Page 1 of From the Darkness

Prologue

Troy London squinted against the wind blowing salt spray into his face and matting his dark hair to his forehead. Tipping back his head, he looked up to the cliffs at the great house towering about the ocean.

Ravencrest. The estate his great grandfather had built. For the first time in months, he felt the joy of coming home to this place. Well, a muted joy—with the present problems hanging over him. But he would solve them—one way or the other. And then he’d get his life back on track again.

Deftly he maneuvered the small craft through the swells, finding the calm channel between the towering rocks.

He had sailed these waters along the Maine coast since he was a boy for sport and for the challenge of pitting his mind and body against the elements.

He found the ring anchored to the rock and tied up the boat, then waited for a swell to crest before stepping off onto the landing platform, slippery with ocean water. Using the familiar handholds, he climbed the rough-hewn steps toward the top of the cliff.

He could have approached the house from the headlands. But then he would be visible from the west-facing windows. Instead, he stopped at the entrance to one of the secret tunnels carved into the stone. Opening the door, he slipped into a dark passage.

A flashlight was hanging from the wall, and he used it to guide his way up a steep slope and then more stairs.

At breakfast, he’d announced his intention to go sailing. He’d made sure they saw him heading out into the ocean. But he’d come back sooner than they expected, hugging the coast to keep from being spotted.

Now perhaps he could get the evidence he needed—because he wouldn’t act without proof.

A sick feeling overtook him. It was tinged with his own guilt—over what he’d done and what he hadn’t done, if the truth be told.

Still, he’d expected better than this, and he’d thought long and hard about what to do. He was still hoping he was mistaken, hoping against hope that he’d read all the signals wrong.

Stopping at a fork in the passage, he listened intently, then moved silent as a panther toward one of the rooms.

He’d laid a trap there the day before. Now he would see what he had caught.

He set down the flashlight, then pressed on a hidden panel and stepped into the back of a closet. Slowly he opened the door, just enough to see into the room. The man was there, just as he’d suspected, just as he’d feared.

“What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low and steady as he walked into the room.

The man’s eyes widened. “Where did you come from?”

“That’s not the important point. Answer my question.” He walked forward, his gaze steady on the interloper, so that he didn’t see that another person was standing in the bathroom.

At the last second, a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, and he realized his mistake. But it was too late. The blow came crashing down on his head. And then there was only blackness.

Chapter One

Fog rolled in from the west, obscuring the rugged coastline north of Portland, Maine. Bree Brennan slowed her Ford Focus, thinking that if she plunged into the Atlantic, it would be her own damn fault.

And the farther she’d come from the Baltimore-DC area, the more second thoughts she was having. She kept thinking she should turn around and go home. But if she did, she’d be letting down her friend Helen London.

When a shaft of lightning shattered the darkening sky, Bree responded with a quavery laugh. If she’d been the director of a horror movie, she couldn’t have done a better job of setting the scene: the naive young woman, driving through the storm toward a spooky old mansion. Except that this was no movie. It was real life.

Helen’s distraught phone call from Macedonia echoed in her mind.

“I’m so scared. I’m afraid Troy is dead. I haven’t talked to him in two weeks. And his e-mails are really strange—like somebody else is writing them for him.”

She was talking about her older brother, Troy London, both of them named by an eccentric father with a passion for Greek literature.

Bree had gotten to know Troy seven years earlier when she’d been visiting the London summer place—their ranch in Montana. She’d been attracted to him, and she’d thought the attraction was mutual. Then she’d been called away abruptly to take care of problems at home. Once she was back in her own environment, she’d told herself a relationship with Troy wouldn’t have worked anyway. He came from a world of wealth and privilege—so different from her own background in rural North Carolina.

Still, she’d never let go of the memories of a virile, vibrant young man with dark hair, warm hazel eyes and a ready smile.

Like his sister, he didn’t need to work, but both siblings had wanted meaningful jobs. Helen was a Foreign Service Officer. Troy had specialized in taking failing companies, turning them around, and selling them at a profit. He’d had exactly the life he wanted, until a year ago, when his wife had been killed in a car accident, and he had shut himself away at Ravencrest, his estate on the Maine coast.

Bree slammed on her brakes as another fork of lightning split the sky directly in front of her—illuminating the entrance to the property. Great timing, she thought as she turned in at the access road. Ravencrest was one of the few large tracts of property left along the coast. Most of the big estates had been subdivided or turned into parks and other public access areas. But Ravencrest was a throwback to another era.

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