The Colton Marine. Lisa Childs

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      He tugged lightly on the reins, drawing Shadow to a stop next to that fountain. After sliding off, he tethered the horse to one of the gargoyles sitting on the edge of the fountain. The horse could drink while River found a way into the darkened house.

      As he neared the front entrance, his steps slowed, his boot heels scraping across the surface of the brick pavers. This wasn’t a good idea for so many reasons.

      First off, he was trespassing.

      Second, he might not like what he found.

      And third, he might not be alone—because the moon glinted off the metal and glass of the car parked on the other side of the fountain. He cursed. But just as he cursed, he heard the scream.

      So did the horse. Shadow rose up with an anxious whinny and tugged his reins free of the gargoyle. He took off toward Mac’s ranch.

      But River turned back toward the house. He wasn’t the coward he’d been at eighteen. He didn’t run from trouble anymore. Instead, he usually ran right into it. The last time he’d done that, though, he’d lost his eye and damn near his life.

      What would he lose this time?

      * * *

      She had lost it. Edith Beaulieu was not the type of woman to scream like a banshee. She wasn’t the type to scream at all. Not even as a child. But the dark house and all of its creepy sounds had unnerved her.

      She’d called the power company days ago to have the service restored after ten years of the estate sitting empty. They’d assured her that it would be done. But when she’d stepped into the foyer and flipped on the switch, nothing had happened. The elaborate chandelier remained dark, its crystals reflecting only the faint light of stars shining through the tall windows and the light of her cell phone.

      Of course, after ten years, the bulbs might have burned out. She had already considered that, so she’d brought a lamp with her. When she’d plugged it into a socket, though, nothing had happened.

      Maybe the power company hadn’t been able to get inside and throw the breakers? That was why she’d used her phone light to move throughout the house and try to find the door to the basement. Electrical boxes were usually in the basement. Even with the light from her phone, she stumbled over broken furniture and discarded drawers and papers. And other things that indicated animals may have taken up residence when the humans had left.

      So she hadn’t been too concerned about those first scurrying sounds she’d heard. She’d just shuddered at the thought of crossing paths with rodents or spiders or snakes. But when she’d finally found the door to the basement inside the kitchen, she’d heard something else—something that had sounded like footsteps—human footsteps—moving down the steps. And when she’d opened that door, the light of her phone had glinted off a pair of eyes at the bottom of those stairs.

      That was when she’d screamed. Nobody else was supposed to be inside this house—nobody but her. But when she looked again, she saw nothing. Had she imagined it? Had it been a person or an animal?

      She couldn’t be sure. All she’d seen was darkness but for the glint of those eyes. She shuddered as her heart continued to race. But she heard nothing now—no movement at all. Her screaming had probably scared away whatever it had been.

      Torn between running for her car and going down to investigate, she hesitated at the top of the stairs. In the horror movies, the one who investigated always got killed. But then, so did the one who ran for her car. She drew in a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her. Reaching inside her purse and pulling out her can of pepper spray made her feel a little better.

      If Edith Beaulieu was going out, it was only going to happen after one hell of a fight.

      She gripped the can tightly in one hand while she held up her cell phone with the other. The light illuminated the steps before her but could not penetrate the rest of the darkness of the basement. Her legs trembled slightly as she began the descent. Despite the heat of the July night, it was cold down there. The damp air instantly chilled her. Goose bumps rose along her usually smooth, dark skin. She had Mama to thank for her complexion; fortunately, that was all Edith had inherited from Merrilee MacKenzie Beaulieu.

      Not the illness...

      Unless she’d only imagined those eyes in the dark and had screamed for no reason. She shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the cold. As she reached the last step, she shone her light around the darkness, but it glinted off nothing now but boxes and crates and stacks of chairs and other furniture. She moved around the clutter toward a door off the hallway. As she pushed it open, the hinges screeched in protest. And above her the house creaked.

      Since she’d unlocked the front door and stepped inside, she’d had a creepy sensation that she was not alone. First those eyes and now the noise against the floorboards—that sounded suspiciously like footsteps—confirmed it. Someone else was inside the house. But how had he or she gotten from the basement to the upstairs without passing her on the steps?

      Unless there was another stairwell somewhere...

      She’d heard the house had secret rooms. What about secret passageways?

      She shivered again. But she wasn’t really cold—not with how quickly her blood was pumping through her veins. She was scared. Her hands trembled so much that she nearly dropped the pepper spray canister and the cell phone, making the light bounce around the room. It glanced off the furnace, a couple of water heaters and a metal box on the wall. She’d found the utility room.

      She hurried over to the electrical panel and opened the door. Then she fumbled with the breakers, pushing them the opposite direction of where they’d been. They must have been off because a light from the dirty bulb swinging from the rafters in the ceiling came on.

      She expelled a slight breath of relief. At least she had light now. But then her relief fled as she heard more creaks—of the basement door and then on each step leading down. She fumbled with her phone, shutting off the light. Then she reached for the chain hanging from that swinging bulb. She needed darkness so she could hide. But then she remembered she was the one with the right to be there. And she let the chain slip through her fingers while she tightened her grasp on the canister of pepper spray.

      Whoever else was here was trespassing, which probably meant he was up to no good. Squatting? Stealing? Or using the abandoned house for other nefarious activities?

      She wished now she had a gun. But the pepper spray would have to suffice. She clutched it tightly—pointing it out in front of herself. And she waited.

      Within seconds the utility room door groaned as it was opened the rest of the way. A dark shadow filled the doorway. He was too far away for her to spray and hit him. So she lifted her cell phone light toward his face. The brim of a hat pulled low shadowed it, but still she saw the scars and the patch.

      And she screamed again.

      * * *

      The pounding of hooves against the ground sent a cloud of dust rising up into the night sky and a chill of unease racing down Mac’s spine. He had returned only minutes ago from a date with Evelyn. She made him feel like a teenager instead of fifty-six. But the smile she always put on his face had slipped away when he’d found his house dark. No lights shone in the apartment above the stables, either.

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