The Phantom of Black's Cove (5 page)

She walked to her car and climbed in. He didn’t plan to follow her this time, he already knew where she was headed.

Putting his car in Drive, he pulled out onto the side street. It wouldn’t be long before she started to figure things out. He didn’t like what he planned to do next, but it was the only thing that would keep her alive.

O
LIVIA SETTLED IN
the hard metal chair in the basement archives of the
Gazette
and thumbed through the dusty microfiche tray containing information from thirty-plus years ago. She was looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack, but she’d been able to find Jack Trayborne’s birth announcement. It seemed that his parents, Caroline and Martin J. Trayborne II, had been
trying to have children for some time and were overjoyed when Jack arrived. He appeared to be Black’s Cove royalty, judging by the article’s slant and he’d been born two months to the day before the Trayborne Foundation’s annual fund-raiser masquerade ball.

Olivia let a sneeze go and sat back in her chair. Maybe that was her benchmark. If the masquerade ball happened on the same set Saturday every year, she could use it to track information on the family. She could string together Jack’s life. Somehow, she doubted he attended the shindig before he could walk.

Flipping forward four years, she found the date and pulled the fiche.

Olivia stood up, stretched and turned to the reader. She put the film in the machine and pushed it in under the light.

A touching picture came into focus on the front page. Annual Ball Raises Three Million Dollars for Medical Research.

“What kind of research?” she wondered aloud as she slid the feed forward and stopped on a picture of a woman dancing at the ball holding her young son. She didn’t have to read the caption to know who she was looking at. Jack, age four, and his mother.

She pulled the feed open and took out the fiche, turning back to the tray. He’d lived a charmed life. At four, she’d been dragged in and out of hospital after hospital by her parents as they fought to help her little brother Ross.

Suddenly, struck by that old feeling of guilt, she shook it off and slipped the microfilm back into its place. She’d
take a one-year jump, just for the heck of it. After that, she’d have to focus her search on his adult life. Maybe she could find a gossip column so that at least she’d be up on the buzz.

She pulled the film for the following year, and returned to the viewer.

She’d been at it for a couple of hours now and her belly was starting to grumble, not to mention her desire for some fresh air.

Olivia put the microfiche in the machine and pushed it into the feed. The headline leaped out at her, as she adjusted the focus. Annual Ball to Honor Trayborne Family Loss.

Scanning the article under the caption, she felt her throat tighten.

She couldn’t stop her hand from shaking as she retrieved the microfiche, put it back and dug frantically for the right story, calming only after she pulled it out of the tray and turned to the viewer. She put the microfiche in and slid it into the feed.

Olivia swallowed hard and sat back, digesting the information. Jack’s life had been charmed until this happened, but he’d obviously survived.

Advancing the microfilm reader, she scanned for more information. Near the end of the film, she found what she was looking for.

A surge of excitement washed over her as she moved the feed back, searching for the date of the newspaper’s
release. Her hand stilled as she stared at the date. Three months before her brother was admitted.

She swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed with questions. Questions she was compelled to get answers for. This information only added to that need.

Her brother, Ross, and Jack Trayborne both had traumatic brain injuries as children and they’d been patients at Black’s Cove Clinic at the same time.

But what did it mean?

Olivia tried to relax as she edged closer to the Trayborne estate, focusing on the leaves in vivid oranges and reds, as they scattered around her car. The drive into the estate was long and winding, but her approach with Jack would be straightforward.

She’d never been very good at playacting. It was a thinly coated lie that always made her feel uncomfortable, but she planned to play it cool. She was simply the curious sister of a patient who’d once been treated at the clinic.

From everything she’d learned about Jack Trayborne, he was a man who seemed to care about his fellow citizens. The Trayborne Foundation gave generously to worthy causes. He was gorgeous and benevolent…and untouchable?

A tinge of guilt colored her thoughts and for the first time, she found herself hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was everything he appeared to be. Then she wouldn’t have to vet him along with the truth. Whatever that might be.

The road narrowed just past the turn into the clinic.
Olivia shuddered, remembering her last trip down that road. The fire had been ruled arson. She’d read it in the
Gazette
this morning and there was an investigation. She prayed the blaze had destroyed any evidence she’d ever been there. She was sure she’d left more than a few fingerprints and her lucky red ball cap. She pulled in a breath and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Slowing to a crawl, she came to a stop.

An ornate archway with a family crest and the name Trayborne forged in wrought iron marked the entrance to the estate.

She turned onto the lane lined with tall trees on both sides. A veil of mist hung in the air and seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere, deepening as she maneuvered her car along the drive.

Did everything out here have to exude creep? Too bad. She wouldn’t turn back now. And even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. Her investigation had ground to a stop. Talking to Jack was the only way, short of a court order, to get the facts. The grade steepened and leveled off just before the shadow of the mansion loomed in front of her.

For an instant, she doubted her approach and eased down on the brake. She turned chicken for a minute, something that had happened only a dozen times in her life. Returning her foot to the accelerator, she rolled through the gatehouse and pulled into the circle drive in front of the house.

It looked oddly like the clinic.

Glancing into the rearview mirror to pat her hair, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

He stood ten feet behind her car holding the reins of a big black horse.

Jack Trayborne. She knew his eyes. Swallowing, she gathered her nerve, climbed out of her car, shut the door and moved toward him.

“Can I help you?” he asked, staring at her with an intensity she could feel in her bones.

“Yes. I’m looking for Jack Trayborne.”

“You’re in luck.” He stepped toward her, leading the magnificent horse with him. “I’m Jack Trayborne.” He extended his hand. She reached out and took it. A rush of electricity jolted her and zinged up her arm. He squeezed with a firm grip and didn’t immediately let go.

“But then, I’m sure you already knew that, Miss Morgan.”

Tension coiled her nerves like a spring. She put on an apologetic smile and looked him in the eye. She’d been outed. “Then you know why I’m here?”

He held a blue gaze on her that made her ears burn. She returned it with one of her own. She wouldn’t be intimidated by him. She wouldn’t back down just because he made her nerves fray and her insides feel, well…bothered.

Sucking in courage with a deep breath of air, she leaned against the back of her car and prepared for battle.

“Nothing goes on in Black’s Cove, Miss Morgan, that I’m not aware of.”

“That’s just creepy, Mr. Trayborne.”

A slow touché sort of smile bowed his mouth and she
found her gaze locked on his lips. This odd attraction certainly wasn’t intentional. Some other driving force was at work here. Hormones.

“Come with me. I’ve got to put Odin up. Then we’ll talk.”

That was encouraging, she thought, as he turned and led the horse away. She fell in step well back from the animal’s rear hooves, hooves she was sure could take her head off with a single kick.

Fog swallowed horse and rider and only the rhythmic clop of hooves on cobblestone alerted her to the direction Jack and Odin had taken.

Olivia zipped up her sweatshirt and pulled on her hood to block out the dampness that permeated the air and soaked into her skin. It was only then that she realized the horse had stopped. Her compass was gone.

She stopped, too, listening for direction in the silent air around her.

A knot formed in her gut. The hair at her nape stood at attention. She was lost. About to turn back for her car, somewhere in the direction she’d just come, she felt a hand grasp her elbow.

She startled and jerked around, prepared to fight.

“Miss Morgan?”

Staring long and hard at Jack Trayborne, her fears calmed, soothed by his close proximity.

“I got lost for a minute.”

“Black’s Cove is a hundred yards in front of us. It produces evaporation fog, but it will lift soon.”

He didn’t release her, but it didn’t bother her. The
contact sent a constant flow of heat through her and even though she found it unnerving, she wasn’t going to break the contact so she could go stumbling off into the mist.

“How do you ride a horse in this pea soup?”

“Simple. I rely on my other senses…and Odin knows his way around. Between the two of us, we get to where we’re going.”

Great, another degree on the creep-o-meter.

From out of nowhere, a man stepped into their path.

Jack came to a stop and handed the reins to him, still grasping her arm.

“How was your ride, sir?”

“Uneventful, Stuart.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He turned, led the horse away and vanished in the fog as quickly as he’d appeared. Only the lingering clatter of hoof beats hedged her belief that he was an apparition rather than flesh and blood, and what the heck did “uneventful” mean? Maybe that Odin hadn’t tossed him or stepped in a hole, the hazards of riding blind, she guessed.

“Don’t let him spook you, Miss Morgan. Stuart’s been tending the horses on the Trayborne estate since I climbed on my first pony. I can assure you he’s very much alive.”

“How did you know he freaked me out?”

“Because you’re shaking.” He turned toward her, releasing her elbow.

Olivia’s breath hung in her throat. She stared up at Jack, taken with the searching way he looked at her. He was even more magnetic up close and she resisted the intense desire to lean into him.

“Can we talk now?”

His eyes narrowed for an instant. “Come inside,” he said. “Take the chill off with something hot.”

He grasped her elbow and guided her forward. “I trust your stay at my hotel has been satisfactory since the break-in?”

Caught off guard by the out-of-nowhere question, she fielded it and tried to relax. Of course he knew who she was. He’d responded to the break-in of her hotel room. A measure of relief spread through her body, leaving her almost giddy.

“No problems so far. Have there been other break-ins?”

“No. Yours is the first since I acquired the hotel five years ago.”

“Well…Black’s Cove seems to be a safe place to live.”
If you didn’t count half the time she’d been here.

“Have the authorities recovered your laptop?”

“No.” She doubted they ever would, but she hoped her story would fair much better than her stolen computer. She’d already recompiled the beginning; now she needed the middle.

“Here we are.” He led her up the steps to the house and opened the massive front door.

Olivia stepped through the entrance into the foyer with Jack behind her. She was struck by the lavishly appointed entry. Charmed. Jack lived a charmed life, but he’d been through a lot in his early years. A moment of hesitation held up her need to question him, but she diluted it with the knowledge that he was the
only one with the answers about the clinic and what they’d done to Ross.

She pushed her hood back and turned toward him. “I’m not here to hash out the break-in at your hotel. I’m here to speak to you about Black’s Cove Clinic.”

He froze in mid-task, but continued removing his jacket in a decidedly stiff fashion. “The clinic is closed, Miss Morgan. Has been for many years.”

“I know. The information I want dates back thirty years and has to do with your grandfather’s research into traumatic brain injuries in children.”

If he was at all rattled by her request, it didn’t manifest itself in his hard-set features.

“And what is your interest in the data, Miss Morgan, other than the interesting fact that you sell to an exposé rag, bent on printing wild fabrications that destroy honest medical professionals’ lives and careers?”

A defensive response bubbled up her throat, but she held her tongue. He wanted her to explode, to end the conversation in a barrage of threats, but she didn’t plan to take the bait. Getting a court order for the medical records would be almost impossible and a fight like that could leave her impoverished, while Jack Trayborne barely touched his vast fortune.

“My exposé deals only in facts, Mr. Trayborne. In the last five years, I’ve uncovered seven cases of medical mistakes that have caused trauma and death. Putting them under the microscope helps the public make better, more informed choices.”

“I doubt you’ve come here to discuss the ramifica
tions of stories like those that only work to drive up the cost of malpractice insurance and ultimately the price of health care across the board. So let’s get to the specifics of what you really want, Miss Morgan.”

Olivia scrambled for words in the heat of the moment, but she was caught up in the argument he’d laid out, an argument she’d pondered herself more than once.

“My brother Ross was treated at the clinic more than thirty years ago. I want access to his medical records and an explanation for why the Trayborne Foundation set up a trust fund for him. I want to know if it was penance for a medical mistake.”

A muscle jumped along Jack’s jawline, now as rigid as tempered steel. She’d hit a nerve and with a couple more strategic digs, she might get some answers. “Look, he’s the only family I have left. My parents are dead and Ross is my responsibility now. I need to know what happened to him.”

For an instant, he softened, his gaze locking with hers and she felt pinned in place, X-rayed by the intense way he looked at her.

“The clinic’s medical records are privileged. The moment your parents signed the papers locking in the trust, your brother’s file was sealed. There’s a confidentiality clause.”

Anger sizzled through her, leaving her on fire. “He’s my flesh and blood. I have a right to know what your grandfather did to him in the clinic. I have a right to know if it contributed to his current condition.”

“And if you find out my grandfather tried to save something that was unsavable and there was no wrong-doing, what then?”

She stared at him, searching for words. She’d never had that problem. Not even once. “Well, I suppose I’d have to….” What would she do? Print the truth?

“There you have it, Miss Morgan. Which is why I won’t expose the clinic or its medical records to libel. If you insist on pursuing it, you’ll have to get a court order to unseal your brother’s medical file.”

Olivia rocked back on her heels, caught off balance as he moved toward her. She had no recourse; he was right. She took a step back. “You were there along with my brother.”

He paused, never taking his gaze off her, but where she expected to see hostility, she saw an instance of pain cross his features before he looked away.

“Yes. I was in the clinic at the same time as your brother Ross, but I was five, Miss Morgan. Hardly old enough to tie my own shoes, much less remember him.”

A knot squeezed her throat shut. She swallowed hard. Could she continue to drive the conversation forward? It made her feel like an out-of-control paparazzo stalking a celebrity, unwilling to back off for fear of missing that one perfect shot.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let this go. I need to know what happened to him. And I don’t plan to stop until I have the answers. If it takes a court order, Mr. Trayborne, then I’ll find a way to get one.”

She turned toward the door, but he was on her before she had time to react. He grasped her upper arms and held her firmly in place.

A jolt of heat streaked through her body and left her tingling all over. She was drawn to him. She stared up into his face, mesmerized by the glimmer in his eyes as he stared at her. She was helpless to resist the wave of energy that rooted her to the spot like a tractor beam.

“You have to stop, Olivia. You’re in danger as long as you stay in Black’s Cove. Go home. Let this go.”

A measure of agreement coiled around her thoughts. She’d almost been annihilated twice. Would a third time be the charm? Caution stirred in her blood. How did he know she was in danger…unless he was behind it?

Unlinking the invisible chain that held them together, she stepped back, her body missing the contact with a primal need she couldn’t put a name to. She reached for the door knob and turned it.

“If you’re threatening me, it’s not going to work. I came to Black’s Cove for a story and I’m not leaving without one.”

“Better no story than dead.”

His words echoed in her brain as she jerked open the door, bent on digging so deep into Jack’s past that she’d end up in proverbial China.

Tendrils of mist reached out and swallowed her the moment she stepped outside. She aimed for her car and escape, determined to expose Jack Trayborne no matter what it took, including a court order.

He heightened his senses, picking up a low voltage hum that mixed and separated with the beat of Olivia’s footsteps against the cobblestone drive outside, it’s source emanating from somewhere underneath her car.

Alarm forced him into action. He threw open the door, spotting her less than twenty feet away and about to round the driver’s side fender of the death trap.

Reaching out, he focused his energies and lifted her off her feet, dragging her to him like a rag doll at the end of a rubber band.