sounded even better.
The low hum of a car engine cut the quiet. Mrs. Voyle turned to see who was driving past, but Eleri tensed and kept her attention fixed on the wall, heat creeping up her neck into her cheeks.
“What in the world could this be?” Mrs. Voyle said.
Eleri looked up in time to catch sight of a dark blue sedan disappearing down the driveway. Her stomach sank like an icy stone.
Well, this was it. They’d come at last.
“Expecting visitors?” Mrs. Voyle asked.
“No,” Eleri lied. Panic squeezed her chest, and the urge to bolt was nearly overwhelming. She’d been expecting this moment for weeks now. Every night when she went to bed, her last thought before falling asleep was tomorrow the good detective would come to arrest her.
Reece, her sister’s boyfriend, had been certain Detective Harding would be very careful before arresting her, dotting every i and crossing every t. Last month, her father’s nurse had murdered two people. And while Harding had been doing his best to pin the murders on Eleri, Ruth had nearly managed to kill Reece and Eleri’s sister, Brynn.
Eleri let out a slow breath. It seemed Harding finally had everything he needed to bring her down—even if the evidence was wrong.
“I need to get back.” She turned and kicked her way through the grass toward the driveway. Mrs. Voyle huffed and puffed behind her, but Eleri didn’t slow her pace. She wanted distance, some quiet so she could think.
She passed the stone pillars flanking both sides of the drive and a cold weight settled on her chest. The forest stretched out on either side of her. A thin layer of mist hovered above the leaf-covered ground, snaking between tree trunks and shifting with the breeze like a living, breathing thing. Skeletal branches tangled overhead like arthritic fingers, but offered little protection against the drizzle that had started falling again.
Her calf muscles tightened with the urge to run as fast and as far as she could. But she continued toward the house. Running now would only make her look guiltier, and there was nowhere to go, anyway.
Memories of men’s bodies hauled from the black waters of The Devil’s Eye filled her head. One after another—twelve in total. Her pace faltered and she stopped midstep. Mrs. Voyle bumped into her from behind and let out a soft gasp.
“What are you on about?” The housekeeper’s voice sounded reedy, and she scurried past Eleri.
Swallowing hard against the swirling in her belly, Eleri forced her feet to move again.Flashes of the house appeared between the branches. A section of slate roofline. A peaked window. Then the trees fell away and Stonecliff stood before her in all its hideous majesty.
God, she hated this place.
She’d tried to build a life away from Stonecliff, away from her past. And after a few years, she’d actually fooled herself into believing she’d managed to do it. Then Detective Harding had turned up at her flat with questions about a murdered man and she’d come to the sad realization that this place would never let her go.
So she’d returned to her father’s estate, planning to clear her name—it was the only way she could see of putting all this behind her—and she still planned to prove she was innocent. Unfortunately, she was a little fuzzy on the details just now.
Her gaze shifted to the car she’d seen turn down the drive and a small flicker of relief lit inside her. While the vehicle was the same blue as Harding’s sedan, it wasn’t his car, and she doubted the man’s fortunes had improved so that he could afford a BMW on his policeman’s salary.
So who, then? Another bloody reporter? Some passerby hoping to gawk at The Witch of Stonecliff?
Fast fury snaked inside her until her entire body quivered. She’d give the bastard a look, all right. She’d give him a close encounter he wouldn’t forget.
She strode across the drive, oblivious to the rain pelting her skin, her boots crunching over the wet gravel. Her step faltered when a man got out of the car, walked around and opened the boot. He unzipped a suitcase, pulled out a jacket and shrugged it on.
A trespasser with luggage? Unlikely. Though, very possibly another one of Hugh Warlow’s derelict hires. Her anger eased, replaced with annoyance instead. Had the butler learned nothing after the mess with Reece? Warlow couldn’t possibly have investigated this man thoroughly. He could be anyone.
The man tensed as she drew closer—no doubt her sloshing footsteps in the pooling puddles gave away her approach.
“Would you mind telling me just who in the hell you are?” she demanded.
He turned slowly, his mouth twisted into a faint smirk. He was oddly attractive, tall and lean, a shade away from skinny. His thick brown hair, damp from the rain, slicked away from the finely drawn features of his face. “I’m Kyle Peirs.”
His voice was rough gravel. Pale green eyes travelled over her from foot to head and back down again, studying, assessing. For some reason, her skin tingled beneath his scrutiny.
She stiffened. “This is private property. What are you doing here?”
His grin faded. Probably wasn’t used to a woman who didn’t melt at the sight of him. “I’m letting a house.”
Her stomach sank. “The lodge?”
“That’s right. I was to sign the paperwork before moving in.”
“Hugh Warlow made these arrangements?”
He slammed the boot closed, jammed his hands into his jeans’ pockets and nodded. A thick band of scar tissue peaked out from the collar of his button-down shirt. The jagged ridge started behind his jaw, curled beneath his chin, then dipped down over his Adam’s apple as if someone had tried to cut his throat, but botched the job.
Ah, that explained what he was doing at Stonecliff. Good God, what rock had Warlow dug this one up from under?
It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be here for long. “I’m—”
“I know who you are.” His voice, barely more than a whisper, shivered over her skin. “Eleri James. You’re something of a celebrity around these parts.”
Her belly twisted, but she lifted her chin. “Given my celebrity, I’m surprised you’d want to be anywhere near this place.”
After all, if gossip were to be believed, Kyle Peirs was her ideal victim. A fresh body to pull from the bog.
Something glinted in those light eyes and he snorted. “I’m fairly certain I can handle you.”
His icy tone combined with his hard expression sent a chill slithering down her spine. Oh, this man had to go. Anyone who looked like him, with an injury like his, had to be running from something.
“Come with me,” she told him, and started for the house.
He had to jog to catch up and fall into step beside her. She didn’t spare him a glance. When she reached the door, she hauled open the heavy oak and stormed into the hall.
Mrs.
