Jana DeLeon - The Betrayed

“According to café gossip, he’s tried, but none of them last more than a day.”

“Why not?”

She smiled. “Because of the ghost.”

Maybe it was the decrepit state of the house, or maybe it was the swamp that was slowly swallowing up the entire structure, but he actually gave her statement more than a moment’s passing thought.

“Ghost, huh?” he said finally.

“That’s what I hear.”

“But you haven’t seen it?”

“No, but then today is the first day I’ve been in this house since I was a toddler.”

He wanted to ask her more about her stepfather and her sisters, but as soon as she’d issued that statement, her expression had gone from somewhat relaxed to completely closed off again.

“Who’s the ghost supposed to be?” he asked instead.

She frowned. “I don’t know. I assumed it was my stepfather. Based on the description of his lifestyle from the locals, it sounds like he was agoraphobic. I guess I figured that even in death, he didn’t want to leave the house.”

“Well, then, I guess I best get to work lighting up this place before I have to add a ghost to the payroll.”

Danae gave him a small smile, but he could tell that something was bothering her. She appeared to be telling the truth when she said she hadn’t seen a ghost, but something had happened that put her on edge—something beyond just a spooky house. She was too observant, too suspicious for the average person. Either she was paranoid or she had something to worry about. Both concerned him as either could blow his cover.

“Where would you like to start?” Danae asked.

“Well, I know the electricity is a priority, but I need to test everything before I can pin down the problem. I brought my voltage equipment with me, so I’ll start that tomorrow morning. I thought I’d take a tour of the house and note the obvious needs. Then I can have supplies on hand for several jobs.”

Danae nodded. “So if you have to wait on special orders, you can keep working on other things.”

“Exactly.”

“Then I guess we can start downstairs.”

We? The last thing he needed was the cagey heiress lingering over his shoulder while he cased the house, especially now that his mind had formed a permanent imprint of her absolutely perfect rear end. But before he could formulate a logical argument, she spun around and headed to the kitchen, then came right back with a pad of paper and a pen.

“It will probably go faster if you dictate as you go,” she said. “I can make the notes. That way you don’t have to stop what you’re doing to write.”

He nodded, unable to argue with the efficiency her plan presented. “I assume you have a basic idea of the layout, so lead the way.”

She pointed to rooms that lined the south side of the house. “We can start over there and work our way around.”

He followed her into the first room and was pleased to find it only contained a table, dresser and a couple of boxes. The west window was intact, but a sheet of plywood covered the wall where he guessed a south-facing window was located. “What happened here?” he asked, pointing to the plywood.

“I haven’t asked about it yet, but I assume the guy who attacked my sister broke it to get inside. The plywood covering it looks new.”

He stared at her. “Someone attacked your sister in the house?”

“Yeah.” She frowned then shook her head. “I guess I forget it’s just hitting the news this morning. He attacked her here but she ran into the swamp and got away. He caught up with her trying to get away in her SUV, and that’s when Carter shot and killed him.”

He stared at her for a moment, trying to absorb the implications of trying to keep his cover intact at a crime scene. This entire situation was becoming more complicated by the minute. “Wow! Is she all right?”

“She’s fine.” Danae cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment. “Most people would ask who was trying to kill her and why.”

“You said it just hit the news. I can catch up on the local gossip later. I have a younger cousin who’s more like a brother to me. I guess I was thinking about something happening to him.”

“Are you always this logical?”

“I try to be. It seems to make life easier.”

“Well, then, I guess we best get back to this list. I don’t want to throw you off course.”

He crossed to the intact window and studied it. “I’ll have to remove the plywood to check the dimensions, so I’ll leave off replacing the window for later. I’m going to have to special-order something to even come close to matching the others, but I know a guy in New Orleans who specializes in making windows for restoration projects. I can get some pictures tomorrow and see what he can do.”

He reached up for the latches and opened the window, then pulled it upward, but it stayed firmly in place. It only took a moment to realize the sliding pane of the window had been nailed into the frame. The oxidation on the edges of the nails let him know that wasn’t a recent addition.

“This window is nailed shut,” he said.

“Yeah. They all are. I suppose my stepfather was agoraphobic and paranoid.”

“He didn’t want out and didn’t want anyone else in.” He shook his head. “That’s no way to live. I’ll remove the nails tomorrow—test all the windows and make sure they lift properly.”

“No!”

The single word came out with such force that he spun around, surprised. She stood with her arms crossed. Her face was slightly flushed and her jaw set in a hard line.

“I can’t test the windows if they’re nailed shut.”

“Then I guess they won’t get tested—not as long as I’m working in this house. At least this way, if someone wants to get in here, I’ll hear them coming or see the results of their attempt the next morning. What I don’t want is for someone to have the element of surprise.”

He studied her for a moment. Had he misjudged her? He’d thought her suspicious and hypercautious, but could Danae be tipping into the same realm of madness that her stepfather had lived the last of his life in?

“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked.

“No,” she said a little too quickly. “It’s just that the house is full of valuable antiques and if word gets out it’s empty at night...”

She was lying. She was very, very good at it, but he’d employed too many ex-cons to recognize a snow job when he was getting one. The house was full of antiques, and he suspected a lot of them were valuable, but that wasn’t the reason she was worried about intruders.

Maybe Danae had brought trouble with her to Calais. Maybe she was afraid that trouble was about to catch up with her. Either way, in addition to tiptoeing around with his own agenda, he was going to have to constantly look over his own shoulder, watching for whatever the heiress was hiding from.

“Okay,” he said finally. “It’s your house.”

He motioned to a door in the corner behind her. “Bathroom or closet?”

“Closet, I think. I’m sorry. There’re so many rooms, I haven’t gotten everything straight yet.”

She turned and pulled the door open. As soon as she did, a stack of boxes tilted out and toppled onto her, sending her reeling backward. Mice scattered across the floor, scurrying in every direction, looking for an escape.

He rushed forward, catching her before she crashed to the ground. She’d twisted her body in anticipation of the fall, trying to reach for the floor before slamming into it. Now she was gathered in his arms, the front of her toned, curvy body pressed against him. That beautiful face looking up at him—so strong, yet vulnerable.

It was a bad idea, but before he could talk himself out of it, he lowered his lips to hers.