women. While he’d only considered himself average looking, there’d been something about him that attracted the opposite sex. Charm. Persuasion. The gift of the gab, his mother would say.
Whatever it was, it had no influence on Eleri James—that was for sure. These days, his way with women had abandoned him. They were uneasy around him, uncomfortable.
Absently, his finger traced the scar on his throat.
Wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the rush of the surf against the shore. The sea mustn’t be far off. Tomorrow he’d walk and explore the grounds. Revisit the places he’d been the last time he’d come here.
Memories washed in blood and pain rose up inside him. He shook his head as if to physically force the images from his mind.
Maybe he wasn’t ready yet. Besides, he had things to do before worrying about all of that. He jogged down to his car, hauled his computer bag and suitcase from the boot and carried them back to the house before returning for the box of groceries. He hadn’t bought a lot, just enough to get him through the next few days.
He carried the box through to the kitchen—which looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1950s—and set it on the table. After putting his few supplies away in the cupboards and fridge, he toyed with the idea of making something to eat, but apprehension had killed his appetite.
Instead, he moved to the back door and peered out the window. Oily smears circled the glass—evidence of a hasty clean—distorting the dull green forest closing in around the house and his own pallid reflection.
What in the hell was he doing back here? The last time he’d barely escaped with his life. But he already knew the answer. The endless ache that something was missing inside, something left unfinished, forgotten.
The feeling haunted his days, left him tossing and turning through the night. And despite the terror he’d survived, there was an undeniable pull, an inevitability that he would come back here to face his demons.
For too long, he’d simply been existing. He needed answers, justice, and, live or die, he would find them both.
* * *
“Did you know?” Eleri asked, storming into the kitchen. Satisfaction lit inside her when the housekeeper jumped.
Mrs. Voyle turned away from the bubbling pot on the stove, pressed a hand to her narrow chest and glared. “Did I know what?”
“About our new tenant.” Eleri flopped onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Of course you did. Someone’s been in to give the lodge a tidy. You didn’t say a word?”
The woman jerked a shoulder and tuned back to the stove. “Not my place. I do as I’m told.”
“And was keeping me in the dark among your instructions?”
“Take the matter up with Mr. Warlow. It’s nothing to do with me.”
What would be the point? Since Brynn left, Eleri had no allies. A lonely pang squeezed her chest. Her sister promised to come back, but what if she changed her mind? What if Reece convinced her to stay in Chicago?
Brynn believed she was innocent, but Reece was far from convinced. He might not say the words aloud, but Eleri could read it in his suspicious stares, the way he tensed anytime she went near Brynn.
Eleri couldn’t fault him, really. If she were in his shoes, presented with the same evidence, she’d probably believe she was a killer too.
She shoved away her dark thoughts. She had more pressing matters at hand.
She needed Kyle Peirs to leave Cragera Bay, preferably with a large audience and an easy to find forwarding address. She probably should have pressed harder to convince him she was all the things people said. But when push came to shove, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t like the idea of him looking at her the way the rest of the village did. The way most of the people under her own roof did.
Eleri stood and started out of the kitchen.
“Six, sharp,” Mrs. Voyle called after her. “I won’t be staying later.”
As if Eleri could forget. And if that greasy smell wafting from the pot on the stove were any indication, Eleri would be better off skipping dinner altogether.
God, she missed her sister’s cooking. She missed Brynn more than she realized she would. After more than twenty-five years apart, she was surprised how close they’d become over the past six weeks.
But facing down a deranged killer bent on revenge was just the sort of thing that cemented sisterly bonds, she supposed. Unearthing family secrets, too, and sharing in ghostly shadows that few people at Stonecliff acknowledged. For the first time in her life, Eleri had felt like she had someone on her side.
With Brynn back in Chicago, she was alone again. She took some comfort in Brynn not wanting to leave, especially while Eleri was under investigation, but there were things Brynn needed to do since deciding to stay in Wales: sell her house, ship over the things she planned bring with her, dispose of the rest. Naturally, Reece had gone with her. Since they’d both nearly been killed a month ago, he hated for her to be out of his sight. Of course, that he still thought Eleri might kill the woman he loved probably sharpened those protective instincts.
Maybe he wasn’t like that in Chicago. Maybe he was laid-back and easygoing away from Stonecliff. Maybe he smiled and the chill left his icy gaze.
She didn’t know what her sister saw in him. Broad, sharp features, hard stares and scowls, topped off with shaggy black hair, Reece looked too scruffy to suit her stylish, pretty sister.
No, if anything Eleri pictured Brynn with a man like Kyle Peirs—all fine features and smooth charm. Minus the scar, of course. She tried to picture Brynn with Kyle, but the image irritated her and she couldn’t say why.
As soon as Eleri stepped into the foyer her gaze landed on Warlow and Dr. Howard by the door speaking in hushed tones. Her stomach sank and she stopped in her tracks.
Had something happened while she’d been with Peirs? Could her father be…? Numbness tingled into her limbs.
“What’s he doing here?” Eleri asked.
“Nothing to be alarmed about,” Dr. Howard said, pushing back his round, silver-framed glasses. The man had always reminded her a little of a younger Father Christmas, but without the jolliness. He was squat with a round belly. His reddish brown hair, curly and laced with strands of white, had receded to create a horseshoe around the back of his head. A wiry beard, the same color as his hair, covered his cheeks and chin and neck. But unlike Santa Claus, his round features were usually impatient or annoyed. “My visits will be more frequent without Ruth to look after your father.”
Had she actually heard reproach in his tone? “I suppose you will, now that he’s no longer under the care of a murderess. How is he?”
Dr. Howard scowled. He’d always been suspicious of her, believing her stepmother’s stories that she was dangerous even as a child, that she had tried to drown her own sister. Even after Brynn had remembered Meris had in fact been the one who’d tried to drown her as a child, the man still hadn’t warmed to her. Likely because of the twelve dead men found in the bog.
“I won’t
