had been restained and lacquered when she was a child—her punishment had been scrubbing the marble floors downstairs for a week by hand—but even the new stain and lacquer hadn’t erased the single word she’d carved in the corner with her scissors.
Help.
“Is everything okay?” Carter’s voice sounded behind her, causing her to spin around.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He studied her for a couple of seconds. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said, straining to keep herself from sounding as anxious as she felt. “Just coming face-to-face with old ghosts.”
She forced a small smile. “I suppose I should get used to it, right?”
He looked around the room and she had no doubt he noticed the desks and other remnants that marked the room as occupied by children. “I guess it’s strange coming back here after so long. You must have a lot of memories of this place.”
“Not really. To be honest, I barely remember anything about my childhood. I should because I was old enough to, but it’s as if it’s been erased.”
“Perhaps it was too painful to deal with, so you locked away those memories.”
A bit of relief washed over her. “Yes, I think you’re right. You’re very intuitive.”
“Not really,” he said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It just seems logical given the circumstances back then.”
She studied him for a moment. It was the first time since she’d met him that she got the feeling he was lying to her. As an attorney, she had a highly honed ability to detect untruth.
“Looks like the dam is breaking. I guess that’s something else I’ll have to deal with,” she said, pushing all thought of Carter and his potential ulterior motives from her mind. Whatever Carter was hiding was none of her business. She barely knew the man and that was the way things were going to stay.
He nodded and scanned the room again. “It looks like this is the only one with serviceable furniture, but if you don’t feel comfortable staying in here …”
“No, this will be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“It doesn’t require moving furniture and is as secure as any other option, right?”
“Assuming the locks work properly, yes.” He walked to the doorway and checked the lock, then crossed the room to open the French doors that led onto a balcony overlooking the backyard.
She stepped out to join him. The square lines of cypress trees were the only indicators of the lawn that used to exist. Now it was as if the entire area had been swallowed up by the swamp that surrounded it. Marsh grass and weeds grew as high as a person, and scraggly shrubs had spouted up in random patterns. Vines clung to everything capable of supporting their weight and when nothing was available, they ran across the ground, mixing in with the moss to make a mottled carpet of green.
“It’s not very inviting,” she said, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that the swamp gave her.
She’d expected Carter to provide another logical explanation—one that she could lock on to and carry over the next two weeks—but instead, he stared silently out across the tangle of undergrowth. Finally, he spoke. “The swamps of Mystere Parish aren’t like other places, not even like other swamps.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say exactly. It’s just a feeling, really, that something isn’t right. Swamps in Mystere Parish are quieter than most and have more than their share of unexplained phenomena.”
“The legends and lore of Creoles?”
“I’m sure that’s some of it, but I’m not much for old wives’ tales or stories told to scare kids into minding their mothers. Still, I don’t much like spending time in the swamp.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you probably shouldn’t venture out there. Too many lethal things could be lurking just past your back door and not a single one of them the kind of thing legends are made from.”
Despite the heat of the evening, a slight chill ran over her and she crossed her arms. “You don’t have to worry about that for a second. You couldn’t pay me enough to go in there.”
He nodded. “Well, the locks on both doors are fine. I wish we could have found a room closer to the stairwell …”
His voice trailed off and Alaina realized he hadn’t wanted to alarm her by finishing his sentence, but she had little doubt what he was thinking.
“In case I need to get out in a hurry,” she finished for him.
He frowned. “I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily, but I’d be lying if I said I liked you staying out here alone.”
“I thought there was a caretaker.”
“Amos lives in his own cabin.” He pointed across what used to be the back lawn. “It’s somewhere in that mess. Even if he heard or saw anything from his cabin, age and physical conditioning are working against him. He wouldn’t be much help.”
She leaned over the balcony and was relieved to see a stone walkway below that led around to the front of the house. It was a bit overgrown with vines but still visible.
“No worries,” she said as she straightened back up. “If things get hairy, I’ll go right over the balcony and run for my SUV.”
Carter glanced over the balcony and raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to jump from the second floor then run?”
“I went to college on a track-and-field scholarship. Almost made the Olympic team. The drop from the railing is no worse than the high jump, and trust me, if it’s a footrace with anything on two legs, I can take them.”
His lips quivered for a moment, then broke into a slow smile. “That’s good to know, but if it’s all the same, I’m going to hope you don’t have to back up those words.”
She smiled. “Me, too, but if it’s all the same, I may sleep with tennis shoes on.”
“Well, then, it looks like we have a plan.” He stepped back toward the door to the bedroom and motioned her inside. He stood just outside the doorway, waiting for her to pass. As she stepped past him, her arm brushed across his chest and she felt a tingle deep inside. Even though it had been a tiny bit of contact, it had left no doubt that underneath the worn T-shirt and jeans contained a ripped body built for action.
Maybe she needed to revise her earlier statement. She might not be able to take Carter in a footrace, but then, depending on the reason he was chasing her, she might not run.
She shook her head to clear it from thoughts that had no business being there. Had it really been that long since she’d enjoyed the company of a man that she was fantasizing about the first eligible one she ran across? She’d ended a three-year relationship eight months before and hadn’t been interested in pursuing another. Or maybe her last relationship had left her so jaded about men—particularly good-looking ones—that
