Haven Page 5

  “Jessie, what are you doing?” Emma asked as the sisters walked the short distance back to Rayburn House.

  Without denial, Jessie merely said, “Stirring the pot.”

  “Okay, but what’s in the pot?”

  “The past. And maybe something that carried over into the present.”

  “Am I supposed to understand what you’re talking about?”

  “No. Not yet.” For the first time, Jessie’s smile held the hint of a real apology. “The less you know, the better, at least for now.”

  “That sounds foreboding.” Emma kept her tone light, but she began to feel seriously alarmed.

  As they turned onto the walkway to the front door of Rayburn House, Jessie was shaking her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not sure it’s even about me anymore. At least…”

  “At least what?”

  Seemingly half to herself, Jessie said, “At least maybe I can help stop something that started with me. Even if it wasn’t my fault. Even if I—Never mind, Em.”

  “Never mind? Jessie—” But Emma never finished the question, because her sister’s face had closed down again, and if she had learned one thing about this woman her sister had become, it was that she didn’t give away anything she intended to keep to herself.

  She didn’t give it away to anyone.

  NORMALLY, HE WOULDN’T have been on the hunt again so soon. He tended to be satisfied and satiated after enjoying himself with his prey, able to go on about his normal life without the dark urges tormenting him. For weeks, usually, even months sometimes when he needed to stretch it out because of the dearth of prey in the winter.

  But the last one…The last one had escaped before he had finished with her, and that had left him unsatisfied. He had tracked her, of course, and he had found her—and left her as he found her. She was far, far off the trails in the area, and he didn’t anticipate anyone else finding her.

  The scavengers would finish off the remains quickly enough.

  He had considered briefly and then discarded the idea of bringing her back to his garden. She didn’t deserve to be there, he decided. She was unworthy of that very precious and beautiful resting place.

  She deserved what she’d gotten, sprawled out on the hard, bloody ground for animals and maggots to feed off.

  He had been enraged by her escape, but he had learned long ago to channel his anger into something constructive; this time it had been repairing and strengthening his trap so that his prey would never escape him again.

  Now, calm once more but highly conscious of the hunger inside him, he began to hunt. Watching the tourists, the hikers, those transients who passed through his town on a regular basis. Noting who was alone or apt to wander away from their group, noting which ones found rooms in town and which preferred to truly rough it in the woods with tents and sleeping bags.

  Looking for vulnerabilities.

  It was half the fun of the hunt, choosing his next prey.

  He didn’t lurk, but came and went casually, making a point not to spend very much time in any one spot. He talked to those he would be expected to talk to, but otherwise kept himself in the background as much as possible, something he was very good at doing.

  And watched.

  A small voice in the back of his mind warned him to wait, to keep an eye on Jessie Rayburn and find out for certain just why she was back here after so many years, but that voice was drowned out by the dark urges driving him.

  He needed to hunt. Now. And if, later on, Jessie proved to be a problem he would need to deal with, well, he knew how to handle her. Nobody would be surprised, after all, if Jessie ran away from Baron Hollow again.

  Nobody at all.

  1 Blood Ties

  2 Hunting Fear

  FOUR

  “So, what’s Victor up to these days?” Jessie kept her voice calm and her eyes on her plate. Sunday lunch after church had been a family custom back in the day, usually silent, since their father had had little to say to them. But now it was just Jessie and Emma alone in the family suite dining room, with only Emma’s attentive Sheltie—lying near Emma’s chair and politely not begging—for company.

  “Well, he’s as charming as always,” Emma replied dryly, about their older cousin. “To most people. You know I’ve never cared for him; that hasn’t changed. I mostly avoid him, except when he persists in trying to buy land I don’t want to sell. He’s been fairly persistent lately, so things have been even more tense than usual.” Never did learn to take no for an answer.

  Jessie frowned just a bit, trying to shore up her walls so stray thoughts from Emma didn’t keep slipping through.

  Unaware, Emma sipped her coffee, adding, “He wants to buy some of your land too, by the way. That piece out by Willow Creek Church; what we both have in the area are parcels that adjoin land he already owns.”

  “I’m not interested in my inheritance, Emma. You can have the lot, and you’re welcome to it.”

  Emma didn’t look surprised, but shook her head. “Trent Windell is still the family attorney, and he’s looked after your share of what Dad left us. There’s income from the inn, from several rental properties, plus investments, and it’s added up over the years. He and a financial advisor have managed your money as well as they have mine.” Don’t be an idiot and turn down what belongs to you.

  Jessie frowned again.

  “Look, if you don’t want the properties, we’ll work something out, but that money is yours. It won’t make you rich, Jessie, but it’s a nice nest egg for retirement, or to buy yourself a house sometime in the future, or whatever. Trent will transfer it to any bank or investment outfit you want to use.”

  “You’re the one who stayed here and took care of Dad,” Jessie pointed out, still frowning.

  Emma was shaking her head, her expression wry. “He didn’t change after you left, you know; he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, and preferred to. Practicing what he preached to us. We had staff to take care of the house and cook, and Dad occupied himself with the business. He sent me off to camp so I wouldn’t be underfoot in summer. I went away for college, and even after I came back here I traveled every summer to get away, see something of the world. And Dad was healthy right up until that stroke killed him. So if you’re thinking I deserve more of the inheritance than you do, think again. Dad’s will was fair, Jessie.”

  “I’m surprised he thought I’d ever come back.” She wondered if she had been missed at all, but inside she knew the truth, and so she didn’t bother to ask it out loud.

  “We both know he wasn’t sentimental. There’s a provision in the will that says if neither you nor any legitimate heirs you might have claim the inheritance within twenty-five years, your share is divided between me and Victor and/or our heirs.”

  “Well, I sure as hell don’t want Victor getting anything.” Jessie heard the muted anger in her own voice, but was powerless to control it.

  After a moment, and in a neutral tone, Emma said, “You were angry with him when you left Baron Hollow. That last couple of months or so. I remember it.” And I’ve always wondered about it.

  Jessie hesitated, then said, “He’d been hitting on me. Said I…blossomed that summer. I was seventeen and he was twenty-five. And he was my cousin. It was gross.”

  “Jessie, he didn’t—”

  “He and his friends liked to party. Even though I was mad, I was also flattered by the interest, the attention. He was considered quite a catch, remember, even then, and my friends at the time kept track of that sort of bullshit.” Jessie shrugged. “We were idiots, but teenagers tend to be. That’s the only way I can really explain…I was stupid enough to get talked into going to some of their parties. There was a lot of drinking.”

  Emma was frowning now. “Jessie—”

  “I’d sneak back into the house late, so you and Dad never knew. Anyway, it’s not something I like to remember. And not something I want to talk about. Besides, a lot of it’s still fuzzy. Most of it, really, if I’m hon
est about it.” She looked across the table at the sister who was a stranger, and asked herself again if Emma needed to know any of this. Her life was here, and what right did Jessie have to ruin it for her?

  “Are you saying…something happened between you and Victor?”

  “No, I’m not saying that.” Jessie shook her head, avoiding her sister’s gaze. “I drank too much and barely remember any of it, but there were a lot of people at those parties. Not just Victor. He was usually there, but…I don’t want to talk about it, Emma. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this then?”

  “I didn’t tell you then because you were only fifteen and because…because we didn’t confide in each other. We weren’t close and you know it. Sisters don’t have to be; it isn’t an immutable law.”

  Emma was frowning. “Whatever we were then, I hope we can at least talk now. Jessie, did someone hurt you at any of those parties? Take advantage of you?”

  Jessie uttered a shaken laugh. “An old-fashioned phrase. Like I said, Emma, a lot of it is fuzzy. I’m not sure what are memories and what are…things I might have seen or heard. All I really know is that I feel something bad happened that summer, at one of those parties. That’s why I came home, to try to sort things out.”

  Emma was certain there was a great deal Jessie either knew or suspected and simply wasn’t willing to share. Yet, at least.

  She wanted to ask more questions, but the set of Jessie’s mouth told her it would be useless. Her sister was stubborn. That, at least, had certainly not changed.

  IT AMUSED HIM to hunt on a Sunday.

  Such a good little God-fearing town, with many a hypocritical ass planted in a pew come Sunday morning.

  He wondered if they had any idea at all how many “secrets” were no such thing.

  He saw it all. Knew it all. Who had financial problems. Who was sleeping with whom. Who lived in neat little houses disguising highly dysfunctional families. Who had committed crimes. And definitely who had committed sins.

  He enjoyed knowing their secrets. Having that power. Knowing that he could destroy them if he chose.

  He had been tempted, more than once, to do just that, out somebody with a secret. But that wouldn’t do, of course. That was just the sort of stupid mistake that was likely to backfire and cost him more than he wanted to pay. Because he had the biggest secret of all, and it was one he intended to protect at all costs.

  But that was second nature, after all these years, and he didn’t worry about betraying himself as he hunted.

  There were plenty of tourists about, uninterested in church, some marking time in the downtown restaurants and cafés until the Main Street stores opened up, while others were preparing to hike or ride up into the mountains. He found it easy to move among them. To blend in. He did not, honestly, expect to find his prey quickly; it usually took him several days of hunting at least, and sometimes weeks, before he settled on a target.

  But he found her almost at once.

  She was a hiker, carrying a big-ass backpack with the ease of someone who had carried it a long distance. She had that slightly grungy appearance of someone who had bathed in streams, if she had bathed at all, for at least some days and possibly weeks; her short reddish hair looked clean, but her jeans were worn and the cotton shirt she wore open over a tank top boasted a few rips and tears that didn’t seem like they were there for a designer look.

  Most important, she appeared to be alone.

  He managed to get close enough to overhear as she sat at a picnic table outside JP Mann’s place, two streets back from Main. JP owned and operated the largest stables in the area, and the one closest to the easiest access up into the mountain trails, so he got most of the tourist business. Being a sharp man, JP also had an arrangement with one of the cafés in town to supply box lunches and other goodies, and did a fair business selling maps and hiking supplies as well.

  The target—whom he was already thinking of as his June Rose—had bought herself a box lunch and was eating it, exchanging what sounded like small talk with a couple of other hikers and two people who were excited because they were about to join a horseback ride up into the mountains.

  He had an uneasy few moments as his Rose talked to the other two hikers, but it eventually emerged that she was heading north while they wanted to head west. She was meeting friends up near Virginia, she said, all of them hiking in from different directions: It was their Summer College Challenge, a version of some sort of physical contest that they dreamed up and executed during their summer breaks every year.

  “But you shouldn’t hike alone,” one of the other hikers, a young man, told her. “Find somebody else who’s heading north and buddy up. Much safer.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine.” Her voice was easy and confident. “Once I get up to the main trail, there’ll be other hikers and forestry people all over the place, plus rest stops and campsites. I’ve hiked that area before.”

  “Okay, but that’s miles away. It’s the from-here-to-there part that’s a little hairy.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she repeated. “I have plenty of rations, all the right equipment including pepper spray, and even”—she lowered her voice—“a little gun, just in case.”

  “Bears don’t take much notice of little guns,” one of the other hikers said dryly.

  “I know how to be safe from bears. The gun is for any two-legged trouble.” Her voice was still easy and confident.

  He made a mental note about the gun, pleased rather than discouraged. It was usually so easy. Maybe this time it wouldn’t be. Maybe his Rose had a few thorns to make things interesting.

  He noted how far she had progressed with her lunch, and decided he had time to go make a few preparations for the hunt.

  As he moved away, he could feel his heart beginning to pump, feel the adrenaline flowing through his body.

  He loved the hunt. It was almost the best part.

  STUBBORN SISTER OR not, Emma wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t tried. “Jessie, you can talk to me, you know. Even if we’ve never been close, we’re still family. And I know this town and its people better than you do, at least now.”

  “Well, when I figure out what questions to ask, maybe I’ll take you up on that. In the meantime, I’m more or less fumbling in the dark, just looking for something that sparks the right memories. I need to do that alone, Emma. You can’t help me.”

  “Jessie—”

  “I need time. And I’m asking you to give me that. Just…don’t tell anyone I’m trying to remember what happened that summer.”

  “Because you know it was bad?”

  “Because I don’t know. And I don’t know who was involved if it was bad. And we both know what a small-town gossip mill can do to reputations, especially if it only has speculation to work with. I don’t want anybody speculating about the past, not until I have a handle on it myself. They can be curious about why I came home, but I can make it look like it’s the property I’m interested in, my inheritance, and that should satisfy most people and won’t surprise anybody. I need you to go along with me on this, Emma. I’m asking you to promise me. I’m betting you still take your promises seriously.”

  “I do. But—”

  “Listen, I came back here to finally close the door on the past. I have to do that my own way. Promise me.”

  “All right. Dammit. I promise.”

  “Pinkie swear.”

  Emma smiled for the first time, if a bit wryly, and held a hand across the table so her little finger could hook briefly with Jessie’s. “Pinkie swear.”

  Jessie hadn’t realized she was so tense until she felt herself slump. She managed a smile in return. “Thank you. We all have to deal with our own baggage, you know. That’s just part of mine.”

  Emma leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I’ve a feeling I’m going to regret that promise. I thought I heard you last night. Did you have a nightmare?”

  “I don’t remember. Ma
ybe. I have them sometimes.” She was gazing almost absently at Emma, and was surprised to see a fleeting reaction cross that familiar face. She wasn’t sure what it meant, and for the first time she wished she wasn’t trying so hard to keep Emma’s thoughts from slipping through her walls.

  “About?”

  “I don’t remember what they’re about,” Jessie said. “By the way, this house? Definitely haunted.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

  Emma recognized a deflection when she heard one, but she was too interested not to follow. “Seriously?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve seen half a dozen of the dearly departed in various places, especially downstairs. Judging by the clothing, from more than one era, going all the way back to Civil War days.”

  “So all the way back to when at least parts of this house were built.”

  “Yeah. A couple of spirits in more recent dress, but I didn’t recognize them. Probably not surprising.”

  “And they didn’t…communicate with you?”

  “Not so far. Sometimes spirits don’t need help from the living; they just don’t want to leave, for whatever reason. But if it’s any comfort, they seem totally benign.”

  “You used to say the place was haunted, but it was something you just felt; you never said you saw anything. You see ghosts all the time now?”

  “I see them. But here…they’re clearer than I’ve ever been able to see them before. Maybe because I grew up here; I don’t know. Still, it’s a little surprising, because I’ve never been unusually strong as a medium and because my walls are still up.”

  “Walls you learned to build at this Haven place you told me about, where you work.”

  Jessie nodded. “It’s a sister organization, privately run but also linked, unofficially, to a unit inside the FBI, and what those people don’t know about psychic abilities isn’t worth knowing. Neither the mainstream nor the fringe element has a clue, believe me.”

  “Seriously?”