The Witch Of Stonecliff

Memories of men’s bodies hauled from the black waters of The Devil’s Eye filled her head. One after another—twelve in total. Her pace faltered and she stopped midstep. Mrs. Voyle bumped into her from behind and let out a soft gasp.

“What are you on about?” The housekeeper’s voice sounded reedy, and she scurried past Eleri.

Swallowing hard against the swirling in her belly, Eleri forced her feet to move again.Flashes of the house appeared between the branches. A section of slate roofline. A peaked window. Then the trees fell away and Stonecliff stood before her in all its hideous majesty.

God, she hated this place.

She’d tried to build a life away from Stonecliff, away from her past. And after a few years, she’d actually fooled herself into believing she’d managed to do it. Then Detective Harding had turned up at her flat with questions about a murdered man and she’d come to the sad realization that this place would never let her go.

So she’d returned to her father’s estate, planning to clear her name—it was the only way she could see of putting all this behind her—and she still planned to prove she was innocent. Unfortunately, she was a little fuzzy on the details just now.

Her gaze shifted to the car she’d seen turn down the drive and a small flicker of relief lit inside her. While the vehicle was the same blue as Harding’s sedan, it wasn’t his car, and she doubted the man’s fortunes had improved so that he could afford a BMW on his policeman’s salary.

So who, then? Another bloody reporter? Some passerby hoping to gawk at The Witch of Stonecliff?

Fast fury snaked inside her until her entire body quivered. She’d give the bastard a look, all right. She’d give him a close encounter he wouldn’t forget.

She strode across the drive, oblivious to the rain pelting her skin, her boots crunching over the wet gravel. Her step faltered when a man got out of the car, walked around and opened the boot. He unzipped a suitcase, pulled out a jacket and shrugged it on.

A trespasser with luggage? Unlikely. Though, very possibly another one of Hugh Warlow’s derelict hires. Her anger eased, replaced with annoyance instead. Had the butler learned nothing after the mess with Reece? Warlow couldn’t possibly have investigated this man thoroughly. He could be anyone.

The man tensed as she drew closer—no doubt her sloshing footsteps in the pooling puddles gave away her approach.

“Would you mind telling me just who in the hell you are?” she demanded.

He turned slowly, his mouth twisted into a faint smirk. He was oddly attractive, tall and lean, a shade away from skinny. His thick brown hair, damp from the rain, slicked away from the finely drawn features of his face. “I’m Kyle Peirs.”

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.