Dawn Brown - The Witch Of Stonecliff

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. Voyle was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She’d shed her raincoat and rubber boots. Her narrowed gaze lit on Kyle and her face tightened into a disapproving frown.

“Where’s Warlow?” Eleri demanded, dragging away the woman’s attention.

“In the study. Who’s this?”

Eleri ignored the question and crossed to the door on her right. Of course he was in the study. The past weeks he’d been locked away, door closed with explicit instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed. But she’d disturb him now, all right. Who in the hell did he think he was, leasing property without even discussing the matter with her?

She flung the door open and marched into the room. Warlow’s head snapped up, but his furious glare didn’t slow her down. Instead, she pointed at the man standing in the open doorway. “Explain.”

Warlow’s nostrils flared slightly as he gathered the papers spread before him into a pile, then turned to Kyle and shot him his well-practiced phoney smile. “Mr. Peirs, may I assume?”

Kyle’s mouth twitched. “That’s right. Is there a problem with the lease?”

Eleri snorted, earning another hard glare from the butler.

“No problem,” Warlow said, voice warm as honey. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all.” Kyle’s knowing smirk curled his mouth once more as if guessing how this argument was about to turn out. Hair bristled at the back of Eleri’s neck.

She glared at the butler until the door clicked closed behind her.

“He has to go.” She sank into the chair opposite the desk, leaning an elbow on the arm. For a long moment, silence stretched between them. The only sound was the hiss of the baby monitor and her father’s rattling breaths through the speaker.

Warlow had yet to find a replacement for her father’s nurse and had taken on the duties in the meantime. The role was a good fit, really, since the man rarely left her father’s side. Even before the emphysema.

Warlow drew a deep breath, leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. “You’re over reacting.”

Of course she was. Poor high-strung Eleri. And poor rationale Hugh, having to deal with her. She grit her teeth so tight, her jaw ached. “Am I? I can’t think of a worse time to let that property.”

“Was it not you sending out adverts all over the country to lease the space?”

“That was before police pulled twelve bodies from The Devil’s Eye.”

He sighed loudly. “Bodies or not, as you’ve pointed out so many times, the estate needs income. Mr. Peirs contacted me two weeks ago, eager to move into the lodge. Convenient timing, I’d say.”

A little too convenient. “Two weeks? You couldn’t have possibly investigated him thoroughly. And after what happened with Reece…”

She let the words hang. Warlow’s gaze narrowed slightly, barely discernible to the untrained eye.

Direct hit. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Eleri had mixed feelings about her sister’s boyfriend. He’d taken a job at the estate while working with the detective determined to see her blamed for murders she hadn’t committed, but he’d also saved Brynn’s life and helped prove Ruth was a killer. Eleri would always be grateful.

Warlow’s feelings about the man were much more straightforward. He was furious.

“Reece was an error in judgement.”

“How will this one be any different?” She nodded at the closed door. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s an author looking to get out of the city while he writes his book.”

At the word author, Eleri stiffened. “How do you know he’s not some sleazy reporter here for a story?”

After all, she’d had experiences with tabloid reporters before. One in particular had coined the phrase The Witch of Stonecliff .

“When I spoke to him over the phone, he told me he writes science fiction.”

“What books has he published?”

“I’ve no idea.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of anger rolling through her. “Of course you don’t. You shouldn’t be making these decisions without consulting me first.”

Something gleamed in his light blue eyes and he smiled. “Your father trusts my judgement.”

Translation: your father doesn’t trust you. He thinks you’re all the things people say.

Witch.

Evil.

Killer.

Tension hummed through her body, frustration radiating from the inside out. She was going to lose this argument. Already she could feel her footing sliding out from under her, as if she were standing at the edge of an embankment, the ground crumbling away beneath her. Still, she had to try to make the man see sense.

“Did you or my father happen to get a look at his neck before entering into this little arrangement? Someone tried to slit his throat. A writer? God knows what kind of trouble the man’s been in with a scar like that and willing to live here.”

Warlow frowned a moment, smile vanishing. “A scar?”

“That’s right. Like this.” Eleri traced the shape over her own throat with her finger.

Warlow shook his head. “He’s a warm body, willing to pay for the space. At this stage, we can’t hope for much better. With everything happening on the estate, who knows how long it could take to find someone suitable.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t know that he’s suitable. You don’t know anything about him, except that he’s a writer. He could be some bloody starving artist. How can you even be certain he’ll pay the rent once he’s in there?”

“He’s agreed to a six month lease. He’s already paid the first three months in advance.”

His words gave her pause. “Three months?”