He was spared the necessity of a reply when his uncle marched in with two heaping platters of food and a bottle of wine.
As it turned out, the meat was only slightly charred. A Cordon Bleu chef, Haden set a table bountiful enough to feed half the population of Mystic Harbor. To her credit, recognizable or not, Isabella sampled every dish, and only seemed mildly puzzled by the meat.
This isnt rabbit, is it?
Busy chewing, Haden shook his head, motioned for her to eat and nudged the arugula-and-anchovy salad closer to her plate.
The lights above them flickered. The big man swallowed, stood. Leave room for dessert, he warned and clomped out to check the fuse box.
Spearing a piece of meat, Isabella lifted it for a closer inspection. Why do I think this never had feathers?
Donovan kept his expression neutral. Its squirrel.
Her eyes came up. Squirrel, she repeated. Her fork went down. As in Rocky the Flying?
Or a close relative. Resting his forearms on the table, he snagged a bottle. More wine?
I fed peanuts to park squirrels when I was growing up.
If you can eat Thumper and Chicken Little, Isabella, why a problem with Rocky?
Still staring, she moved her glass forward. I was being polite. I prefer not to eat any of them. Ill be a little more rude next time. Ignoring the lights that surged and faded overhead, she slid her gaze to his face. Insanity isnt an inherited trait, you know.
He swirled his wine, swallowed a bitter mouthful. Do you want to tell my mother that, or leave it to the doctors who are treating her?
For what?
Paranoia mostly, with a little ADHD thrown in on the side. And then there was my grandmother who, depending on which day of the week it happened to be, saw herself as Eleanor Roosevelt, Mary Pickford and, toward the end of her life, Anna McNeill Whistler.
Your grandmother thought she was Whistlers mother?
Until the day she died. She wanted to be buried in North Carolina, where Anna was born. During a rare moment of lucidity, my mother denied the request and had her remains interred in the family crypt.
Isabella set her chin on a fisted hand. Youre going to tell me I own the crypt, arent you?
Inasmuch as anyone can own such a thing.
What about this place? I heard it was the coach house for the manor.
It was, but you dont own it. The cottage sits in the middle of the only acre of land the Darks held on to when the manor was sold early in the twentieth century. The buyer was a shipbuilder from Portland. Your ex bought it, sans acre, from the last of the builders descendants.
Well, Im fascinated. She pushed her plate away as the lights winked off and on. Does this disco ball effect happen a lot?
Donovan took another sip. Haden rewired the place last year. Answers yes. When she continued her speculative regard, he let his lips curve, considered the wine in his glass. Something else?
Im not sure. Leaning in on her forearms, she twirled a strand of his hair around her finger. Youre a strange sort of cop, Donovan Black. And dont say it runs in the family.
He let her touch, made a point of not lowering his gaze to the vee of her dark red sweater. It doesnt, he answered. Im an aberration in that regard.
In lots of regards, I imagine.
With one exception.
She gave his hair a tug. Nice try, Black, but my uncles a Park Avenue shrink. Insanity doesnt walk, run or gallop in families.
A shrink, huh? Even knowing he shouldnt, Donovan found himself wanting to sample her mouth. One brief taste to satisfy the hunger in his belly. Then hed remove himself from the moment and from temptation. From Mystic Harbor as well, if he was smartwhich he could be or not, depending on the situation.
The lights dimmed again. He heard Haden swearing on the back porch, but his eyes remained on Isabella. On her soft, striking features, her long, rain-curled hair and her bluer-than-blue eyes.
He wasnt sure who actually moved, but he figured it was probably fifty-fifty. However it happened, his mouth was suddenly on hers, not to taste now, but to dive in and explore.
Catching her jaw between his thumb and fingers, he angled her head to deepen the kiss. She made a sound of approval in her throat, tangled her own fingers in his hair and pulled him closer.
At their first meeting, shed shoved him away. He should have left it at that. Left her to face whatever demons lurked inside Darkwood Manor alone. Instead, his tongue was on a voyage of discovery in her mouth, fencing with hers, then sliding past it, until the pulse hammering in his head threatened to strip away decades of control.
When the lights above them sparked, a red warning flashed in his brain. If it looked and felt dangerous, it probably was. Even as he tested the limits of his restraint, Donovan knew he should end this now, walk away and not look back.
He wasnt sure if he could have done it or not. The next time the lights zapped off, they stayed that way, plunging the cottage into full, silent darkness. He let her bite his bottom lip, was thinking about trailing his mouth along the side of her neck when they heard ita long, keening wail that echoed through the fog and shadow outside.
It started on the periphery of his mind and built, from a thread of sound to a shriek that had Isabellas fingernails sinking into his shoulders.
My God, what is that?
He couldnt see her clearly, but knew she was staring at the front window.
His eyes slid in the same direction. Some people say a pack of wolves wandered down from Quebec. A few think its a wild dog.
She didnt pull back, and his hand still formed a light V around her throat. Some, she repeated. As the wail came again, he felt a shiver ripple through her. What do the rest of the people believe?
What youd expect. He kept his tone calm. That Aaron Darks spirit has come to reclaim his house. And if he cant get it using fear, hell resort to what he knows best. Death.
YOU KNOW I DONT BUY any of that, dont you?
They were the first words out of Isabellas mouth when Donovan halted his black Tundra behind her on the narrow roadway.
Shed been pacing in front of the Hang Ten Lodge, the only other off-season accommodations Mystic Harbor had to offer, waiting for him to join her and going over his remarks about Aaron Darks afterlife agenda.
She didnt think he really believed in ghosts. In the possibility of genetic insanity, yes, but not in encounters with otherworldly beings.
He was trying to frighten her again, and she didnt appreciate the repeat performance one bit. Especially when her head continued to spin from a kiss likewell, like nothing shed ever experienced before. Her lips were still tingling, and sorting through her jumbled thoughts had only become possible in the last five minutes.
Back at his place, Hadens announcement that the power outage extended beyond the walls of his cottage had barely registered.
You must be tuckered out, hed remarked with a sympathetic tut. Put that sound you heard out of your mind. Its a story for later. For tonight, you go to my friend Georges lodge. State its in, the manors not fit for flesh-and-blood humans. Last owner slept on a horsehair sofa so lumpy it makes my yard look like a putting green. Well talk tomorrow about the goings-on up there. Meantime, Ill call ahead, tell George youre on your way.
Horsehair sofas, mad ghosts and one incredible kiss. If Katie had been a weak-minded person, Isabella might have believed shed run. But they werent merely cousins, they were best friends and had been since before she could remember. Katie had not left Darkwood Manor voluntarily.
Isabella kept pacing while Donovan leaned against the hood of his truck and watched.
Ghosts, whether real or imagined, dont whisk people and their vehicles away, she maintained in passing. Cell phone in hand, she tried her cousins number again, with the same result as before.
A frustrated sound escaped. Letting her head fall back, she surveyed the misty night sky. Im going to wake up soon and discover this is nothing but a nightmare. I figure theres a sixty-forty chance that no part of its real. Bringing her head up, she regarded the rustic lodge to her left. Why are there lights inside?
Generators running. They have limited power. Locking his eyes on hers, Donovan pushed off from the hood, moved toward her with deliberation. I wasnt trying to scare you back at Hadens place, Isabella. It was a reaction, a verbal shove. Not a fair one, but thats how self-defense mechanisms work. Anything to keep a threat at bay.
For the first time since shed left the cottage, humor sparked. In other words, kissing me unnerved you.
You could say that. His gaze didnt waver as he approached. But a more accurate assessment would be to say it scared the crap out of me.
Im flattered, Black.
Dont be.
A chuckle emerged from the shadowed front porch. Trust him, he means it, a husky female voice drawled. Hey-ya, Donovan. What brings you to our sequestered neck of the woods?
Donovans gaze remained on Isabella. Thought you were moving to the Cape, Darlene.
So did I. Best-laid plansll screw you every time. Whos the blonde?
Dragging her eyes from Donovans, Isabella smiled. Isabella Ross.
The new owner of Darkwood Manor, Donovan supplemented.
A tall, thin woman came into the misty half-light. She had an unlit cigarette between her black-tipped fingers and sharp, foxlike features that were neither friendly nor unfriendly. Platinum hair stood up like frosted candy canes, she wore a rock-band T beneath an oversized leather jacket and studded boots over superskinny jeans.
Darlene Calvert. She gestured at the building behind her. My mother and Donovans are tenth or twelfth cousins. Means were related, but hey, life sucks on lots of levels. You looking for a room?
Unsure what to make of her, Isabella offered a cautious Maybe. Is this your lodge?
Darlene snorted, struck a match, inhaled.
Its her mothers, Donovan said.
Only a masochistic fool would want to rent rooms to the public. She adopted a whiny tone. The beds too hard, the foods too cold, the bathrooms too small. Goldilocks should have been so picky. She lowered spiky lashes. So, whats your line, Isabella?
Apparently Im a masochistic fool.
Hotel worker?
My familys in the business.
Ross, huh? A sly smile appeared. As in the Corrigan-Ross Hotel Group? And now youre eyeing Darkwood Manor as a destination for supernatural thrill seekers. She blew a line of smoke. Sweetie, if thats your intention, you wanna scuttle it here and now.
Why would I do that, Darlene?
The woman strolled closer, let her gaze travel in the direction of the distant manor. Because I drove past your recent acquisition this afternoon. Saw a man at the gate.
What did he look like? Isabella asked with care.
Tall, thirtysomething, dark haired, might have had a stache. I stopped for a moment, becausewell, because I was curious. I shouldnt have, though. I could tell, not sure how, that he wanted me to keep moving.
Did he speak to you?
No, he just glared.
And then?
Then he started walking toward me. He came through the gate and headed straight for my car. Thats when I took off.
With Katie missing, Isabella had no time for theatrics. Did you feel threatened by him?
You could say that. Blowing more smoke, Darlene sliced a hand in front of her. I said he came through the gate. Thing is, the gate was closed at the time.
IM SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE a ghost walked through a closed gate. Isabella strode into the partially lit lodge ahead of Donovan. The ghost glared, Darlene left and, after the shock wore off, went about her usual business. She stalked back to him. Is she on meds, or do I just look like someone who believes in the tooth fairy?
Donovan turned her back around. You own Darkwood Manor, Isabella. Ghost sightings come with the territory. Setting his head next to hers, he nodded at a woman in jeans and a plaid shirt who was delivering a round of beer to a group of poker players at one of five tables strewn about the lobby. Thats George.
Of course it is. But Isabella worked up a pleasant expression when the woman wiped her hands and came to join them.
Haden called, said youd be wanting a room. She pushed at a mop of salt-and-pepper hair, winked at Donovan. Dont let these noisy hooligans losing a months wages to each other put you off. They pay me for the space, so I let them pick each others pockets twice a week. Sorry about the bad light, but the generators old. Ive got a room upstairs or a cabin if youd prefer. Both come with lanterns. Cabin has a fireplace and a fridge.
Isabellas smile had a dangerous edge. Does it have a ghost as well?
The woman named George laughed. Ran into Darlene outside, did you? Now, honey, you forget about her. My girls a frustrated journalist is all. Had a job lined up south of here, but lost out to the editors niece. Shes back working for our local Realtor and being pissy about it. The cabins are clean, private and ghost free. You can see Darkwood Manor up on the cliff from number three.
Unable to sustain her irritation in the face of Georges friendly manner, Isabella relaxed. Your lodge is lovely, and I know all about pissy moods. Its been a long day.
George squeezed her wrist. Why dont I let Donovan show you the way. If he remembers, that is. Our boy left us right after he graduated high school. Only comes back to visit Haden and me and old Gunnar Crookshankwhen the damn fools not off recovering from a gunshot wound that wouldnt have happened if a certain deputyOrry Lucashad better aim.
Orry Lucas? Isabellas head swung to the tables. And there he was, half-hidden behind a rough beam, out of the main pool of light, the man shed spoken to in town.
Evening, Ms. Ross, Donovan. Didnt know you two were friends.
Isabellas lips tipped up. Id have mentioned it, she lied, but you were so anxious to get home and help your son with his algebra that I didnt want to hold you up.
Donovan chuckled. Algebra, Orry?
I was riled. I meant homework.
Your kids in preschool. How much homework does he have?
Any amountd be over Orrys head, a man with a cigar in his mouth chortled. Truth be told, our deputy was probably worried his wife would bean him for talking to a pretty stranger. Shes a bit jealous, that one. I should knowshes my niece.