to collect my things.”

The officer nodded and she stepped out into the hallway, striding past an officer questioning a hotel guest. The man appeared to be more agitated with each question the officer posed.

“Excuse me.” Olivia moved past them only half listening to the exchange.

“I’m not crazy. I know what I saw!” The exasperated man’s raised voice sliced into her nerves and tuned her hearing. Her steps faltered and she purposely slowed to a crawl, listening over her shoulder.

“The door was wide open. I looked in and the damn mattress was sailing off the bed! There was no one in that room, Officer. No one at all.”

Olivia stopped in front of the elevator, fighting a wave of anxiety that couldn’t be contained. He wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy, even though she felt a little nuts when she replayed the odd things that went on last night at the clinic.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. She stepped inside and pushed the button for the lobby. The doors glided closed and she tried to relax, but every muscle in her body had other ideas.

What if she’d been followed here? Caution laced through her. Maybe she should change hotels. But what good would it do? Maybe she was better off staying put. The security in the hotel would be ramped up now that there had been a break-in.

The elevator reached the lobby level, the doors opened and she walked to the front desk.

“Hi.”

A starched-looking woman in a white blouse and tailored blue jacket instantly smiled at her.

“Miss Morgan. We’re so sorry about the break-in. We carry insurance. Perhaps you’d like to fill out a form for the replacement of any items that were stolen?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. But right now, I need another room.”

“I’ll see what’s available.” The woman moved to her computer.

Olivia leaned on the counter, listening to the clack of the keys.

“You’ve been booked into the Presidential Suite on the sixth floor.”

She straightened. “Really. By whom?”

“The owner, Miss Morgan.”

“And who would that be?”

“Jack Trayborne.”

Anger sizzled in her veins and she nearly let out a growl.

“That’s very nice of Mr. Trayborne.” She pasted a smile on her lips. Was Jack Trayborne aware of her mission in Black’s Cove? She certainly had to consider the possibility that she’d been found out. Maybe the receptionist at the Gazette had ratted her out and told him about her long hours in the dusty archives. Maybe he was the one who’d destroyed her room and taken her laptop to see how far she’d gotten?

“He came as soon as the manager alerted him to what had happened. He’s extremely sorry your security was compromised and requests that you have carte blanche, beginning with the suite.”

The phone call she’d seen him take in front of the coffee shop?

A measure of resolve soothed her irate nerves. Was it a ploy to placate her with creature comforts? Or a genuine gesture? She couldn’t be sure. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take another standard room, please.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, Miss Morgan?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t keep her foot from tapping against the thick carpet in front of the desk. She wouldn’t be put off the scent by his goodwill. She knew plenty of his type. Money didn’t buy character.

“Here you are, room 304.” She handed her the key card. “If you change your mind, be sure to let us know.”

Olivia took the key. “Thank you, but this will do.” She nodded and headed for the elevator, more determined than before to find out what Jack Trayborne was hiding at the Black’s Cove Clinic, a curiosity she planned to satisfy tonight no matter how terrifying she found that damn basement.

OLIVIA STARED INTO FOG as thick as her Grandma Edna’s gravy. She couldn’t see five feet in front of her as she shone her flashlight down at the cobble drive leading up to the gatehouse.

It was like a bad rerun; worse the second time around. The only saving factor was, if she couldn’t see, she couldn’t be seen.

She reached the gatehouse and found the gate wide open. Moisture coated her sweatshirt, its dampness reaching clear down to her bones. She shivered as she pushed through the gate, aiming for the shadow of the clinic she could almost make out in the mist.

She planned to use the same window to enter, if it hadn’t been closed and locked. The thought put a measure of worry in her head. What if she couldn’t get the file?

Olivia shook off the notion as she reached the right side of the building. She hurried along the side and around the back corner, pausing only once to get her bearings.

Breathing deeply, she pulled the earthy scent of the fog deep into her lungs.

Pushing on, she scaled the fire escape and climbed through the window she’d used before. Relief worked through her. Things were going so easily.

Too easily?

She straightened and pulled her Taser out of her tool bag. This time, she’d come prepared to defend herself. From whom or what, she didn’t know, but she didn’t plan to lose an entire hour of her life again in some unknown scenario.

Weapon ready and flashlight showing the way, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the hallway. She reached the staircase and took the steps two at a time. Breezing through the sitting area and the dining room, she didn’t slow until she reached the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

Easing it open, she mentally prepared for the stench of oil and bleach. She stepped through the door and let it swing behind her.

She hurried through the galley and down the stairs, anxious to get in and get out. The door into the storage room stood open. She pulled up short and shone her light around the interior.

“Damn.” The place had been cleaned up. Even the towering metal shelves were in the upright position, not an easy task judging by their size. Certainly whoever had put the place back together knew there’d been some kind of fight down here. Had they increased security?

A zap of caution jolted her and she instantly listened for any sounds of pursuit.

Nothing.

Stepping into the room, she reached for the light switch and flipped it on, surprised that even the bulbs had been replaced, but she didn’t extinguish her flashlight this time.

Easing along the rows, she found the one where she’d discovered the file box she wanted. Raising the light beam to the uppermost shelf, she searched for the box. It was gone.

Dread shot holes in her resolve. Was it possible whoever had been in the room that night took the information? Was it possible someone knew what she was after?

About to give up, Olivia glanced down, the edge of her beam flicking over a file box on the lowest shelf.

Her heart rate kicked up. She dropped to her knees and reached for the box. She swallowed and put her Taser down on the floor, then the flashlight.

It was her lucky day…night, she decided as she pulled the lid off the box. The light penetration from overhead was negligible and she picked up the flashlight, sticking it between her teeth and aiming it into the box as she flipped through the files one by one.

They weren’t alphabetized, something that would have saved her time.

Silently, she repeated the names on the files until she reached the one with “Morgan, Ross A” printed on the tab.

Olivia’s breath clogged in her lungs, whether a result of the dusty files or the emotion choking her throat, she wasn’t sure, but one thing was for certain, she’d found what she was looking for.

Slowly, she opened the file and pulled the flashlight out of her mouth, focusing its beam on the faded typewritten pages, paper clipped to the inside of the manila folder.

There was the standard information—height, weight, blood pressure, pulse rate, patient I.D. She studied the sketch of a human foot with three small dots on it in a triangular pattern. Frustrated, she flipped up the first page of the three-page file, looking for the doctor’s notes, the diagnosis, anything that would tell her what sort of treatment he’d received in the clinic.

Her eyes focused on a paragraph written in long hand. It was barely legible, but she muddled through, soaking in the information.

The patient has irreversible brain damage, which appears to be nonresponsive to treatment at this time. I administered a 200cc dose of NPQ, but the patient remained in an unresponsive state. At this time, we have done everything we can for him.

This couldn’t be all there was to Ross’s file. There had to be more.

The click of the light switch startled her. She quickly closed the file and raised her flashlight beam toward the door, determined to meet the threat head-on this time.

With her free hand, she slid the file into her tool bag and looped it over her shoulder. Picking up the Taser, she stood up, prepared for battle.

The door slammed shut.

She jumped, watching in horror and awe, as an eight-foot desk skidded past on its own and jammed against the door, trapping her inside.

Terror exploded in her body. She bolted forward.

Was she losing her mind?

Panic took hold of her. She lunged for the desk and tried to shove it away from the exit. It wouldn’t budge. Some unseen force held it in place.

The hiss of a match somewhere in the room sent a shot of terror into her heart.

The unmistakable odor of sulfur filled the air.

She watched in shock as a pile of papers in the corner of the room ignited and flames raced up the wall.

Caustic smoke filled the enclosed room, invading her lungs, burning her eyes. Her throat squeezed shut.

Dropping to the floor next to the desk, she pulled the tool bag off her shoulder and yanked off her sweatshirt. Digging into her bag, she took out the bottle of water she always carried and doused the sweatshirt.

Holding the wet cloth to her nose as a filter, she stood and tried again to push the desk out of the way, but it was useless.

Reality choked out any hope she had left as she began to feel the dizzying effects of the toxic smoke.

Sinking down onto the floor, she conserved her strength for another attempt.

If she didn’t get out in the next minute, she was as good as dead.

Chapter Three

He could hear the thump of her heartbeat through the door. She was still alive, but she wouldn’t be for long if he didn’t get inside.

Raising his hand out in front of him, he pushed against the door, feeling the resistance holding it shut. What had they done?

Pulling in a deep breath, he focused all his energy on the object behind the door and felt it give, a little at first, before he heard it grind across the floor.

The door opened with a violent crack, hitting against the doorstop.

Smoke belched from the room, setting off the fire alarm.

He covered his mouth and nose and charged in, spotting her next to the massive desk that had been used to lock her in.

Luckily, they hadn’t stayed to make sure their sick plan worked. He pulled her into his arms, raced out of the room and up the stairs. He carried her through the dining hall, the entryway and out the front door.

The alarm would bring the fire department. She couldn’t be found at the scene.

Fog blanketed the landscape as he moved along the walkway, headed for the gatehouse. He couldn’t let her see his face, but he needed to make sure she was okay.

Carrying her into the woods next to the driveway, he found a clearing in the trees and carefully put her down on the grass.

There were no soot markings around her nose or mouth. No indication that she suffered from smoke inhalation.

Reaching down, he brushed his hand against her cheek. She flinched. She was breathing normally. Still, he couldn’t be certain why she appeared to be unconscious.

Was it possible she’d faked the condition?

Focusing his energy, he reached into her mind and caught her stream of thought. She was waiting. Waiting for the precise moment to open her eyes and catch him looking down at her. She wanted to discover his identity.

In a flash, he jumped to his feet, turned and took a leap into the fog.

OLIVIA SAT UP as fast as she could, but she wasn’t quick enough. She could just make out the shadow of someone retreating into the mist through the trees.

Dammit. Once again, she’d been rescued by a faceless someone…or…something. But this time she was extremely grateful.

In the distance she heard the wail of sirens, no doubt headed to the fire in the basement of the clinic.

Patting her shoulder, she let out a groan and stood up. Her tool bag was missing. The file she’d just risked her life to retrieve was probably burned to a crisp by now.

Disappointment chewed through her. At least she’d been able to read the first paragraph written by the doctor. It had revealed what she’d always known. Ross had irreversible brain damage. But what was NPQ? She’d have to plug the letters into a computer somewhere to see if she could pull up any results. And the patient I.D., she was certain she’d seen those marks on Ross’s left ankle. Beyond that, she had nothing.

Carefully, she pushed through the trees and tried to figure out where she was. The smell of smoke hung in the mist and the fire roared in the distance.

Stumbling forward, she came out at the edge of the cobbled drive. She took a left, following the stones until she reached her car.

The hum of the fire trucks drew closer and she climbed into her car to wait.

The flash of lights against the fog bathed her hiding spot in waves of red. One fire engine rolled past, then another.

Olivia started her car, put it in Drive and eased out of the aspen grove. The bump of the stones under her tires was comforting. She’d be safely out of here in a minute or so and headed back to town with new information. It did seem like they’d tried to help Ross at the clinic.

A measure of doubt crept into her mind. If the clinic had only attempted to cure Ross and hadn’t worsened his already-devastating condition, then there was nothing for her to expose. Still, the Trayborne Foundation had set up a trust fund for him. Why would they do something like that if they had no guilt in making him worse?

The glow of headlights in front of her came up so fast that she barely had time to slam on her brakes and pull the steering wheel hard to the right.

A black Jaguar whipped past on the left.

Olivia glanced in her rearview mirror and saw his brake lights come on in the mist.

It made sense that Jack Trayborne would show up here. It was, after all, his facility.

But she couldn’t let him identify her.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, she launched forward, keeping the car in between the trees that lined both sides of the road. Had he seen her car well enough to identify it?

He would certainly be asking questions about who had started the fire. Just the memory of watching the blaze erupt with no one around made her skin crawl. Maybe it had been started by spontaneous combustion? Maybe there were oily rags in the corner? But no matter how hard she tried to explain away what she’d seen tonight, she couldn’t.

Something strange was going on at the Black’s Cove Clinic. Something terrifying and otherworldly. Something she didn’t want to believe.

Not even for a moment.

OLIVIA SAT IN ONE of a dozen Internet cubicles in the Black’s Cove Community Library.

Her hands shook as she typed the letters NPQ into the search engine and pressed Enter.

The screen filled with possible matches. One by one she scanned them, eliminating each result until her gaze settled on one interpretation of the acronym.

Neuro Pathway Quotient…Neuro Pathway Quotient.

She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew enough about brain injuries to know it destroyed neuro pathways.

She clicked on the link and an article about the subject popped up on screen. It had been included as reference material in a medical research paper dated May 1999. The copyright on the source paper was 1979, pre-Internet.

A rush of excitement charged through her. The copyright holder was Martin J. Trayborne, the patriarch of the Black’s Cove Clinic. Jack Trayborne’s grandfather.

Olivia selected the print option and sent the request. In the background, she heard the laser printer fire up as she scanned the article.

A lot of medical jargon filled the page, but a single paragraph caught her attention.

I have managed to isolate the protein responsible for the formation of new neuro pathways. I am hopeful that this discovery will result in the formation of new attachments within the patient’s injured brain, rewiring and resetting the synapses.

Was this why her parents had brought Ross to the clinic? For some sort of miracle cure? It was a heroic effort, but obviously, it had failed. She swallowed and sat back in her chair. If Ross was used as a human guinea pig, were there others?

Was there any way to get at the Foundation’s financial records? If Ross had a trust account, then maybe others had been established, as well.

A loud screech interrupted Olivia’s thoughts.

She spun around in the swivel chair, her brain trying to process what her eyes were seeing.

Paper shot out of the holding tray on the printer, like fast balls off a pitcher’s glove.

The librarian scrambled, trying to shut off the kamikaze machine.

Olivia stood up and rushed to help. Finding the power cord plugged into the floor, she pulled it. The printer ground to a stop.

What on earth was happening? she wondered as she turned back to her computer cube, only to find her screen and every other monitor had gone black.

“Oh my, there must have been a power surge of some sort,” the librarian said as she crawled around on the floor picking up the paper.

“Has this ever happened before?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Olivia knelt next to the flustered woman and helped her scoot the sheets into a pile.

“I was printing out an article I found on the Internet. Did you happen to see it?”

“No,” she continued to work the mess into a neat stack. “Everything here is blank.”

Olivia placed the last piece of paper on the stack and stood up. Glancing around the library, she studied the two lone patrons. A young teenaged girl and a middleaged woman. Neither of them looked like a would-be printer-monger and Internet saboteur.

This freaky episode was too much like what she’d experienced in the basement of the clinic. Otherworldly.

“Thanks. I’ll come back when the Internet is up.”

The librarian tucked a stray strand of gray hair back behind her ear and nodded. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” She exited the single-story library building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Scanning the street in both directions, she half expected to see Jack Trayborne’s distinctive car, but it wasn’t there. How was it he always seemed to be nearby when things got weird?

Maybe it was time to poke the tiger.

She watched an older gentleman move toward her on the sidewalk.

“Excuse me, sir.”

He stopped, a polite smile on his mouth. “Yes, can I help you?”

“I need directions. Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”

His smile vanished. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know where he lives.” The man hurried away, leaving her amused.

Surely someone like Jack Trayborne was well-known in the community his family established. She’d almost bet everyone in town knew who he was and where he lived.

“Excuse me.” She stopped an elderly woman with a shopping bag on her arm. “Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”

The woman shook her head and picked up her pace in an effort to get away.

His address wasn’t listed in the phone book; she’d already checked. Maybe she could find out where he lived through the hotel?

About to give up, she spotted a young woman pushing a stroller along the sidewalk. It was worth another try.

“Excuse me, miss.”

The woman stopped. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you know who Jack Trayborne is?”

An instant smile spread on her lips. “Yes, I do. In fact, he’s my hero.”

Her confusion must have amplified on her face, because the young woman attempted to clarify.

“He saved Gracie’s life.”

“Gracie?”

“My baby girl.”

Olivia’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Staring down, she looked at the baby tucked into her stroller in a fluffy pink blanket. She had her mother’s pretty brown eyes.

“He saved your little girl? From what?”

“An out of control car. We were on the corner of Main and 11th. Grace was in her stroller. Virginia Radcliff accidently hit the gas pedal instead of her brake when the light turned red. She lost control of her car. It came through the intersection and jumped the curb. Jack Trayborne grabbed me and Gracie and pushed us out of the way. The car ended up right where we’d been waiting to cross. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t be here.” She looked down at her baby and the little girl smiled up at her mother.

Olivia could see how much she loved her child and a measure of respect for Jack Trayborne took shape in her brain.

“That’s a touching story, with a happy ending. I was wondering if you can tell me where he lives.”

“It’s easy to find. It’s just west of Black’s Cove Clinic.”

An ounce of dread leaked from her bones and splayed across her nerves. She’d made a silent vow to avoid that place like the plague.

Leaning over, she stared down at the adorable baby girl, pursed her lips, and made a clicking sound. Gracie responded, a toothless grin pulling up her mouth and bunching her baby cheeks. “Bye-bye, sweetie, glad you’re safe, and thank you…” She glanced at Gracie’s mom.

“Judy…Judy Bartholomew.”

“Judy. Maybe I’ll see you again.”

The young mother nodded and continued along the sidewalk.

Olivia pulled in a breath and headed for her hotel four blocks away. She planned to return to the library for a copy of the article she’d found on the Internet, but for now, she needed to write down everything she’d discovered about NPQ. And then there was Jack Trayborne. Hero, rescuer of women and infants. A Black’s Cove resident everyone had to know, but wouldn’t talk about or betray. Why?

Could she risk a face-to-face meeting with him before she’d uncovered enough ammunition to counter the verbal assault she was sure he’d launch against her and her exposé?

CAUTION WORKED its way through him as he stood in the deep shadows next to the street watching her speak briefly with Judy Bartholomew. Turning his head slightly, he searched for the sound of her voice among the street noise, picking out enough of the conversation to understand the trouble it invoked. After a couple of moments, she resumed her stroll along the sidewalk on the opposite side.

Olivia Morgan hadn’t left well enough alone, hadn’t taken the information from the clinic and come to a conclusion that would have made her leave town singing the praises of the facility’s attempts to help her brother. To give him a normal life.

Everything was in danger as long as she remained here. Her life, the lives of anyone who dared to help her along the way and his secret. Their secret.

Worry ground over his nerves and forced him into the sunlight. The air was charged; he could feel the surge of energy on his skin. He searched for a source, isolating it to within a block of where he stood. They were up to something.

Picking out Olivia’s movements, he reached out and put a field of protection around her.

The squeal of brakes behind him brought his head around.

An out-of-control sedan zoomed past, the driver waving his hands frantically.

Turning back around, he saw Olivia crossing the street one block ahead of him.

He broke into a run.

They planned to kill her, had from the moment she’d stepped foot in Black’s Cove. In that instant, he realized how determined they were to keep their secret. He wanted to keep it, too, but at the expense of another human being’s life?

He heard the impact, felt it jar his bones much like it jarred hers.

Bolting in between a couple of cars, he ground to a stop, assessing the situation unfolding at the intersection less than fifty feet away.

Heightening his senses, he listened for her heartbeat among the crowd gathering around the spot where Olivia Morgan lay in the street. There were too many of them to isolate her distinctive cardiac rhythm.

Concern pushed him forward. He mixed with the growing mass of interested folks who wanted to catch a glimpse of what had happened.

The hair at his nape bristled, warning him they were nearby, watching just like he was. Waiting, hoping, praying their brutal attempt to deal with Olivia Morgan had succeeded this time.

Chapter Four

Olivia faded in and out of consciousness, wondering where it hurt, if it hurt and what had just happened.

She opened her eyes, staring up at the crowd gathered around her. The asphalt under her was hard and cold. She’d been hit by a car? It was the only thing that made sense.

The sudden pressure of hands on her body sent a charge of electricity shooting through her along with disbelief as she tried to sit up, realizing there was no one next to her.

She closed her eyes again, trying to reason away what was happening. It was crazy. Maybe she was unconscious or imagining the feel of hands moving over her body, almost like an examination. As quickly as the odd sensation took her, it stopped.

Sucking in a breath, she sat up, focusing on the faces of the people crowding around her.

“Hurry! Someone call an ambulance. I think she’s hurt.” A man in his twenties knelt next to her and touched her arm. “Are you okay?” he asked in an excited voice.

She stared at him and nodded her head. “I think so.” Mentally she searched for any injuries, but short of feeling slightly dizzy and a bit out of sync, nothing else hurt.

“It knocked the wind out of me and I banged my head on the pavement.” Reaching up, she touched a tender spot on her left temple, and recoiled in pain.

The wail of sirens screamed in the distance, but she found her hearing focused on a voice in the throng of people.

“The Phantom protected her.” The whispered comment drew a string of agreement through the crowd.

The Phantom? Protection? The people in this town were certifiable, she decided. This was a simple case of car versus pedestrian, and the car hadn’t won. Just like the elderly couple had been lucky and escaped their accident.

Olivia attempted to stand up, but nausea pushed her back down. She fought off a rush of panic. She didn’t want to go to the hospital. She hated hospitals. But maybe she did need to be checked out.

The sirens grew louder and finally quit about the time the crowd parted and a couple of EMTs carrying equipment stepped through the crowd and knelt next to her.

“What happened?” the EMT asked, opening his jump kit.

Olivia focused on his name tag. Todd Nicholls. At least she was still cognitive.

“I’m fine. The car barely touched me. Nothing is broken.” She searched for the vehicle, her stare settling on the crushed bumper that hung at a cockeyed angle from the impact.

A measure of disbelief tingled in the back of her brain. She should be hurt. If the condition of the car was any indication, she should be broken, but she wasn’t.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital.” A wave of claustrophobia washed over her and she closed her eyes for a moment until it passed. When she opened them again, she was ready to stand up.

“You took a terrific hit, Miss. We’d feel better if you got checked over in the ER.”

A measure of reason silenced her protest and she nodded. “You’re right. I don’t feel so great. Better safe than sorry.”

One of the medics went to retrieve the gurney and she watched him maneuver it through the masses being slowly pushed back by a uniformed officer, as his partner questioned the driver.

“Nothing to see here, folks. Move along, let the medics work.”

Glancing up, her gaze locked on the only familiar face in the crowd. Jack Trayborne? She’d know his intense blue eyes anywhere, but before she could decipher the look of anger on his face, he stepped back into the throng.

An unexplained jolt of disappointment glanced off her brain. What had she hoped would happen? That he’d rush to her side and begin a conversation? Spill the clinic’s secrets in the middle of the street next to her?

A slingshot full of reality slammed into her brain, leaving her almost giddy in its simplicity.

She’d been digging down the wrong tunnel, mining the clinic’s secrets, when she needed to be uncovering his. He was Black’s Cove Clinic.

Olivia tried to relax as the EMTs wrapped her up like a mummy in a C-collar and strapped her to a backboard. It was all for the sake of her safety in the event she’d injured her spine in the accident, but that didn’t help her level of discomfort as they wheeled her into the ambulance and headed for the hospital.

RAGE CONSUMED HIM as he took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding out a war beat he was sure they’d heard long before he kicked open the door in the empty warehouse loft and stepped into the dark room.

Waves of energy rushed him, but he encircled himself in a wall of protection much like the one he’d used to save Olivia’s life in the street below.

Reaching into the darkness with his mind, he found them standing together in the corner. The mental contact solidified their involvement, as he pulled in their thoughts.

Fear, slow to take shape but palpable, emanated from one of them, but the other…

“I said I’d deal with her. She’s mine! Do you understand?”

“You’ve had enough time. We won’t stop until you get rid of her.”

Anger streamed through him like molten lava. It hit its flashpoint in a violent explosion he couldn’t immediately control.

“No!” He thrust out his hand in front of him, sending them into the wall. The interior of the warehouse reverberated with the impact and he watched them both hit the ground in a crumpled heap.

Pulling huge gulps of air into his lungs, his rage dissipated. He stepped toward them.

Going to his knees, he rolled them both over, satisfied when they stirred and sat up.

“If you touch her again, you won’t survive. Do I make myself clear?”

Begrudgingly, they both nodded, rubbing various parts of their bodies, still throbbing from the impact, but he had to be sure. Reaching into their minds, he listened to their stream of thought, satisfied that Olivia Morgan was safe for the time being.

He came to his feet, feeling drained, and left the loft. He had to protect her. Perhaps the time had come to force her into his arms, but from what he knew about her, she wasn’t going to come quietly.

OLIVIA STARED straight ahead, while the ER doctor shone a light in her eyes, first one, then the other.

He stepped back and shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “You’ve got a mild concussion. No broken bones. I’d say you’re a lucky lady.”

“Thanks. Now, when can I get out of here?”

“I’ll sign off on the discharge papers, but you need to follow this tip sheet on head injuries. If you experience any of the symptoms, you need to return to the hospital immediately.”

“Okay.” Olivia reached out and took the diagnostic paper from the doctor. “If I have any trouble, I promise I’ll come back.”

He left through the curtain surrounding the cubical, and she slowly got dressed. She did feel like she’d gone a couple of rounds with a prize fighter. Tomorrow morning was going to be a bear. That’s when the bruises would show up in an ugly shade of purple. She could already feel the asphalt burns on her cheek, forearm and elbow.

But what the hell had really happened in the middle of the street? The truth was, she should be in the ICU, but she wasn’t.

She swallowed hard, trying to figure it out as she pulled on her blouse. It was almost as if some unseen force was standing between her and the speeding car. A wall, a barrier of some sort. A chill wiggled through her and she couldn’t deny its source. Fear. She’d only been in Black’s Cove for a solid week and she’d almost been killed twice. Most sane individuals would run screaming from this strange town.

She was screaming, but she didn’t plan to run.

Olivia pulled on her shoes and tied them. Folding the paperwork, she shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans and pushed back the privacy curtain.

The ER hummed with activity. Nurses scampered around, medical equipment in hand. It was hard not to feel the rising level of tension in the air.

Focusing on the set of double doors at the end of the corridor, she headed for the exit, but the sound of emergency tones caught her attention. She slowed her pace. “BC ER, unit three. We’re en route with an unresponsive female patient. Name Judy Bartholomew, age twenty-four, possible suicide attempt by ingestion. We’re ten minutes out if we beat the AOT 11:55 freight into town.”

A train whistle, distinct and unmistakable came in over the emergency vehicles’s radio frequency and Olivia deciphered the acronym AOT, always on time.

The nurse pressed the button on the microphone. “Copy unit three, we’ll be waiting. Any information on the drug she took?”

“Negative. We found a couple of pills next to her on the bed, but no bottle. We’re bringing them in for analysis. Unit three clear.”

“BC hospital, clear.” The nurse turned and headed for one of the trauma bays at the rear of the ER, shouting the information. “Female patient, age twenty-four…”

Olivia wanted to cup her hands over her ears to shut it out. She’d spoken to Judy Bartholomew just over an hour ago about where Jack Trayborne lived. She’d been the only one willing to give her any information. The image of Gracie staring up at her mother flashed in her mind, followed by a wave of disbelief that threatened to overwhelm her. She reached out and sagged against the wall.

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