The Devil's Eye

Reece lifted his head and Warlow flashed a smile nearly as white as his hair.

“I realize you’ve only been with us a few weeks, but I’m extremely pleased with you so far. There could be a real future here for someone loyal.”

Reece nodded despite the slick knots tightening his insides. A future in this house? Were that the case he’d stick his head in the oven and get it over with now. Besides, he knew the sort of loyalty Hugh Warlow was looking for. Reece was already spying for one son of a bitch. He had no desire to make it two.

* * *

Brynn stared out the window, but only her watery reflection in the glass was visible against the black sky. She couldn’t see the ocean in the darkness, but given the relentless hush of the surf beating the shore, her room no doubt overlooked those endless waves. She shivered. For a moment, images of the ground beneath the house shifting, all this stone and wood tipping forward and sliding down the cliff into the icy waters below filled her head.

Her heart rate quickened and Brynn grasped the fireplace mantle next to the window to steady herself.

She’d just keep the drapes closed during her stay.

Or maybe she should just head back to the airport. Hop on the first flight home. And go back to what? Her grandparents’ empty house? Her career swirling down the toilet? Her life was a mess. If everything had been going great, she probably wouldn’t have made this trip to begin with.

She thought of her mother’s letters tucked away in her purse. No, even if Zack hadn’t knocked up the CEO’s secretary at the company where they both worked, and she hadn’t been given a transfer to a tiny subsidiary instead of the promotion she’d been promised before her personal life had become fodder for gossip, she would have made this trip.

Even knowing her father didn’t want her here, after all.

A lump thickened in her throat, a faint tingle tickling the back of her nose. She was just tired. She drew a trembling breath and let it out slowly. After a decent night’s sleep, she’d be back to her old self.

Eleri had been partially right about why Brynn had come. She did want to know about this place and the people she came from, but more than that she wanted to know what had frightened her mother so much she’d turned Brynn over to her grandparents.

Had her grandparents known? Is that why they’d never told her about this place, her father, her sister, why they’d even kept her mother’s letters from her?

Brynn turned away from the window and flopped back onto the huge bed on the opposite side of the room, sinking into the soft covers and staring up at the wooden frame holding the canopy. She desperately wanted to crawl under the blankets, but Reece still hadn’t shown up with her suitcase. Maybe she hadn’t been far off imagining him mugging tourists.

Eleri had gone looking for him, and if her narrowed eyes and tight mouth were any indication, the man should hope she didn’t find him.

A light tap on the open door and Brynn pushed up on her elbows. Reece stood just inside the threshold with her cases, those sea-blue eyes locked on her, his expression inscrutable. Dull warmth lit inside her and tingled into her limbs.

She dropped her gaze and scrambled off the bed.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting. I was held up,” he muttered, stalking across the room.

“Oh…you didn’t…it’s just…Eleri’s looking for you.” Why was she stammering like an idiot? But she already knew the answer. Something about the sight of him, his dark hair pushed back from those hard features—her thumb itched to trace that sharp ridge of cheekbone—he looked good, primal.

She was tired, had a bad day. Her imagination was getting the better of her.

“Wonderful.” He dropped her cases before the wardrobe with a thud, turned and started for the door, but stopped, his attention shifting to the fireplace facing the sofa. “I’ll get a fire started for you.”

“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

He jerked his shoulder. “Save myself a trip later.”

There, exactly what she needed to hear to put the world back in perspective. She bit her lip to keep from smiling, grabbed her suitcase and hoisted it onto the bed. Once he was gone, she was going to sleep and when she woke up, things would make sense again. She unzipped the flap and dug through her neatly folded clothes for the T-shirt and shorts she slept in.

The flue clunked open and Brynn looked up. While Reece had twisted to reach into the chimney, his shirt had lifted slightly revealing a hard band of flat stomach. Nice.

A sharp rap sounded on her door and Brynn started. Sour-faced Mrs. Voyle stood in the opening holding a large tray with both hands.

What had she knocked with? Her forehead?

“I have your dinner.” The older woman set the tray on the table between the settee and fireplace. Her narrowed gaze fixed on Reece. “What are you doing in here?”

“Knitting an afghan,” he told her, without looking away from the wood he carefully stacked in the fireplace.

“Thanks for bringing this up,” Brynn said.

“It’ll be the last time, I can promise you that. I won’t be carting trays up and down stairs day and night just to please you. In future, I serve dinner at six sharp, and breakfast at eight-thirty. If you’re not in the dining room, you don’t eat. I’m leaving for the night once I finish here. If you need anything else, say so now.”

Brynn blinked, the woman’s hostility catching her off guard. “I can’t think of anything.”

She lifted the silver dome from the dish on the tray and her stomach shriveled. Gray meat smothered in lumpy, brown gravy with mushy vegetables and greasy potatoes. That rubbery chicken she’d eaten on the plane suddenly seemed gourmet.

“You’ll want to keep your door locked,” Mrs. Voyle told her, setting a large iron key on the table next to the tray.

Why? Were you thinking of bringing me more inedible food through the night?

“Thank you, Mrs. Voyle, for all your help,” Brynn said, tightly.

The housekeeper gave a curt nod and started for the door, but paused before leaving. “I don’t know what you’re after coming here, but if you’re wise, you won’t stay.”

Irritation flared, and she shot the woman an icy stare. “I’m not after anything.”

Mrs. Voyle’s small eyes flashed. “You’re not wanted here, and you should thank God for it.”

Brynn shook her head, watching the woman go. “What did I ever do to her?”

“They think you’re after your father’s money.”

Reece’s low voice jerked her attention away from the door. He knelt on the floor next to the hearth, feeding small bits of wood into the flickering blaze.

“Who does?” The sister who begged her to stay? The father who may have tried to drown her when she was three?

“Mrs. Voyle, Warlow, probably most of Cragera Bay, by now.”

“Perfect,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Is that what you think?”

Not that she cared one way or the other.

He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. You’ll want to bank this before going to bed, and it should last the rest of the night.”

“I don’t want his money,” she told him, not sure why it mattered he believe her.

“As I said, it’s no concern of mine.” He stood, pinned her with an icy stare. “She’s right, though, about this place. The sooner you’re away from here, the better off you’ll be.”

* * *