Terror Mansion (Decorah Security Series, Book #12): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novella (6 page)

Kate didn’t answer at once, and Wyatt waited with his heart pounding. Finally she raised her head and said, “It’s hard for me to trust.”

“I know.”

“I think you broke through some kind of barrier that I didn’t even know I had wrapped around myself.”

Wyatt let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good. Will you come to the B&B with me? You can wait downstairs while I take a quick shower and change my clothes.”

He watched her debate, wondering if he’d gone too far. Finally she murmured, “Okay.”

When they stepped into the front hall, the aroma of breakfast drifted toward them. Then Mrs. Babson bustled out of the dining room to see who was there.

She looked from Wyatt to Kate and back again.

“I wondered why you were gone all night,” the innkeeper said, addressing Wyatt.

Kate was the one who answered. “It’s not what you think. Wyatt saw someone set my trash on fire last night, and this morning, we went to check on my father in Easton. He’s disappeared.”

“Oh my,” Mrs. Babson murmured as she gave them another long inspection. “You look done in. Why don’t you have some breakfast?”

“You’re sure that’s okay?” Wyatt asked.

“Of course.” The woman laughed. “Breakfast is part of your package, and I always make plenty of extra food. Why don’t you sit over there?” she said, pointing to a table for two on the enclosed porch facing the harbor. “You can help yourselves to the buffet.”

They both filled their plates with a cheese and egg dish, muffins, fruit and yogurt, and then both got mugs of coffee.

Wyatt was hungry. After a long pull on the hot coffee, he began to eat. Kate turned her coffee mug around and picked at her food.

“Eat,” he said.

“It’s hard to do when you’re worried.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be in better shape if you get some food in your stomach.”

She nodded and forked up some of the eggs, then took a bite of the muffin. She managed to finish about half the food on her plate before Wyatt led her upstairs to his room.

Crossing to the window, she looked out. “Did you pick this place so you could spy on me?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I told you to go away, but you didn’t go very far. Do you ever take no for an answer?”

“I’m like you—stubborn.”

She laughed. “Apparently.”

He swallowed hard, sobering. “And I knew you were in danger. I couldn’t just walk away.”

A long look passed between them.

Kate pressed her hands against her sides and said, “I wanted to think the worst of you.”

“Why?”

“I think because I did believe you.” She waited a beat before adding, “And I was attracted to you.”

“That was a bad thing?”

“It was the way I’d been operating for years—keeping my distance from people.”

He answered with a little nod, fighting to hold his emotions under control. But secretly he was elated that she was opening up like this.

“I should get dressed,” he murmured, turning to rummage in his bag. He knew he was the one who was avoiding speaking now, but he was almost afraid to trust what he was hearing.

Taking out clean clothing, he disappeared into the bathroom.

After a quick shower, he shaved and brushed his teeth. When he came back out, he stopped short. Kate was lying on his bed with her eyes closed. Her regular breathing told him that she was sleeping. Probably she’d tried to stay awake, but she’d lost the battle with fatigue.

He crossed to the window and pulled down the shades, darkening the room. Then he slipped the “Do not disturb” sign onto the outside of the door.

He could have stretched out in the large chair in the corner; instead he crossed to the bed, looked down at the sleeping woman and drank in the curve of her lips, the arch of her brows, the way her lashes lay against her cheek, and the tantalizing scent of her body.

His gaze drifted lower to her breasts—and the rise and fall of her chest.

Unable to stop himself he eased onto the bed beside her, holding his breath as he prayed he wasn’t going to wake her.

She had kicked off her shoes before lying down, but aside from that she was fully dressed, and so was he. Although he felt a pang of guilt at not keeping busy looking for her father’s kidnapper, he knew that Decorah was handling this phase of the search.

And he silently told himself that if he didn’t get some rest, he wasn’t going to be any good to Kate or anyone else.

He turned his head toward her. From the first, he had longed to get close to her. Now she trusted him enough to sleep in his bed.

Closing his eyes, he wondered if he would dream if he slept. Would a dream help find Kate’s father, or would it just give her more reason to be worried?

The transition from alertness to slumber cut off the debate. And he gratefully grabbed the rest he needed. No dreams came to him, which he considered a good sign.

What woke him was a warm body pressed to his. His eyes blinked open, and he saw that in her sleep, Kate had rolled toward him—and he had rolled toward her.

He moved his head a fraction so that his lips were almost but not quite touching hers. The intimacy of breathing the same air was like a current running through him. He shouldn’t ask for more than that, he thought, but he lacked the will to do what he should. He moved his head so that his lips brushed hers. Gently, back and forth. He felt her smile. Then her eyes blinked open, and she stared at him. He kept his hands at his sides, just his mouth nibbling at hers. At first, when she had kept him at arm’s length, he’d assumed it was because she thought he was trying to fool her with the psychic business. Now he understood that she’d had a bad experience with a man—a bad experience that had turned worse.

It made anything that had happened in his past seem like a trip to the park in comparison.

He wanted to pull her close. Instead, he pressed his hands against the outside of his thighs as his tongue played with the seam of her lips. When she opened for him, he felt a surge of gratitude. She could have told him to back off, instead she was letting him explore the line of her teeth, then stroke the sensitive tissue on the inside of her lips.

She made a small sound deep in her throat, a sound that proclaimed she liked what he was doing. But was he taking advantage of her fragile emotional state?

He should stop. But he couldn’t make himself draw away, not yet.

Moving slowly, he dipped his tongue into her mouth. Perhaps that was a mistake because it brought a rush of, hot, needy sensations.

Silently asking permission to take more, his hands stroked up and down her ribs, gliding upward to find the sides of her breasts, praying that she wasn’t going to push him away.

When she stayed where she was, he brought his hands inward, stroking over the crests of her breasts, feeling her hardened nipples abrading his fingertips through the fabric of her shirt and bra.

And when she did the same thing, raising her hands to stroke her fingers against his flat nipples, his heart started pounding.

He knew she felt it, because she flattened her palm against his chest.

He brought his lips back to hers, trying not to be aggressive when he wanted to devour her.

“How far do you want this to go?” he heard himself ask.

“I don’t want to stop. Not now.”

As she spoke, she reached under his tee shirt, stroking her hand over his naked back then downward until she encountered the waistband of his jeans.

He sat up and pulled off the shirt before coming back to her, stroking his hands through her hair as he gathered her close. And still he was prepared to let her go the moment she told him to stop.

Instead, she seemed to burrow into him, and he let himself enjoy every nuance of the encounter.

He watched the dreamy expression on her face as she slid her finger along his recently shaven cheek, then traced the curve of his lips.

When her hand trailed to the side of his neck, he could feel his pulse accelerate again. He raised his head, staring down at her, knowing there was a question he had to ask.

“Have you been with anyone . . . since . . .?”

“No,” she answered before he could figure out how to finish the question.

“Then maybe we should stop,” he forced himself to say, because he was pretty sure she hadn’t been with anyone before that, either.

“This feels right.”

It did to him, too, better than anything he could remember.

As she spoke, she pulled one of his hands up again, cupping his palm around her breast, pressing her taut nipple against him.

He closed his eyes, bringing his other hand up, so that he could lift and squeeze both of her breasts, loving the feel of her. And when she moved the lower part of her body against him, he almost forgot to breathe.

He was dizzy with desire for her, desperate to feel her naked breasts against his chest. Yet he had never been so conscious that he could make the wrong move—and make her decide she was doing the wrong thing.

Was
this wrong? He didn’t think so, but the only way to find out was to go slowly and be sure she was comfortable with everything they were doing.

“Can I take off your shirt?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, but he heard a little quaver in her voice.

“Sit up.”

They both sat up on the bed, and he pulled the shirt over her head, then reached around to unhook her bra. She caught her breath as he pulled it away from her body and laid it on the side of the bed with the shirt.

“Lord, you are so beautiful,” he whispered as his gaze swept over the creamy mounds of her breasts with their pink crests. Unable to hold back, he gathered her into his arms, a sound of gratitude rising in his throat as he absorbed the feel of her against himself.

He eased her back down, stroking her silky skin, feeling the hard points of her nipples against his chest.

She brought his hand to the button at the top of her jeans. “Could you help me out of these?”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand not quite steady, he undid the button and lowered the zipper, keeping his gaze on her face, making sure he wasn’t going too fast.

She caught her breath as he slowly reached inside, caressing her intimately, still judging her reaction.

When she seemed comfortable with that, he dragged the jeans down, along with her panties, so that she lay naked on the bed.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

He got rid of his own jeans and briefs, then folded her into his arms,

It felt wonderful to slide his hands over the curve of her bottom, her hips, the indentation at her waist, all the places he’d longed to touch.

He had daydreamed about this, yet the reality was so much better, because he knew her history now—and marveled that she really did trust him.

His gaze on her face, he played one hand over her nipples while he dipped the other into her sex, overwhelmed by her response to him.

She closed her eyes, her breath uneven as he bent to take one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing on her as he stroked from her clit to her vagina and back again.

“Wyatt.”

“If you need me to stop, just tell me,” he managed to say, praying that she wasn’t going to send him away in agony.

“I don’t want to stop. I want everything you can give me.”

“Open your legs for me,” he murmured, and she did as he asked. He moved over her, replacing his fingers with his cock, moving against her, feeling her respond by rocking her hips against him. He heard her breath accelerate. Her movements grew frantic as she drove toward climax. He felt her body shudder, heard her cry out, and he gave her every ounce of pleasure he could. As her climax faded, he changed the angle of his thrusts, plunging into her in one swift stroke.

She cried out, yet at the same time she grasped his shoulders. When pushed for his own release, it took only moments because it felt like he had been teetering on the brink for hours.

As the whirlwind subsided, he looked down at her. He saw a look of wonder in her eyes, as she realized what they had done and what it meant.

Rolling to his side, he took her with him, cradling her body against his, stroking back her damp hair and kissing her forehead.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Only for a moment.” She made a low sound. “I think nobody could have done that better.”

“Thank you.”

They were both quiet for long moments, and he stroked his lips against her cheek.

He felt her smile again—until he sensed other emotions gathering inside her.

“What’s wrong?”

“How could I have let myself make love with you when the thing we should be doing is finding my father?”

He kept her in his arms and slid his lips against her brow. “Because it was something you needed. You needed to feel like you’d beaten your past.”

“You think that’s the reason I made love with you?” she asked, her voice sharp.

He was sorry he’d put it in those terms. “Part of it,” he said. “It’s a good thing. Not bad.”

He could see her turning that over in her mind, but her focus had shifted to the empty house outside of Easton.

“My father . . .”

There was a lot he could have said about her father being the cause of his own problems—and hers. Like for example—he could have pointed out that it had been her father’s responsibility to make sure there were no broken steps on the service exit to the fun house. But he didn’t see any profit in bringing up the elder Kaiser’s mistakes now. He wanted to say they’d get her father back alive, but the best he could offer was,

“We’ve done what we could. There’s nothing more we can accomplish until we know where he is.”

“Treeman could be trying to lure me out,” she said, and he knew she was hoping the man was keeping her father alive as bait.

He repeated his earlier assessment. “Our best chance of finding him is Decorah IT.”

He heard the frustration in her voice. “I can’t just hide out over here. I need to do
something
.”

“I understand.”

“Can I go over to my workshop and get something done?”

“Not alone,” he answered immediately.

She acknowledged the warning with a small nod, then reached for the clothing that was still on the end of the bed. Turning slightly away, she pulled on her bra and shirt, and he used the opportunity to pull on his shorts. When she got up, he saw the red stain on Mrs. Summer’s bedspread. She followed his gaze and winced.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s going to be hard to get out. We owe her for the spread.” She took her lower lip between her teeth. “And she’s going to know what we were doing up here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Neither one of us was thinking,” she said between gritted teeth.

“You wish I hadn’t reached for you?”

He held his breath, waiting to hear her response.

“I wanted to be with you. But the timing wasn’t so great.”

His heart almost blocked his windpipe as he asked, “You don’t think I took advantage of your vulnerability?”

“Of course not,” she said immediately. But he wasn’t so sure it was the right answer. He wanted her too much not to kiss her when she was lying next to him.

Also, he knew she didn’t like having their private business on display for the B&B owner. But he also realized she was using the bloodstain as an excuse to distance herself from him because she felt bad about making love while her father was in danger.

“You’ll probably feel better after you take a shower,” he said. “Hot water always helps.”

“Yes.”

When she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, he pulled on the rest of his clothing, then swept the spread off the bed, bundled it up and took it into the hall. When he found a maid cleaning one of the rooms, he put the spread in with the dirty laundry, then found the linen closet. By the time Kate came out of the bathroom, he’d put on the new coverlet.

She stared at it. “Where’s the old one?”

“In the laundry.”

She tipped her head to the side, staring at him. “Are you going to pretend it wasn’t from us?”

“No. I’m going to add the price of a spread to my bill.”

“Thank you.” She kept her gaze on him. “I guess I’m trying to be difficult, and you’re trying to be a gentleman.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

“Of course it is.”

“Kate.” He crossed the space between them and folded her into his arms, and when her own arms came up to clasp him, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

“We didn’t meet under really great circumstances,” he said. “I came to you and said I’d dreamed you were in danger.”

“And I didn’t want to hear it. Maybe if I’d listened, Dad would be okay.”

“Stop second-guessing yourself.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I’ll try.”

He wanted to ask where they went from here, but he didn’t think he could cope with the wrong answer.

He held her for a few more moments, then said, “We should go over to your workshop. I’ll bring my laptop so I can do some Web searching for Treeman.”

“I thought you wanted to leave that to your agency.”

“Maybe I’ll find an avenue of research they haven’t thought of.’

Since it was just as far from the public parking lot to the workshop as it was from the B&B, they left the car where it was and walked. They had covered half the distance when his cell phone rang. It was Teddy Granada, with word about Dave Treeman.

“He was apparently killed in a boating accident two years ago,” Teddy reported.

“What do you mean by apparently?”

“His boat was found drifting, but his body was never recovered.”

“Where was the boat registered?”

“Cambridge, Maryland.”

“You mean not far from here.”

“Right,” Teddy confirmed.

“That was about Treeman?” Kate asked when he clicked off.

“I think he staged his own death. Or rather—made it look like he died.”

“Oh, great.”

He told her about the boating accident, then added, “Which means we’re going to have to be very careful. I think the best place for you is one of the Decorah Security safe houses.”

She thought about it as they walked the rest of the way to her workshop.

“I guess I’d be stupid to say no.”

“I would never call you stupid.”

“What about reckless?”

He laughed. Despite the tension, he liked her quick uptake on the conversation.

“But just let me get this one order finished. Then we can go to your safe house.”

They walked into the workshop, and he closed the door.

“What are you going to do?”

“I like working with silver clay. You can make it into interesting shapes. After it’s dry, you sand it, then fire it.”

She took a cloth off a tray and showed him some delicate leaves and flowers.

“Those are spectacular. You have amazing talent.”

Her cheeks turned rosy. “Thank you.”

She picked up one of the leaves and also a piece of steel wool, then sat down on the chair at one of her work tables.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” he said. “And do some Internet searching.”

“You can sit in my apartment.”

“Do you mind if I move a chair by the door, so I can see you.”

“Sure.”

Wyatt settled into the chair, glancing up periodically to see Kate at one of her workbenches. They had a late lunch—of pizza he’d ordered because he didn’t want to leave Kate alone for even a few minutes.

They ate quickly, then both went back to work. As he made some connections on the Web, he scribbled a few notes on a pad of paper, but he wasn’t being too explicit because he didn’t want anyone else stumbling over the information.

When his phone rang, he answered. It was Ben Walker from Decorah Security.

“I’m coming down there,” he said, “in case there’s a problem.”

Ben had worked a case in St. Stephens, and he knew the area.

“When can we expect you?”

“I’ll leave as soon as I clear up a few things here.”

“We’ll be looking for you,” Wyatt said. After hanging up, he glanced over at Kate. “One of our other agents is coming down.”

“Why?”

“Extra protection.”

He could see that her complexion had turned pale. “You think I need it?”

“It won’t hurt.” Changing the subject, he said, “I found something interesting.”

“What?” She put down a hammer and walked over to where he was sitting.

“I was checking property records in Oxford and some of the surrounding areas. There’s a record of Treeman renting an apartment in Oxford. He had a six month lease—which ended the month of the boating accident.”

“So it sounds like he wasn’t intending to stay around.”

“Or knew he was going to be ‘dead.’”

“Right. Then I checked records of housing sales in the area. A month later a man named Trevor Davidson bought a house on an isolated property, still in the local area.”

“Trevor Davidson. That’s like a reversal of his name.”

“Yes. From what I can see, the house was on the market for several years because the owner had been murdered in the kitchen, and nobody was willing to move in. Davidson got it from the estate for a lot less than the appraised value”

Kate shuddered. “Another clue that it could be him.”

He scanned her work area. “It’s getting dark. Unfortunately there’s not much traffic down here in the evening. Are you almost done?”

“Almost. Give me a few more minutes. She picked up the steel wool she’d been using and turned back to her work.

He wanted to hurry her up, but he knew her craft was important to her. And now he was thinking that if they were going to be here for a while, he should use the time to tell Decorah about his recent research. He pulled out his phone, but instead of making a call, he set the phone in his lap and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a little light-headed. When he looked over at Kate, she was wavering on her chair.

His mind had slowed down, but he was able to grasp one important fact. Something was affecting both of them.

“We . . . have . . . to . . . get . . . out of . . . here,” he managed to say as he staggered toward her.

“Too late,” a harsh voice said.

Wyatt looked up to see someone standing in the doorway, but it was difficult to figure out what he was actually observing.

He blinked as he focused on the face, trying to see through the stinging tears that now welled up in his eyes. The visage was completely distorted, as though a man had grown an animal snout. Then he got it. The guy was wearing a gas mask.

The intruder laughed, a muffled sound.

Wyatt could hardly move, but he let his arm slip over the side of the chair and drop the notebook he’d been holding. As it fell to the floor, he cursed himself. His notes had been designed to confuse anyone who saw them. Now he prayed that someone from Decorah Security would find them and figure out what the hell they meant.

“You wanted to go to the murder house,” the intruder said in a conversational tone, addressing Kate.

“You were listening to us?” Wyatt managed to ask.

“Yeah. With a directional mike.”

The man turned back to Kate. “As I was saying, you’re going to get your wish—but you might not like it so much.”