The Secret of Cypriere Bayou. Jana DeLeon

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СКАЧАТЬ was going on? The attorney had never mentioned someone leasing the house, and even if he’d known someone was taking up residence in the little mansion of horrors, the last person he could have imagined was the petite, mouthy, gun-toting spitfire he’d accosted. What kind of woman leased a derelict of a house, hidden away in a bayou, whose locally given name quite literally translated to “the Curse”?

      The last thing he needed right now were complications, and women were always a complication. This woman could ruin everything.

      The rain poured down and he pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. He walked the length of the house, shining a flashlight behind the bushes that lined the exterior wall. Nothing. Finally, at the edge of the house, he saw them—a set of footprints in the mud just below a window in an empty downstairs room. He scanned the window and saw the wood chips at the bottom of the frame and the broken lock inside. Someone had pried it open, but there was no way to tell how recently.

      He turned his attention back to the ground and followed the footsteps to the edge of the woods that surrounded the estate, where they disappeared in the brush. Damn it! From his window in the caretaker’s cottage he’d seen a light downstairs in the main house maybe fifteen minutes ago. It was small and erratic in movement like a flashlight would be, and since the house was supposed to be empty he’d gone to investigate. Then he’d gotten sidetracked with that crazy woman playing detective. Since she hadn’t been carrying a flashlight when he disarmed her, John knew he’d missed his chance to catch the real trespasser.

      Assuming the woman was telling the truth about the lease and the key, she had no reason to sneak through the woods and break into the house but someone had a reason. A reason good enough to come out in this storm. The question was, did it have anything to do with his case?

      He stepped out of the woods and headed across the courtyard to the caretaker’s cottage. The last thing he needed was that woman hovering around, watching his every move, especially when most of them had nothing to do with repairs. That day he’d searched all the downstairs rooms of the main house and had stopped only because the power went out. He’d planned on starting up again as soon as power was restored, but with that woman lurking inside with a firearm it looked like he’d have to wait. John had no earthly idea why the woman would want to lease a house like laMalediction, but first thing in the morning he was going to find out.

      Then he was going to figure out the fastest way to get rid of her.

      He gave one final glance at the main house as he entered the cottage. The only light was upstairs, probably in one of the bedrooms. He gave the grounds a final glance, but apparently the trespasser was not interested in trying his luck again tonight. Or he’d gotten what he came for and escaped without a scratch.

      John pulled off his dirty boots and left them next to the front door, then grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and slid into a chair at the tiny breakfast table that was serving as his workspace. He picked up a plastic bag and studied the bright pink button inside. The button was new, and had no business being on the floor in the library of the main house. A room that by the amount of dust collecting on the shelves and tables hadn’t been cleaned in a long time, quite possibly years. Unless the old caretaker was a fan of bright pink, someone else, most likely female, had recently been in that room.

      Unfortunately, John had no way of knowing if the button belonged to his missing half sister. He’d already questioned his mother, who’d indicated that his sister owned quite a few garments in pink, but then, he guessed a lot of women did.

      He slammed the bag back down on the table and took a gulp of beer. He was running out of time. John knew better than most that the longer people remained missing, the less likely they were to be found alive. And that was assuming you found them at all.

      Finding Rachel dead wasn’t an option. If he didn’t bring his younger sister home alive and well, he knew with complete certainty that their mother, who was fighting a seemingly losing battle with cancer, would just give up.

      He ran one hand through his wet hair and silently cursed the women in his life. Why couldn’t Rachel have focused her master’s thesis on something other than ancient southern architecture? At the very least, she could have limited her research trips to only those houses that had been conveniently converted to bed and breakfasts instead of traipsing off to abandoned mansions in the middle of a swamp. There was far less chance of disappearing in a public place, but this forgotten estate, hidden away from the rest of the world, was just the sort of place to come face to face with trouble.

      Of course, now that he’d seen laMalediction he could understand Rachel’s fascination with the structure. The few press clippings she’d assembled in a folder marked “Research” had created more questions about the house than answers, and John knew his adventurous and highly inquisitive sister would not have been able to have left the “haunted” house out of her thesis work despite its remote location.

      His mother was already in a panic, her health rapidly declining, and it had only been three days since Rachel had disappeared. She’d let him know in no uncertain terms that the only thing she would live for was the safe return of her baby. Like the additional pressure would magically give him answers he didn’t have.

      And now there was another woman in the mix, and from their brief encounter he’d guess she was just as obstinate and determined as his mother. The caretaker job had been an unexpected miracle, giving him legitimate access to the estate. Now, that access would be under scrutiny that he couldn’t afford.

      It hadn’t slipped his notice that the trespasser had appeared at the same time as the woman. That gun she carried was no toy, and despite the fact that he’d easily disarmed her, he could tell she’d had some training on how to properly use a weapon. He was fairly certain she wasn’t the one who’d jimmied that window, but he had no way of knowing if she’d brought trouble with her.

      No matter really.

      Her presence in the house was trouble enough. Trouble he didn’t need.

      OLIVIA AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING with the sunlight shining directly in her face. Startled, she sat straight up in bed and realized she’d fallen asleep clutching her flashlight and Mace. Her pistol was still within easy reach on the nightstand. Squinting, she covered her eyes with one hand and blinked to adjust to the glare. The rain had stopped sometime in the middle of the night and she must have drifted off to sleep. Apparently her subconscious had decided the likelihood of a second intrusion was slim, or her mind was simply too exhausted to care any longer.

      She looked over at the bedroom door. The key, desk, table, chair, and ugly vase were all in place, but that didn’t make her feel much better. Someone had come into the room last night when she was in the bath, and she’d bet everything she had that they hadn’t used the bedroom door. Blocking the door last night had been a necessary thing to “fool” her frantic mind into some semblance of safety, but here in the stark light of day she knew that safety had been as fictional as the books she wrote.

      Outside, an engine fired up and she climbed out of bed to have a look. That “caretaker” was on the front lawn, using a chain saw on a couple of large limbs that had fallen in the driveway. His straight dark hair was just a little too long to be considered tidy and his skin had a beautiful tanned glow, either from the sun or perhaps a Creole heritage. She tried not to admire the way he handled the piece of equipment on a limb the size of a horse, but it was impossible not to when he tackled the tree limb as if he had a personal vendetta against the hunk of wood. If he’s not legitimate, he’s pretending awfully well.

      She glanced at her watch and groaned. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and was pleased to see that service was restored. Scrolling through her contacts, СКАЧАТЬ