Page 67 of From the Darkness

When Graves had exited the scene, Troy got to his feet and started through the scrubby, windblown vegetation that covered the headlands.

“Wait!”

She might as well have been talking to the sea. Running to catch up, she saw that they were only fifty yards from the grove of trees.

So, the exit from the tunnels was near Troy’s grove—which made it easy for him to get there—then back to the house when he was finished putting on a show out here for the Sterlings. Well, not just the Sterlings. Probably Mrs. Martindale and Graves, too.

She might have remarked on that, but his lips were set in a grim line. Apparently, he wasn’t happy about this little expedition—yet he was taking her here anyway.

They climbed over a fallen log, then plunged into the twilight under the trees. He led her across a patch of ground to a little clearing.

“There,” he said, pointing to a spot where she could see a slight indentation in the earth. “That’s why they don’t come here.”

The way he said it made her skin go icy.

“What is it?”

“Troy London’s grave.”

Chapter Fifteen

Bree felt as though a wrecking ball had hit her square in the chest, knocking all the air out of her lungs. She gasped, grappling with the enormity of what he had just said.

Troy London’s grave!

It was too much to believe. Too much to absorb. And her only defense was a quick, decisive denial.

She swung toward Troy, grasped him by the shoulders. “Stop it! What are you trying to do? Did you know Graves was going to come walking along the cliff? Did the two of you cook this up?”

He stared down at her, his gaze intense and regretful. “No.”

“Troy, I’m tired of this. Tired of your playing games. Tired of your saying something one minute and something else the next. If you can’t be straight with me, then leave me alone.”

“All right.”

She hadn’t meant it in literal terms. It had simply been her anger and her frustration—and her fear—talking. But Troy chose to take her at her word. He wrenched away from her, stumbled once, then dashed away through the underbrush.

Wide-eyed, she started after him, shouting for him to stop. “Wait. I didn’t mean it. Come back.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, a gale force wind rose up to hold her back, sending pine needles and other materials from the floor of the grove whirling in her face. Dust hit her eye, and she cried out, putting up her arm for protection, even as she tried to struggle forward. The whirlwind came fast and furious now, tearing at her clothing, obscuring all vision, so that clouds of debris spun around her, rising to a frantic crescendo that roared in her ears like the howl of a lost soul in agony. Moments later, it was all over, and she was alone in the grove.

“Troy!” she screamed, screamed until her throat was raw. But she already knew it would do her no good. He was gone again.

Only this time, it was after they’d made love. And she’d thought that everything had changed. Well—not everything. But she’d assumed that he was ready to work with her, not against her.

Now he had taken the first opportunity to make the point that she’d simply been operating on wishful thinking.

The new dishonesty made her angry. And, as she had when he’d showed her the grave, she focused on the anger, because there was no alternative. If she let go of the anger, she would be left with raw, blinding terror.

The night before, in the bedroom, when Troy had been kissing and caressing her, she’d felt as though her legs wouldn’t hold her weight.

She felt like that now. Sinking down to a fallen log, she huddled there, feeling her heart beating wildly in her chest.

He’d shown her “Troy London’s grave.” But it couldn’t be the literal truth. He’d been standing next to her when he’d said it. So, it couldn’t be his grave. It had to be a hoax. But at least now she knew the kind of thing he had in mind. He had been hiding out for weeks, probably because he’d lost all his money in those bad stock investments. Or maybe it was worse than that. Maybe he’d done something highly illegal to try to get his fortune back, and it had all blown up in his face. He wasn’t planning to stay around much longer. He wanted people to think he was dead, so he could disappear permanently. And she wasn’t part of his plans. He had been saying goodbye last night.

The scenario didn’t make perfect sense. But it was the best she could conjure up—because there was no way to wrap her mind around the alternative.

It was several minutes before she was able to push herself to her feet. Then, resolutely, she started back to the house—unsure of what she was going to do when she got there.

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