Carla Neggers - The Carriage House

Harl snorted. "If you'd said something sooner-"

"But I didn't."

Andrew stayed on his feet, angry with himself, with her. But he shoved his anger down deep, concentrated on the problem at hand. "Did you think Harl or I might have something to do with it?"

"I had a million reasons, all of which seemed to make good sense at the time. Look, I can't undo what I did. In hindsight, maybe I should have taken you down into the cellar last night and had you verify what I saw, or at least called the police."

Harl suddenly rose, grabbed his shovel and pick and tore open the screen door. "The hell with it. What's done is done. Come daylight, I'll have a look down there myself. Andrew?"

"Dolly's going to a friend's house in the morning. I'll be over."

"Tess?"

She swallowed and licked her lips, outwardly composed, but Andrew could only guess what was going on inside her. "I can be back here early-"

"You're in no condition to drive," Harl said quietly. "Stay in the guest room. Trust me, Andrew doesn't have a bunch of bones stuck in the closets around here." He grinned, winked. "I've checked."

"That's not it-"

"It doesn't matter. Stay."

He left, the door banging shut after him. Tess jumped, startled, on edge. Andrew could see how tough the past twenty-four hours had been on her, trying to sort out what to do about what she'd seen-or thought she'd seen. He tried to soften, but found he couldn't. He was pissed as hell. But badgering her over what she now knew she should have done wouldn't get them anywhere, and it wouldn't make him feel any better to make her feel worse.

"I convinced myself it was a nineteenth-century horse thief," she said, not looking at him now. "Then when you mentioned at lunch that Jedidiah was lost at sea, I seized on the idea that maybe he didn't die at sea. Maybe the bones were his."

"You're sure they were human?"

She nodded. "I took anatomy in art school."

"Did you think this was all the work of a ghost?"

Her chin tilted up, catching the light, and he could see her color had improved. "It still could be. Maybe whoever's haunting the carriage house makes people see bones in the dirt, skulls, dead people."

"But you don't believe in ghosts," Andrew said.

"I believe in what I saw. It doesn't matter if it was a ghost, some kind of hallucination or real human remains. Well, it does matter, but that's not my point. I saw what I saw. Whatever it was."

"What would you have done if the police had found your skeleton?"

She managed a smile. "Fainted."

"Bullshit. You didn't faint when you practically fell on top of it last night when you were alone."

"Let's say this is the scenario that I both wanted and dreaded-that the police didn't find anything. It means I get to look like a nitwit, but it also means whatever I saw last night isn't there anymore." She took a swallow of her beer and got to her feet, steadier if not any less on edge. "I should get going."

"I don't think so." Andrew pointed to her beer. "I'll put a call in and have you picked up for driving under the influence."

"I've had two sips!"

"Take a look."

She held up her bottle and seemed surprised when she saw it was almost empty. Under ordinary circumstances, one beer wouldn't be a problem, but tonight wasn't ordinary-she was beyond the point of no return, and she knew it. "Damn. Your cat's still occupying my bed. I suppose I could borrow a couple of blankets and sleep in my car."

"I told you, I have a guest room."

Her eyes were steady on him, almost cool. "I'm still invited?"

He remembered the feel of her body against his and wondered if that was what she was thinking about, more than her nonexistent-or missing- skeleton. "Yes, but no more lies."

"If you didn't believe my snake story, what makes you think you'd have believed I saw a skull in the dirt?"

"Tess."

She breathed in, no hint she was the slightest bit afraid of him, how he'd react to her-or even particularly wracked with guilt over withholding what she'd seen last night. "I did the best I could under rotten circumstances. Look, I know you're ticked off because of the kiss, because it seems to you I should have come clean before we went that far-well, let's just chalk it up as one of those things. It happened. We don't need to make anything of it."

That was not the right response. She saw her mistake instantly, but she was too late. He caught an arm around her, pulled her to him. "It wasn't just one of those things, not for me." His voice was low and deadly, barely under control, and his mouth found hers again, a fierceness in him he couldn't explain, couldn't deny. His mouth opened, his tongue sliding between her teeth, his body pulsing, throbbing. He was in a dangerous mood. The taste of her, the feel of her, only inflamed him more. He slipped his hands under her shirt, eased his palms over her hot, smooth skin. "I could take you now. Here. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her eyes gleaming with passion. "Yes."

She put her hands on his forearms at her sides, but instead of pushing him away, she urged them slowly up inside her shirt, until his thumbs were under her breasts. He eased them over her bra, brushing her nipples.

"You don't know what you're doing," he said, his voice raw, his body on fire.

"I do know."

This time, her mouth found his, her lips already parted. He pushed his hands back down her sides, wanted to scoop her up and carry her inside, but fought back the need. He made himself draw away. "I'll make up the guest room."

She tugged her shirt back down and pushed a slender, strong hand through her short curls. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He smiled ever so slightly. "I think the guest room's an excellent idea."

For the love of Christ.

Lauren staggered into Richard's study and poured herself a scotch. No water, no ice. She didn't want to bother with a glass, just drink straight from the decanter, but knew her husband could wander in at any moment. He was due back from dinner with friends. She'd left early, pleading a headache. Since they'd arrived in separate cars, it wasn't a problem.

She'd planned everything so carefully, just not Tess returning to the carriage house that way.

The whiskey splashed over her hand. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered against the glass as she gulped, the scotch burning on its way down.

Ike.

She wanted to scream his name. She wanted to sob and beat her fists against the wall, smash glasses, throw over furniture. Her brother was dead. She'd hoped, prayed, pleaded with God that she wasn't right.

He was in the trunk of her car in a black plastic trash bag.

Her brother.

Dead.

Just as she'd known he was since that day he'd told her he was off to the carriage house and would see her later.

She sank onto the leather chair, spilling scotch on the arm. It beaded, and she flicked it off with her fingertips then licked them. They still tasted of her surgical gloves.

Her brother, dead in the carriage house cellar.

She hadn't been sure until tonight. She'd guessed…known. But this was different. Now it was real.

"Lauren?"

Richard's voice penetrated her like a hot, sharp knife. She fell back against the chair, wanting to slip down to the floor, through the rug, between the cracks in the cherry floorboards, all the way down to the basement, where she could lie in the dark stillness until death claimed her. Who would know? Who would care?

"Lauren, are you still up?"

She could hear his footsteps out in the hall. She straightened, wondering if he'd smell the dank carriage house cellar on her, if he'd smell death.

He stood in the doorway. "There you are. Darling, have you heard? I didn't want you to hear it without me here-"