Elle James - Deadly Fall

On that thought, Andrew hurried from his office and out into the mansion’s huge entry hall. “Leigha!”

He listened, hoping to hear an answering call in the little girl’s high-pitched voice.

More silence greeted him.

The mansion had three living areas: a massive formal dining room, fifteen bedrooms and a full basement complete with a wine cellar. The child could be anywhere inside.

Andrew went room to room on the main floor and then stood at the base of the sweeping staircase. “Leigha!”

Again, no answering call.

Had she gone outside without telling him? Andrew’s pulse quickened. A glance through the window made his chest tighten. While he’d been busy working at his desk in the study, a cold, gray fog had crept in from the Pacific cloaking Cape Churn in what the locals called the Devil’s Shroud.

“Damn,” Andrew muttered and hurried for the door. If Leigha had gone out when it was clear, she might now be lost in the fog.

Andrew burst through the massive front door and ran out onto the marble portico. “Leigha! Brewer!”

A dog barked in the distance, the sound coming from the back of the house, farther along the coastline, sounding too near to the edge of the cliffs for Andrew’s comfort.

Andrew broke into a sprint, trying to remember just how many steps past the garden led to the cliff’s edge. He’d contracted a local handyman to erect a decorative wrought-iron fence, but he had to wait for the man to finish renovations on another home before he had time to start the work on the fence and other repairs around Stratford House. In the meantime, Andrew worried Leigha or guests might walk off the cliff in a dense fog, such as the one now hiding the treacherous shoreline.

“Leigha? Brewer?”

Again the dog barked.

Andrew slowed, knowing he was close to the edge of the cliff. He would be of no use to Leigha if he fell off. But the thought of the child being out there in the damp fog, her foot slipping on a wet rock, made him hurry as quickly as he could.

Andrew nearly walked into a tree trunk clinging to the ledge.

As he stepped around it, something moved. A shadowy figure detached from the tree and slammed into him.

Andrew’s forward momentum shifted sideways, sending him over the edge of the cliff. He dropped ten feet, hit a jutting boulder, his arms wind-milling the air, grasping at the fog for purchase to keep him from falling three hundred feet to the rocky shoreline. His hand tangled in a tree root. Closing his fingers around it, he held on. Damp with the mist, the root slid through his hand. He grabbed with his other hand and held on tightly. When his body fell below his hands, his arms felt as though they were being ripped out of their sockets. But he managed to arrest his downward plunge.

Andrew clung to the root, his breath caught in his throat as he held on, his hands wrapped around the root, his feet dangling in the air.

For a long moment he hung in midair, thankful for the stalwart tree and its tenacious hold on the rocky cliff. Then he raised his legs, kicking out his feet, searching for ground to dig his toes into. Using the tree roots, he inched his way up the side of the cliff until he was back where he’d started before he’d fallen over the edge.

Or rather, before he was pushed. No tree in the span of Andrew’s lifetime had ever managed to shove him over a cliff.

As he dragged himself up onto the path, he braced himself, prepared to fight for the ground he could stand on. Fog swirled around him but nothing jumped out.

Staggering to his feet, Andrew pressed on, more afraid than ever for Leigha.

Brewer barked again, closer to him and far too close to the cliff’s edge for Andrew’s liking.

“Mr. Stratford?” a tiny voice called out.

“Leigha?” Andrew’s heart pounded against his ribs and he strained to see through the thick fog.

“I’m here. I got lost,” she said, her voice wobbling.

“Stop,” Andrew ordered. “Stay right where you are. But keep talking to me so that I can find you.” Andrew moved forward, careful not to get too close to the ledge.

“I’m scared,” Leigha said, her voice thin and shaky.

The Labrador materialized out of the fog and walked toward him.

Holding on to the dog’s tail was the little girl Andrew obviously had no clue how to care for. He swept her up into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Thank God.”

Leigha wrapped her arms around his neck. “Brewer and I were playing with my friend. Then the clouds came in and I couldn’t see my way back home.”

“You have me now. I’ll make sure you get back,” he assured her.

“I held on to Brewer’s tail,” Leigha said. “He knows the way. He was leading me home when we found you.”

The big Lab leaned into his leg. His tongue lolled and his tail thumped against the hard ground.

Andrew glanced down at the dog. He’d never had a pet. As a child growing up in New York City, his parents refused to have an animal in their apartment. When he was old enough to make his own decisions, he got caught up in making a living, and then powered on to make a fortune. A pet didn’t have a place in his intensely busy life.

Now he stared down at the dog that seemed to be smiling up at him, daring him to smile back.

“Brewer is happy to see you,” Leigha said. She placed both of her small palms against Andrew’s cheeks and turned his face toward hers, undaunted by his scars. “Mr. Stratford, why are you bleeding?”

“I tripped and fell.” Andrew swept a damp strand of blond hair out of Leigha’s eyes, leaving a streak of blood across her forehead.

Leigha captured his hand. “You have a boo-boo on your hand, too. You need to go to the doctor.”

For the first time since his fall over the cliff, Andrew felt the pain of a cut on his hand. The way it was bleeding couldn’t be good.

“I’ll take care of it when we get back to the house,” he assured her.

Leigha leaned her head against his shoulder, her pretty little brow puckering. “Mr. Stratford, are you going to die?”

He snorted. “Not today, Leigha. Not today.”

“Tomorrow?” Her fingers curled into his shirt and held on as he walked in what he hoped was the direction of the mansion, his attention focused on sounds and any movement. Holding Leigha in his arms, he was doubly aware of his responsibilities toward the child.

Someone had pushed him over the cliff. But who? And why?

When Stratford House finally appeared in front of him, he sighed and hurried through the back entrance, into the large kitchen.

“There you are.” Mrs. Purdy stopped in the middle of unloading a bag of groceries and set the can in her hand on the counter. “What happened to you?” she cried. Grabbing a kitchen towel, she rushed over to him.

Andrew lowered Leigha to the ground in time for Mrs. Purdy to grab his hand.

“Good Lord, you look like you got into a fight,” the older woman said.

“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to calm his housekeeper.

“Nothing?” She frowned and led him by the hand to the kitchen sink. “That cut is deep enough it might require stitches. And I don’t know how they go about stitching over burn scars.”

“A bandage will do.” He let her drag his hand under running water and winced as pain shot up his arm. He jerked his hand back, but the woman stubbornly held on.

“You need to have a doctor look at this. I’ll wrap it up, but you’ll continue to bleed if you don’t have it stitched.”

“Please, Mr. Stratford. Please go to the doctor.” Leigha touched his arm and stared up at him. “I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not going to die,” he insisted. “And I’m not going to bleed to death.”

Mrs. Purdy crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. Then she tipped her head toward Leigha. “If not for yourself, do it for Leigha.”