Dark Guardian

Dark Guardian
Jan Hambright

Dark Guardian

Jan Hambright

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u3af03c0b-f9f6-505c-b742-bac224288014)

Title Page (#u3218d3e6-689a-5c39-89e3-bc079de6a100)

About the Author (#uf0e73dc0-c9a8-51b6-b911-134690431b92)

Chapter One (#u41ba2949-f23e-56b1-b4c3-d98bd883ba8d)

Chapter Two (#u7a851cf6-c7a6-5df1-9216-320db32ac559)

Chapter Three (#uf612e814-8980-5a12-a7c6-8a5c08512737)

Chapter Four (#uf9e8aba9-43fb-5939-b9ec-b2b2f1e510f1)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

JAN HAMBRIGHT penned her first novel at seventeen, but claims it was pure rubbish. However, it did open the door on her love for storytelling. Born in Idaho, she resides there with her husband, three of their five children, a three-legged watch dog and a spoiled horse named Texas, who always has time to listen to her next story idea while they gallop along.

A self-described adrenaline junkie, Jan spent ten years as a volunteer EMT in rural Idaho, and jumped out of an aeroplane at ten thousand feet attached to a man with a parachute, just to celebrate turning forty. Now she hopes to make your adrenaline level rise along with that of her danger-seeking characters. She would like to hear from her readers and hopes you enjoy the story world she has created for you. Jan can be reached at PO Box 2537, McCall, Idaho 83638, USA.

Chapter One

Olivia Morgan pulled on her lucky red baseball cap, snagged her ponytail and dragged it through the opening in the back. She grabbed off the seat next to her the tool bag containing a lock-pick set, a screwdriver, an extra flashlight and a water bottle.

Sucking in a breath to quiet her nerves, she stared out into the moonlit night at the towering facade of gray granite that housed the Black’s Cove Clinic.

Breaking in to obtain her brother’s medical file was the only way she’d ever know if their treatment had helped him, or put him in a wheelchair and erased the knowledge of basic human functions from his brain. Her own personal question was why her parents had brought him to this macabre clinic in the first place?

Reaching for the door handle, she pulled it, let the door swing open and climbed out of her car.

The century-old building looked more like a throwback to Elizabethan England than a medical clinic. It was built in the 30’s and served as a mental institution until the Tray-borne family purchased it in 1956 and converted it into the Black’s Cove Clinic.

The hair on the back of her neck rose. She pulled the collar of her jacket up a little closer and eased the car door shut just enough to extinguish the dome light inside. Looping the tool bag strap over her shoulder, she prepared for her assault.

The place had been closed for years, but the newspaper archives she’d been digging through had revealed an interesting fact. The clinic’s medical records were still housed in the basement.

Slipping out of the grove of aspens she’d hidden her car in, she walked the edge of the cobbled drive and turned on her mini-flashlight. The skinny beam shone against the weed-laced stones leading up to the gatehouse.

Her hearing went on alert, every muscle in her body firmed in fight-or-flight standby. Why was she so tense? The place was empty. Abandoned. Standing alone in an isolated corner of southeastern Idaho. Getting answers would be like popping in to Jitter’s Espresso shop for a latte. Quick and easy.

Pulling resolve from that fact, she stared at the massive structure, its upper floors visible above the eight-foot-high stone wall surrounding it.

A shudder zig-zagged down her spine. She ducked in behind a tall arborvitae, fighting to regain her nerve. She’d taken risks before; it went with her job as a freelance investigative journalist digging for stories on medical mistakes. Ross’s condition certainly fit the description.

She swallowed and stepped out from behind the evergreen.

HE KNEW she would come; had seen her in a precognitive vision. And now she was here. Poking around where she didn’t belong, searching for answers he’d stop her from finding.

High on the stone wall blended with the tree branches and fall leaves, he watched the faint flicker of her flashlight through the window she’d entered, at the top of the fire escape. Coming to his feet from a squatting position, he willed his physical senses to heighten. Pulling in a deep breath of night air, he dissected its components in his mind, sorting threat from nonthreat in the process. He couldn’t sense them, but he knew they were here.

Sharpening his eyesight, he dragged his stare through the darkness, coming up empty. Concern fired along his nerves; he had to stop them before they hurt her.

Glancing back at the window, he turned his head slightly to the left, honing in on the sounds coming from the room. He closed his eyes, hearing her hesitant footsteps against the hardwood, the sound of the ancient knob turning, the swish of the door being pulled open and finally the pin sliding into the kick plate as she closed the door and released the knob.

There wasn’t much time.

OLIVIA LEANED against the door and shone her flashlight along a corridor to the right. A dead end with a window view. To the left, a long hallway opened up.

Ahead, fifty feet, the light beam bounced off two balusters at the midway point. The stairs, she guessed, glad when she reached them and stared down at the main-floor entrance below.

Six narrow windows rose above the double doors, allowing shards of moonlight to penetrate the interior. The platinum light cut across the great entry hall and illuminated a sitting area, crowded with furniture draped in white covers. Grains of dust danced in and out of the moonbeams, raising the level of caution in her blood.

Had someone stirred it up? Or was she just being paranoid in a dusty old building that made her want to sneeze? She chose the latter and put one foot in front of the other, descending the wide staircase to the ground floor.

She’d give the tip of her right pinky finger for a map of the place, but she’d have to rely on her sense of direction instead. The place had been built at the turn of the century. The kitchen was probably at the back of the building, and so too the stairwell leading to the basement.

Moving off the landing, she turned right, weaving her way through the cloaked furniture. Under the stairwell and directly behind the entry, she found what had once been a dining hall, probably when the building had housed mental patients. It was empty now, save a couple of tables with their chairs upended, legs to the ceiling.