she rose and left. As she closed the barred door, it squealed.
She turned the lock and pocketed the key. “My dear Mr. Blackwell, welcome to your worst nightmare.”
“HEY, SAL, HOW ARE the biscuits today?” Ray Lundy asked. Breakfast at the Parker Peach had been a part of his routine since he took on managing J.R. Randall’s stables three years ago.
The redheaded waitress turned and smiled.
“Hey, Ray, you’re late this mornin’.” Sally Warren grabbed the coffeepot off the heater and headed to the corner table where Ray took a seat. He doffed his battered cowboy hat and laid it crown-side down on the vinyl seat next to him.
“Hear about the fire at Granger’s barn last night?” His eyes strayed over Sally’s hourglass figure squeezed into a cotton-candy-pink uniform that was half a size too small. He licked his lips, then forced his gaze back to her freckled face.
“What happened?” Sally asked, interest glowing in her eyes.
“They say it was the witch.”
“No!” Sally eyed the kitchen window, then placed the coffeepot on the table and sat down across from Ray.
“Yep. Granger, his wife and his daughter’s Girl Scout troop all saw her ridin’ away on that black stud of hers.” Glad to see his juicy gossip having the desired effect, Ray sampled the coffee, added a heaping teaspoon of sugar and a small container of cream.
“What reason would she have to do that?” Sally placed her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands.
In the background Ray heard the clatter of dishes being washed, the scuff of a spatula scraping grease off the grill and Joe’s sharp bark at a kitchen helper. With the breakfast rush over, all Sally’s tables sat empty at the moment. Besides, he’d timed his arrival just right; he knew she was due for a break. He had her rapt attention—for the next couple of minutes.
“Granger said his cows wandered over to her pastures a few weeks ago,” Ray said. “She wasn’t too pleased. Had her henchwoman tell him to keep his cows home or she’d do it for him.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah. Good thing his stock was out, but the barn’s a total loss.”
“You know, that really doesn’t sound like her. She’s never bothered anybody before.”
“What about the hex she put on Harris when he shot that deer on her land last spring.”
Sally gave him a quizzical look.
“The next week the roof on his house caved in.”
“Oh, come on, Ray, there was a tornado spotted during that storm. She had no control over that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. What about Andy Stone?” Ray took a deliberately long sip from his cup. “I hear tell he saw her face last week when she was out ridin’ and hasn’t been able to talk since.”
“For heaven’s sake, Ray. Andy’s got laryngitis.”
“Are you sure?” Ray saw her thoughts waver. She’s so transparent.
“Then there’s the disappearin’ animals,” Ray continued. “The Strykers’ dog and the Andersons’ cat. Even old Zeke put in a report he had a goat missin’.” Ray sweetened his coffee with another spoonful of sugar. He loved the way the spoon clinked in time to Sally’s thoughts. “You know the full moon’s comin’. A witch’s moon.”
Ray saw Sally study him. They’d known each other since grade school. He liked to play with people, and she knew it. He hoped she wouldn’t realize he was playing her for a fool. Knowing Sally as well as he did, she’d jump at the chance to be the first to repeat the juicy gossip. That was why he’d picked her. Ray recognized the instant she made up her mind.
“Well, I gotta get back to work or Joe’ll have my hide,” she said. “The usual?”
“The usual.” Ray smiled a satisfied grin. He’d planted the kernel of doubt. Sally Warren’s loose tongue would spare no time in sharing the rumors. Everything was going according to plan.
Chapter Three
Tyler’s first thought was that he was dead. Then he tried to move and knew that if he was dead, he’d gone to hell. Nowhere else would such pain be allowed. His whole body throbbed. Something sharp dug into his rear and his guts hurt from sleeping on his back.
He willed his fuzzy mind to clear. Where was he? Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He vaguely remembered a woman talking to him. Had he imagined the soft fingers on his skin when they’d unbuttoned his shirt, or the strong yet gentle hands that had held him as someone bandaged him, or the musical voice that had soothed him every time he awoke during the night? The floating image of a green-eyed angel buoyed on his closed lids. Warmth had surrounded him.
A dream, Tyler thought, as he shivered under the thin blanket. It had to be a dream. The narrow cot grew unbearably uncomfortable beneath him. He had to get up. If only his body would cooperate. Water dripped somewhere to his right—a sharp, slow, echoing clank. The wind moaned at his feet. The clop of horse’s hooves on cobbles resounded above his head. All that’s missing are the scurrying rats, he thought. He forced his head up to look around, then let his head flop back on the flat pillow. There were bars instead of a door. Why wasn’t he surprised?
I’m in the middle of a nightmare, and I’ll wake up any minute now. He willed the warmth back, the soft hands, the gentle voice. It was no use. Reality kept intruding. The night came back in slow pieces. His promise to Freddy. The accident. Camelot. The castle. Why had he ever thought of the castle as Camelot? Somehow he’d ended up stuck inside a medieval dungeon. This wasn’t the way he’d expected to start this assignment. She must be as crazy as the tabloids said she was.
He didn’t like the idea of being at anyone’s mercy. Not after Lindsey. And especially not at the hands of a nutcase like Melissa Carnes. He was the pursuer, the one who put on the heat, not the other way around. It was time he set the record straight.
Professional pride, if not his male ego, jolted him into action. He regretted his sudden move when pain resonated throughout his body.
Tyler saw at once that the medieval atmosphere was carefully orchestrated. The drip came from a faucet turned on just enough to let one drop at a time clang into a metal bucket. The barred window was open a crack, allowing the wind to moan through it, but not the fusty air to dissipate. The walls needed no dressing up; their stone starkness, wet with morning dew, was enough to depress anybody. He glanced at his wrist and found it bandaged and his watch missing. By the weak light filtering through the dusty window, he judged the time somewhere just after dawn.
He was dying of thirst and the dripping water didn’t help. He hobbled over to the faucet and twisted it shut. The rust color inspired no confidence the water was drinkable. He made his way to the bars. Hanging on to them, he looked down the lightless tunnel. He could see nothing but black on either side.
“Hello,” Tyler called into the darkness. “Is anyone out there?” The moaning wind was his only answer. He hobbled back to the bucket, emptied the water with a splash on the stone floor and carried it back to the bars. He banged the empty pail against the bars.
