Molly Harper - Better Homes and Hauntings

He had tried to tell her how it would be. He had tried to explain his plans, that he’d set up a whole other life for them, that they could finally be together. But she’d said no! The ungrateful bitch had told him that he’d misunderstood, that she loved that idiot Gerald. She was going to stay with her husband, whoring herself for a fine house and jewels. And when he’d tried to kiss her, to show her how she really felt, she’d tried to scream! She’d slapped him, scratching his cheek with her little hellcat nails. It was her own fault, really, that his hands had wrapped around her throat. Did she think he would tolerate that from her?

Shifting Catherine’s weight on his shoulder, he slid the panel loose from the wall and dropped the bag inside. He would come back for it. In a few days, after Catherine’s body had been found and everyone on the island was too confused to notice that the architect took the time to visit the mourning family. For now, he needed to get off the island before anyone saw him. No one knew he was here. He could get back to the mainland, visit a pub, tell a few jokes so that he was noticed.

He took the back staircase, a route so concealed that none of the distracted staff noticed his escape across the lawn to one of the auxiliary docks. His boat waited for him, and he knew his way around this island. It was no difficulty to find his way, not when he moved so swiftly and quietly through the brush.

He would get away with this, because he was better and smarter than they were, better even than Gerald Whitney, for all his money and power. He was the one who made palaces rise from nothing. Catherine’s fate was her own fault for not recognizing his genius. She hadn’t waited for him. She hadn’t appreciated him. And now she was dead. He might mourn for her someday, but for now, he had to direct his energies into not getting caught. He deserved to move on from this and have the sort of life that others envied. He deserved his vengeance on Gerald and Catherine for their betrayal.

He guided the tiny sailboat out to sea, waiting until the house was no longer in view, and dumped Catherine’s body over the side. He watched her sink under the waves, her dress billowing around her like angel’s wings. Her own fault, really.

He knew it would take hours to reach the shore at Newport, but it would be worth it. He would be home free. If he was really fortunate, Gerald would take the blame for Catherine’s death. It would be a vindication, watching Gerald tried for killing the wife he had stolen from Jack.

Daydreams of Gerald suffering a humiliating trial, possibly even hanging for the crime, distracted Jack, until he was suddenly thrown to the hull of his boat. Springing to his feet, he looked about for what had caused such a tumult. A wake from a frigate. He was far off course. He was in a shipping channel! A churning noise to the north caught his attention. An even larger steamer chugged along in the distance. The wave echoing off the hull was even larger, far taller than his own. The wakes crossed, dipping his hull far below the surface and tipping his boat over. The recoil as the boat righted itself sent him reeling overboard, smacking his crown against the rig. He tumbled into the water, barely conscious, tangling his leg in the anchor line.

His arms flailed, reaching for the line, trying to pull himself back toward the boat. But in the dimming light of deeper water, he could see the end of the anchor line, fluttering after him like a tail. And that was the moment he remembered that he hadn’t secured the line to his boat.

The water closed over his head, sweeping into his open mouth. He could feel it flooding his throat, into his lungs. He choked, coughing helplessly, drawing more water in as he sank deeper into the sea’s cold embrace.

Even as he died, his mind raged. No! No! This wasn’t supposed to be the way it ended. He was supposed to escape! He was supposed to go on to success and notoriety. He was supposed to watch Gerald hang for Catherine’s death.

Catherine. Gerald. Everything always came back to them. His brilliance was cut short. The love he deserved was denied him. This was their fault, both of them. With his last heartbeat, he cursed them both to hell, and their children, too. He wished in the deepest, darkest pit of his heart that no Whitney would ever find happiness or wealth. Each generation would be poorer and more desperate than the last. And he would stay right here to watch them collapse.

He wouldn’t leave, he promised himself, he would stay in the palace that he had made—that he deserved— and he would watch his curse become real. With that vow, everything faded to black.

Nina fell to her knees and vomited what tasted like seawater onto the carpet. She had known, somewhere in the corners of her brain, that Jack had killed Catherine. But seeing it play out, feeling the pressure close around her throat, was something different altogether.

She wiped at her mouth, then picked the bundle up off the table, rewrapped it, and headed for the stairs. She had to show Deacon; she had to tell him about his great-great-grandparents. She stumbled toward the staircase, only to freeze in her tracks at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hello, Nina.”

NINA’S SHOES SKIDDED to a stop as Rick stepped in front of her. Dark purple circles pressed under his eyes, giving the hateful smirk a ghoulish look. His dark eyes were wild and nearly black. She backed against the wall, estimating what it would take to duck around him and dash down the back staircase. But his arms were so very long, and he had all that crazy on his side. Could she whack him over the head with the jewelry pouch? It was pretty heavy, but he would probably see it coming. How was she going to get out of this? She reached for the black plastic watch to set off the SWAT team alarm, but her wrist was bare.

She’d left it on her nightstand that morning, distracted by repeatedly making the bed and by Deacon’s rose-scented kisses. Fantastic.

“Rick, get away from me.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he crooned. “It hurts my feelings when you look at me like that, like I’m going to hurt you. You don’t think I would hurt you, do you?” He scoffed as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world. “The only thing I’ve ever tried to do is help you. I gave you a job, didn’t I? I gave you a place where you could work and make your ideas come alive. And how did you repay me?”

He growled, his fingers curling into claws.

“You ran off. Without a word, you just left me. What the hell makes you think you have the right? And then you set up your joke of a business, conning people into hiring you with your poor, pitiful, innocent act. Taking jobs that rightfully belong to me. Me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You tried to ruin me,” Nina said, her voice shaky.

“You wouldn’t even have a reputation if it wasn’t for me. I gave you everything, and you left me! You never appreciated anything I did for you.”

“Rick, stop this.”

“No.” He grinned, an unnatural split of his lips over his teeth, and she knew she wasn’t dealing with Rick. Or at least, not just Rick. Jack was lurking inside her former partner’s body like an infection. How long had Jack been hiding inside poor, stupid Rick? Had Jack been the driving force behind the vandalism, the pranks? Perhaps, but Rick certainly wasn’t innocent in the situation. She could see the hint of familiar cruelty in those brown eyes.

“I can’t stop now,” he singsonged. “Not when I’ve waited so long for this, to see you again, hold you in my arms. You misunderstood before. I didn’t explain it so you could see things my way. I deserve that, don’t you think? A chance to explain?”