Dawn Brown - The Devil's Eye

“Why’s it so bloody quiet in here?” he boomed, bending to set the crate down. When he straightened, his warm hazel eyes locked with hers and he flashed a wide smile. His weathered face was ruddy, as though he’d spent a lifetime in the sun and wind.

“This is my husband, Stephen,” Dylis said, flatly. “This is Meris’s girl.”

“Brynn James,” she offered, pushing her directions toward the couple. Maybe they’d take the hint.

“Back after all these years?” He and his wife exchanged a glance. “I should have realized. You have her look.”

Brynn managed not to snort. The man was obviously being polite. While Brynn had no real memory of Meris, she’d seen enough photos to know she didn’t look at all like her, except maybe her hair color. But even then, Meris’s hair had been a vivid flame-red while Brynn’s looked more like watered-down copper.

“I’m actually looking for directions—”

“She’s on her way to Stonecliff,” Dylis cut in.

Stephen’s wiry brows drew together. “Why in the world would you want to go there? You’d be better off staying at the inn here in the village. Hell, we’ve a room you can rent.”

What was so wrong at Stonecliff that virtual strangers were offering to let her stay with them? Had she not been exhausted and standing there with one frozen foot, she might have given in to the apprehension tickling the base of her skull and taken them up on their offer. But right then, even if the house was filled with psychotic circus clowns, she didn’t care. So long as there was a hot shower and warm bed. “That’s very kind of you, but if you could just look at these directions and tell me if they’re right, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I can do better than that.” A wide smile lit Dylis’s round face. “I can give you your own guide. Isn’t that right, Reece? I’m sure he’d appreciate a lift.”

Dylis turned to one of the men at the bar, and Brynn did the same.

An older man, white hair curling out of his ears, sat next to her watching the entire scene unfold unabashedly. He flashed a crooked grin. “Not me, love.”

He leaned back, giving her a full view of a younger man hunched over the bar. His shaggy black hair fell into his face, hiding his expression while he focused on turning his nearly empty beer glass and leaving crescent-moon marks on the cardboard mat.

Yeah, right. As if she’d let some scruffy stranger into her car. Maybe people did that all the time around here, but not her. “I don’t want to cut his evening short.”

“Nonsense.” Dylis waved her hand as though swatting away Brynn’s words. “Reece is nearly finished here, and you’d be saving him a long walk home in bad weather.”

The man in question had yet to speak a word. Slowly, he lifted his head and glared at Brynn, greenish-blue eyes as cold as an arctic sea. His features were broad straight lines and sharp angles. Black stubble framed his scowling mouth and covered his chin. He looked edgy and dangerous and pissed off.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.

He slid off his seat, snatching a jacket from the stool next to his, and tossed a few pounds on the bar before closing the short distance between them.

Oh, no. This couldn’t be happening. She did not want him in her car. She didn’t even know him.

“Really, I don’t want to impose.” She grabbed her printed email from the bar and held it out to him. “Maybe you could just tell me if these are right.”

He took the paper and scanned the text, his mouth curling into a smirk.

“They’re perfect.” He handed the paper back to her. “Imposition it is.”

The man looked like he should be mugging tourists in a back alley somewhere, not sitting next to her pointing the way to her destination. “I don’t even know who you are.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “Reece Conway, groundskeeper at Stonecliff. Shall we go, or would you like to conduct a complete interview first?”

What she’d like to do was tell him to forget it. Unfortunately, he worked for her newfound family, and apparently lived on the estate as well. Perfect. There was no way to turn him down without appearing rude. Though, why that would bother her when he was hardly making an effort at friendliness she didn’t know. Besides, the directions were correct and she still couldn’t find her way. She needed his help.

And if he turned out to be a psychotic killer, and she wound up dead in a ditch, at least she wouldn’t be traveling anymore.

“That won’t be necessary.”

She turned and walked to the exit. As she pulled the door wide, Reece caught the edge above her head to hold the heavy oak open for her. Now, he was chivalrous?

She glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

He nodded and dropped his gaze to her wet boot before meeting her eyes once more.

“I stepped in a puddle,” she replied to his unspoken question, heat creeping into her cheeks.

“As lost on foot as you are behind the wheel. Not terribly reassuring.”

“You could always walk, and I could follow behind you in the car.”

His mouth twitched. “Tempting.”

Shaking her head, she walked outside. The sky had darkened from gray to blue twilight. Frigid air, thick with the tang of sea brine, struck her face like a slap and a shudder raced along her spine.

She hit the remote locks, tugged the door open and rolled her eyes. Passenger side. That was the second time she’d done that.

“Did you want me to drive, then?” The low rumble of Reece’s voice next to her made her jump. A faint tingle crept over her skin at having him so near.

“Of course not. I was just…getting the door for you.”

“Right.”

She hurried to the other side of the car, face hot, while he sat in the passenger seat. Without so much as a glance at her traveling companion, she slid behind the wheel and slammed the door closed.

Giving the gearshift a wiggle to make sure it was in neutral, she pushed in the clutch and turned the key. The car hummed to life. She eased her foot off the clutch, shifted into first. The car shuddered and stalled.

Shit. Reece snorted beside her and a fresh wave of heat prickled her face. She’d blushed so many times in the past fifteen minutes he probably thought her natural skin tone was blotchy-red. “It’s been a while since I last drove a stick shift.”

Actually, the last time she’d driven a manual transmission she’d been seventeen and her boyfriend, Jamie Carver, had offered to teach her on his mother’s Ford Escort. After twenty minutes of grinding gears and the acrid stink of burning clutch, Jamie had ended the lesson.

She tried again and stalled shifting into first. Reece sighed loudly, tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

When she’d been making arrangements for her trip to Wales, it hadn’t occurred to her to specify automatic transmission when she reserved her rental, and naturally only standards were available when she arrived. One more detail she’d missed on an ever-growing list. Once she got the car moving, she was fine, but getting it going took her a couple of tries. And the sneering man next to her wasn’t helping.

“Look,” she ground out. “This car is completely backward to me. So if you could cut me a break, and keep your mouth shut, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she muttered, and turned the key.

She gripped the gearshift, eased up on the clutch.

“Wait.” Reece covered her hand with his, sandwiching her palm between the gearshift and his warm, callused skin. A small charge shot up her arm, and she struggled not to yank her hand back.