Page 7 of From the Darkness

In this unfamiliar environment, inconvenient questions were piling up like unpaid bills, and it was impossible not to feel overwhelmed. She was in over her head, and she’d been here less than an hour.

Suddenly unsteady on her feet, she reached to brace her hand against the bedpost, her fingers closing around the carved wood. She’d set her alarm for four in the morning to make the drive north in one day. Now she was wishing she’d stopped at a motel along the way.

Although she desperately wanted to make friends with Dinah, she was afraid that if she tried to do it in her present condition, she was going to make some crucial mistake that would set the wrong tone for their whole relationship.

Keeping her voice even, she turned toward the girl. “I’ve had a really long day. And I don’t think I’m going to be very good company tonight. Would you mind very much if I just go to bed, and we start off fresh in the morning?”

Dinah looked down, dragging her foot in a small half circle over the rug.

Bree felt her heart squeeze as she watched. “I’m probably disappointing you,” she said. “I’ve just gotten here, and you want to get to know me.”

Dinah hesitated for several seconds, then gave a small nod.

“Well, I’m really anxious to get to know you and Alice, too. But I’ve realized I’d probably fall asleep as soon as I sat down in a chair.”

“I understand,” the child answered, sounding much older than her years, and Bree had the feeling she’d learned some strategic coping skills in the past few months.

“We can see each other at breakfast. I’m looking forward to that,” Bree added, using her last store of energy to sound enthusiastic. Then another thought struck her. “That Mr. Graves, you’re not afraid he’s going to be in the hall, are you? Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

“No. He never stays up here long.”

“That’s good.”

Dinah hesitated for a moment. “You don’t have to worry about me, because my daddy takes care of me.”

Bree blinked. “So, your daddy’s okay? Can I talk to him?”

“Only if he wants you to.” Perhaps to forestall more questions, the child darted from the room, and Bree was left staring at the closed door.

What did Dinah’s assurance mean? Maybe Troy wasn’t a captive, after all. Maybe he was in hiding—watching out for Dinah. Or had the little girl made it all up?

Her hand closed around the doorframe—to keep herself from running after the girl. She wanted answers, but at the same time, this child tugged at her heartstrings. It was a little girl a lot like Dinah who had started Bree questioning her life. She’d been a timid, guarded person when she’d been teaching in Baltimore. Now she realized that teaching had been a safe place for her—where she could deal with children instead of adults. But one afternoon, just as class was letting out, a man named Harvey Milner had stormed into the room and demanded that she turn his child, Cathy, over to him. Only Bree knew from conversations with Mrs. Milner, that the father didn’t even have visitation rights and that he’d threatened to take the girl and flee the state.

Milner’s guerilla tactics scared her, but she took Cathy in her arms and marched down the hall to the principal’s office, with the angry father trailing behind her, shouting threats.

Afterwards she was amazed at what she’d done. It had made her see herself in a different light, made her realize that she was selling herself short. But she still didn’t figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, until she read about a kidnapping case inThe Baltimore Sun, a kidnapping thwarted by the Decorah Security Agency.

Excitement coursed through her as she read the article. And she knew she wanted to work for that agency. She wanted to help other children—and adults. And as soon as the school year was over, she contacted them. They needed a new secretary. And they were willing to hire her for that job.

She’d learned a lot from the Decorah agents in the past few years—enough to know that she was way over her head.

Her mouth twisted as she crossed the room on legs that weren’t quite steady. After locking the door, she turned around to study her surroundings. Besides the entrance from the hall, there were two other doors—one on the wall opposite the bed and one at the end of the room. She tried the closer one first and found a dark, cavernous closet.

The other led to an opulent bathroom. The idea of soaking her tired muscles in the deep, claw-footed tub was suddenly very appealing. But she was afraid that if she lay down in hot water, she’d fall asleep. So, she settled for a quick shower.

After drying off, she pulled on a simple cotton nightgown. In the act of turning off the light, she stayed her hand. Although she’d never been particularly afraid of the dark, Ravencrest had spooked her from the moment she’d driven up the access road. Feeling slightly paranoid, she kept the light on in the bathroom and left the door open a crack, so that a shaft of light slanted across the floor.

In the dim light she drifted toward the window and looked out. She’d approached the estate from the land side, where tall pines and probably redwoods had blocked her view. From this angle, she could see that the mansion was perched on the edge of a high cliff overlooking the sea. Moonlight gave her a view of waves rolling in, crashing against hidden obstructions and dark spires of rocks that poked up from the foam.

Far below she could hear the ebb and flow of the surf.

All at once the realization hit her that this was Troy’s house. He had loved this place. Maybe he’d even stood at this very window looking down at the rocky coast. Until this moment, she hadn’t allowed herself to think much about what coming to his home would mean for her. But suddenly she felt close to him, closer than she had in years.

Seven years ago, he’d told her about his home. He’d entranced her with his stories of exploring the cliffs and the sea caves that were accessible only at low tide and of his sailing expeditions into the wild waters offshore. She’d wanted to come here with him. She’d even secretly dreamed of living here—as his wife.

“Troy,” she breathed, wishing that he was here with her—in this room. She remembered him so well—remembered how her first sight of him had taken her breath away. He’d walked into the parlor to greet her and Helen, and she’d found herself facing a tall handsome man with tanned skin and wind-tossed hair that was just a beat too long. She’d taken him in in one swift draft, then focused on his eyes. They were chocolate brown, fringed by dark lashes. And they’d turned warm when he’d looked at her.

“I’m Troy. And you must be Helen’s friend, Bree,” he said.

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