Jordan Gray - Unearthed

Drawing closer to his quarry, Michael launched himself forward and grabbed for the man’s feet. He succeeded in wrapping an arm around his knees and the two of them went down in a sprawl. Just before they hit the ground, Michael heard a sudden, harsh crack.

He knew immediately something was wrong. The man fell too loosely. Normally a person would tighten up a little, even if he’d been trained professionally to fall.

Rolling to his feet, Michael kept one hand locked around the man’s ankle so he wouldn’t get away. One glance assured Michael that wouldn’t be the case.

A trickle of blood slid down his attacker’s cheek and dripped off his nose from a round wound on his temple.

Michael and Molly Graham—The young couple have come to Blackpool for a simpler life…only things in the small town are anything but simple.

DCI Paddington—The stolid inspector has a laid-back approach to investigation—so laid-back that it’s fuelled rumors he’s only in Blackpool to bide his time until retirement.

The Crowes—The members of the Crowe family are reputed to have more secrets than they have money. And they keep both very well. Especially those of their most notorious ancestor, Charles Crowe….

Rohan Wallace—Michael’s friend clings to life in the hospital, shot by Aleister Crowe for trespassing on his land. But what was he doing there? What was so important that Rohan would risk his very life?

Stefan Draghici—The head of the gypsy clan that has come to Blackpool to reclaim the fortune in gold they say was stolen from their ancestors by Charles Crowe. Their search for the gold has come up empty, however, and the gold has come up empty, however, and the Draghicis are becoming desperate….

Lockwood Nightingale—Aleister’s devoted attorney. How far will he go to protect his client’s interests—and his own?

Greed, jealousy, betrayal, trickery, murder—

secrets are the heart of Blackpool.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

HOW CLOSE COULD A MAN COME TO death before he gave up the fight and slid into that dark abyss? Michael Graham stared down at the still, unresponsive figure in the white field of the hospital bed. He didn’t know how many times the question had filled his mind during the past five days.

“He hasn’t quit fighting.” The middle-aged nurse jotted notes on the clipboard she held. She didn’t look at Michael but he knew she had sized him up as closely as she had the patient. “That’s a good sign. You have to take hope in that, Mr. Graham.”

“I know. I do take hope in that, Mrs. Guilder. Thank you.” Michael leaned against the wall near the room’s slatted window. Merciful Angels Hospital conducted business within an old building in Blackpool, but the interior had been gutted and refitted with modern equipment and dutiful personnel like Nurse Guilder.

The woman shot Michael a measuring glance. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I have.” Michael lied easily, but he had the suspicion that the nurse instantly saw through him.

“Sometimes the sickness of a friend is hardest on those around them. At least the people in the hospital are getting rest and being monitored. You might try getting a little more sleep.”

Michael couldn’t argue. He felt bone-tired and twitchy, the way he did in the final stages of putting a video-game project together, almost ready to go gold and turn a new game loose on the public. Those times had always been particularly draining. But they’d been nothing like watching over Rohan Wallace these past five days since he’d been shot by Aleister Crowe, who claimed Rohan had been trespassing on his property. Michael blamed himself for the near-death of his friend. Hadn’t he dragged him into all this?

Truth to tell, though, it was the late hours spent trying to figure out his latest puzzle, one that Rohan had helped him discover…

“I will try to get more sleep, Nurse Guilder.”

The nurse nodded in satisfaction, made a final notation and hung up the clipboard. “Are you going to be here awhile longer?”

“If that’s all right.”

“Of course.”

Even if Michael left, his thoughts wouldn’t stray far from Rohan Wallace. His guilt had kept him from accompanying his wife, Molly, to the harbor where she was picking up Rohan’s grandmother.

“I was told that Detective Chief Inspector Paddington has managed to find this poor soul’s family,” Nurse Guilder said.

“He has.” Michael knew she was pumping him for information. Part of him resented that, but he realized that gossip and stories were the lifeblood of a little town like Blackpool.

Besides that, he wanted to counteract the idea the local citizens had of Rohan Wallace as a thief. No one yet knew what he had been doing at Crowe’s Nest, the ancestral home of the Crowe family, or why Aleister Crowe had shot him. Michael felt certain it had something to do with the model of the original town of Blackpool that Rohan had helped him construct, based on the one in the library. Their reconstruction had revealed some interesting secrets, but it hadn’t revealed them all.

At times when he was feeling morbid, Michael wondered why Crowe hadn’t killed Rohan that night. Several months ago, he’d witnessed Aleister Crowe kill a man without hesitation. Except in that instance, he had done it to protect Michael from thugs trying to kill him.

So why had Crowe spared Rohan’s life?

The nurse interrupted his thoughts. “Is Mr. Wallace’s family coming to see him?”

“His grandmother is on her way now.” Michael flicked a glance at the clock on the wall. “She should be here anytime. My wife went down to the harbor to meet her.”

“Such a young man.” Nurse Guilder shook her head sorrowfully and looked at the figure on the bed. “This is going to be a hard thing for a grandmother to see, even knowing he’ll live. I’ve got two grandchildren of my own. Like angels, they are. I wouldn’t want any kind of harm to come to them, no matter what mischief they got themselves into.”

“No.” Michael studied the beeping, clicking machines that watched over Rohan while he remained in the coma. “He’s healing nicely?”

“Of course. Doctor Timms is absolutely brilliant at his craft. If I had to get shot, he’s the very man I’d want working on me.” Nurse Guilder paused at the door. “There’s a fresh pot of tea put on if you want some.”

Michael let his empty cup hang from a finger against his jeans and gave her a smile. “Maybe in a bit.”

She left.

Anxious, he walked over to the bed and stared down at the man who’d been both friend and confidant to him. One didn’t always mean the other. Rohan Wallace was different. Michael had sensed that from the start, and he’d learned to pay attention to the things Rohan knew. Even without understanding exactly how he knew them.

In the past five days, Rohan had lost weight, despite the constant saline and glucose IV bags. He was nearly Michael’s age, somewhere in his early thirties, and wore dreadlocks. His ebony skin had a warm cocoa luster, and scars from past physical encounters marked his arms and shoulders. A tube ran up his nose and bandages swathed his chest under the thin hospital gown.