The Curse of Clan Ross (37 page)

Her cowboy boots slid on the moist grass like skis on snow, so she braced herself and let them slide. One heel hit a stone and she rolled. How she got down the hill didn’t matter—down was down. On her feet again, she cleared a gauntlet of shrubbery she never could have named then jumped a hedge of purple heather before touching down on the solidly packed road.

Cowboy boots weren’t designed for running, and her sprint wasn’t pretty. She tripped but she didn’t go down. Two steps later, she realized she’d lost a boot in the gravel of the parking lot, but she didn’t slow. The roaring engine of a sports car gave her an added shot of adrenaline and she flew across the lot, then the land-bridge, and past the gate before the car ever made the last turn out of the woods.

She slowed, looking for a bit of blue. It was there at the back corner of the castle. Both sisters were waving her on and she obliged, limping, cursing her lost boot until she’d rounded the corner, out of sight of the road.

The sisters clutched at her, pulling her toward an open door, ignoring her resistance and her need to catch her breath. After they’d taken a dozen steps into the dark castle, she heard a strangled sound, as if a certain small car were four-wheeling from road to rocks, by-passing the chains, then barreling across the bridge and toward the back of the castle.

“Those people in the manor house!” She grabbed a boney forearm and forced one woman to stop. “He’ll kill them!  Can you call them?  Tell them to run and hide?”

“No one is at home, dear. They’ve all gone to the city. How else would we have been able to break in?”

Juliet shook her head. Her relief was a tidal wave, but not complete.

“
You
have to hide,” she told them. “I need a weapon...from the great hall...and you two need to hide!”
 

A flashlight materialized and the sisters led the way, silently. After a couple of turns, Juliet didn’t know up from down.

“Hang on. Did you understand me?  You two need to hide—”

A door crashed open behind them.

“No use for it, sister. We’ll have to put her in the hole.” The light was dimmed against a blue sweater, but two nodding heads were still visible.

“You want to hide me in a hole?  And where are you going to hide?” Juliet whispered, but the man stomping around in the dark castle wouldn’t have been able to hear much.

“Juliet Bell!” The hitter’s voice echoed around them, but he seemed to be coming no closer. “I know ye’re in here, lass!  I found your boot in the car park, all but pointin’ the way!”

Great. Skedros had hired a local. No wonder he’d had red hair. If he’d have worn a kilt and hung around the ruins, she might have walked right up to him!

One sister grabbed her hand and pulled her along. They finally came to a staircase and Juliet got a funny feeling. Deja vu, maybe. Not really a foreboding, but...yeah, a foreboding. She’d gotten them often enough, she should have recognized it for what it was.

When she’d tried to explain it to Nikkos once, she’d told him it was like playing the Hot & Cold game. Only something in her gut would tell her whether she was getting closer to something important, or moving further away. She’d felt like she was getting warmer the second she’d touched down in Scotland. Now she was burning up.

Either the hitter had stopped stomping around, or they were moving so far underground they couldn’t hear him anymore. After the hallway made a hairpin turn, the lead sister took the flashlight away from her sweater and shined it on the ground. A minute later, they hurried into a small room with a single large barrel in the center.

“Up on the barrel, dear, if ye please.” One sister offered a hand for support, but in this light, with shadows playing in the deep wrinkles of their faces, the pair looked too old to support their own measly weight, let alone hers.

The other shined her light on the odd ceiling. A large slab of stone capped the room, and in the center of it, a hole had been carved but was now plugged with a perfectly fitting block of wood.

“Just push up on the wood, dear. I assure ye there are no bodies inside the tomb.”

“A
tomb
? Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Jules couldn’t have whispered if she’d tried. That foreboding had turned into a loud clown orchestra with bells and whistles and all kinds of alarms going off.
 

“Shh.” A cool boney hand clamped down on her mouth, but Jules carefully removed it before glaring a warning at its owner.

“That’s the hole we’re going to hide in?” She had lowered her voice and tried to sound calm considering the noise in her head.

Both sisters shook their heads.

“We’re not allowed inside, dear—”

“We gave our word.”

Jules didn’t get it. “Then where will the two of you hide? This guy isn’t messing around. He’s going to kill me, and he’s going to kill you if he knows you’re here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about us,” said one. “There is a place for us just on down the hall, but ye’ll be safe here.”

“Yes, it won’t take us a moment to hide. But we’ll see ye safe first.”

Great. She’d come to save them and they ended up saving her.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s move.”

Jules did as ordered—they were a bossy pair—and pulled herself up into the hole. She couldn’t think of it as a tomb and still crawl inside. Once she was out of it, she’d ask questions.

She stuck her head out and watched the pair turn for the door.

“Wait a sec,” she said.

“What is it, dear?” asked one.

“You’re not ghosts, are you?” She pretended she was joking.

They both chuckled. One of them winked in the light from the flashlight shining on her wrinkled face. “Not yet, dear. Not just yet. And don’t forget to plug the hole.”

When she’d first stuck her head inside, Jules had seen a stash of flashlights and candles against one wall. She felt for them now, praying at least one would have live batteries. The first one she tested worked. Then she did what the old chick had done and put the bright end against her shirt. If the guy came looking and found the little room, the last thing she wanted him to see was light shining down through the ceiling.

Oh, she was in a tomb all right, and it took a lot more courage than she thought she had to nudge the plug into the hole with her foot.

But which is better, dead or just temporarily buried?
 

A room—she’d just think of it as a stone room.

It was oblong. Its walls were black stones of all shapes and sizes that fit perfectly, like a puzzle. The ceiling was high enough to let her stand, as if the guy who built it expected a tall crowd inside.

Jules had read every word on the website, but hadn’t paid much attention to the fairy tale crap. She’d been more interested in the current Lady of Clan Ross, not the marketing aimed at the tourists. Now she wished she’d read it more carefully.

She ran one hand along the wall. The mortar and cobwebs felt old and genuine, not like a recent set design. The air smelled dusty and stale and she hoped it had nothing to do with the decomposed body of some Ross woman who’d been buried alive by her brother. At least the body had been removed. A ghost she could handle. A skeleton?  Not so much.

“Joooliet! Come out, come out, wherever ye are.”

The hitter’s sing-song words were muffled and came from her left. He must have been standing in the great hall. No way did he know she was inside unless light was finding its way out some crack, but there was no way she would turn off the flashlight now. What if it didn’t turn back on? Then, he’d know exactly where she was because she’d be out of her friggin’ mind and screaming her head off.

Just the thought of it pushed her heart rate up. Freaking out wasn’t far off, so she bit her lip and breathed through her nose, not trusting herself to keep quiet. Any little sound and he’d start blowing holes in the walls.

The sneeze came upon her so fast she couldn’t do much more than try and muffle it with the sleeve of her jacket. Still, the sharp whisper echoed around her before settling.

Shit!

There was movement against the wall, like rats running up and down it. He’d heard the noise and was looking for a way in!  She could imagine him clearly as he felt every stone for weakness. He was thorough, right to left, top to bottom, in sections, twice around the tomb. Rougher sounds followed and she imagined him trying to pry the stones apart. Then she heard the slide of his body on the roof.

He cursed and she braced herself for the blast that would soon follow. Scrunched down in the far end, she shut her eyes and willed herself to become invisible.

But the blast never came. The noises stopped altogether. A hitter wouldn’t just give up, though. He’d go looking for a basement. He would have realized it was the only way she could have gotten in.

Well, if he was coming from below, she’d just try to get out through the stone wall. There’d been a crowbar among the flashlights. She exchanged it for the flashlight in her hand, but left the light shining on the floor. Next, she took a big two-handed swing at the wall, hoping a big chunk would break away, but it was like banging against concrete. The force got absorbed into the bones of her arms and she nearly dropped the bar. But there was no time to recover. She had to move fast.

She jammed the sharp end under the lip of a stone and pushed down. The edge of the stone broke off. The mortar hardly gave up any dust.

She tried the same spot again, struck the mortar to get under the stone a little better, but the stuff wouldn’t give. She turned around. Found another shadowy spot. Jammed the crowbar into it, but nothing held. The only thing the crowbar was good for was making noise. She would have pounded on the wall in frustration, but pain still ricocheted in her arms from that first blow.

I’m such a wuss
.
 

But no. The crowbar couldn’t damage the wall, but it could damage something else!

She toed the flashlight so it was up against the stones. The light made a little circle that only stretched about six inches up the wall, but it was enough to keep her from freaking. Then she lifted the curved part of the bar over her right shoulder and held on with both hands, like a golf club. Whether it was a gun or a head that lifted up the plug, she was ready to swing.

 

Jules waited forever.

Maybe the guy was lost in the dark.

She considered climbing out, but she couldn’t risk dropping into the killer’s arms. And there weren’t any other places to hide. If there’d been room for her down the hall, the old broads wouldn’t have made her climb into the tomb. If she stayed, it was just a matter of time.

She closed her eyes and prayed, like she hadn’t prayed for years.

“Dear God, I’d even give up my revenge if you could just get me out of this.” And since who knew when she’d ever get the chance to pray again, she added, “And I’d give just about anything for a lovely Highlander, just like that Ross guy. Amen.” Too bad the last part would have been an easier miracle to pull off than the first.

Jules opened her eyes and realized the flashlight had died. Before she could start feeling around for another one, there was movement. Someone was in the room below her. Orange light filtered around the edges of the wooden plug. Apparently it hadn’t fit as snugly as she’d thought. There was a heavy thump. The barrel? Or a body? She would peak through a gap, but a bullet in the face would be just too painful.

The man’s voice made her jump.

“God...or Jillian...if either of ye can hear me,” called the man from below. “I’m in sore need of a miracle if either of you have one to hand.”

Except for a florist in Queens, Jules hadn’t had anyone to speak Gaelic with since her mom had died. She assumed she’d forgotten most of it, but when the man had spoken, it was as if a file had opened on the computer screen of her mind. It was all there, just as she’d left it. Every word, every note of it, was tied to a memory of her mother. And if it weren’t for Jillian, her mother would still be alive.

But this was no time to turn up the flame under that particular pot. She would have plenty of time to deal with her Jillian issues when, or if, she survived the day. She mentally hit rewind and listened to the man’s words again.

It didn’t sound like something a hitter would say. Or an FBI agent.

Jules got down on the floor to take a peek. She hesitantly moved her head over the gap, still half-expecting to find herself staring down the barrel of a gun. Sitting on the keg below the hole, however, was a large blond guy with a heavy beard. His folded hands were empty, his head was tilted back, and his eyes were closed.

Oh, man! The hitter would be there any second!

“Hide!” she hollered at him, the front of her tongue shaping easily to the Scot’s language. A muscle memory. “A hitman is coming!  He’ll kill us both. Now hide!”

The blond jumped to his feet but didn’t go anywhere. In fact, he peed his pants—or he would have, if he’d been wearing any. From Juliet’s viewpoint she could only see the man’s kilt and the puddle beneath him expanding. Thank goodness for a dirt floor. His boots got it, though—probably because he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the hole.