Under Lock And Key. Sylvie Kurtz
Melissa Carnes. He was the pursuer, the one who put on the heat, not the other way around. It was time he set the record straight.
Professional pride, if not his male ego, jolted him into action. He regretted his sudden move when pain resonated throughout his body.
Tyler saw at once that the medieval atmosphere was carefully orchestrated. The drip came from a faucet turned on just enough to let one drop at a time clang into a metal bucket. The barred window was open a crack, allowing the wind to moan through it, but not the fusty air to dissipate. The walls needed no dressing up; their stone starkness, wet with morning dew, was enough to depress anybody. He glanced at his wrist and found it bandaged and his watch missing. By the weak light filtering through the dusty window, he judged the time somewhere just after dawn.
He was dying of thirst and the dripping water didn’t help. He hobbled over to the faucet and twisted it shut. The rust color inspired no confidence the water was drinkable. He made his way to the bars. Hanging on to them, he looked down the lightless tunnel. He could see nothing but black on either side.
“Hello,” Tyler called into the darkness. “Is anyone out there?” The moaning wind was his only answer. He hobbled back to the bucket, emptied the water with a splash on the stone floor and carried it back to the bars. He banged the empty pail against the bars.
“Anyone out there?”
“There’s no need for all that racket.”
A hulking giant seemed to magically materialize before his cell. He stopped the noise. She held a tray heaped with food. The odor of freshly brewed coffee set his stomach growling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He forced his gaze off the steaming platter and back to the dark-skinned woman.
“Where am I?” he asked her.
“Where did you wanna be?” Intense black eyes bored through him. Maybe Freddy was right and his niece’s life was in danger.
“Why am I here?”
She shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the one who insisted you had to stay.”
Tyler didn’t like the course of this conversation. “Is this Thornwylde Castle?”
Her impenetrable stare accused him of unknown crimes, but her face remained blank.
“I want to see Melissa Carnes,” he commanded.
“She don’t see no one till she’s good and ready.”
“I need to see her.” Why was this woman making things so difficult? His request was simple enough. It deserved a simple answer. The headache pounding at his temple shredded through what remained of his patience.
“Don’t you know, one look at her face and you’ll turn into a pillar of salt?” He saw the amusement dance in her coal-black eyes.
“I’ll risk salt over these accommodations.” Maybe changing the subject would dispel the idea that he was dealing with a brick wall.
“She ain’t too pleased with your presence, either.”
“Let her tell me herself.”
“She will.” The big woman set the tray down by the door. “When she’s ready.”
A heavy set of keys jangled as she fumbled with the lock. Tyler thought of pouncing on her as she bent to pick up the tray, but to keep his promise to Freddy, he needed to stay here, not be shown the door before he’d even seen the woman he was here to protect. He silently sneered. Some protector.
The woman handed him the tray. Breakfast smelled good and he was ravenous. “She told me to feed you gruel.”
He lifted the cover from the plate. Beneath lay eggs, bacon, hash browns and the biggest peach muffin he’d ever seen. He cast her a sidelong glance. Was this draconian woman an ally? While balancing the plate in one hand, he gulped down the glass of orange juice with the other.
“Best-looking gruel I’ve ever seen.” His most genial smile was rewarded by a steely glare.
“Don’t get too comfy now.”
“Fat chance!”
She waved two fingers in front of his face. “How many fingers you see?”
“Two. I’m fine.” He sat down and dug into the mound of scrambled eggs.
She grunted and left, keying the lock closed behind her.
“Tell Miss Carnes I’d like to see her.” He bit into the muffin.
“She knows.”
A cacophony of various aches and pains stirred by his activity soon joined the pounding in his head and overtook his hunger. He placed the tray beside him. Sitting on the edge of the cot, he held his head in his palms and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
“Any chance of getting some aspirin?” he asked as the woman started up the stairs.
She paused and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Tyler forced himself to finish the breakfast. He’d need strength to face Freddy’s witch of a niece—when Her Royal Shrewness deigned to see him. After he was done eating, he pushed the tray beneath the cot, then lay down. Sleep would take the edge off the pain. And maybe when he woke up, he’d find it had all been just an awful dream.
“GOOD JOB, Ray,” the voice on the phone said. “Rumors are flying from the café to the courthouse.”
Bright sunshine streamed through the stable door. The day wasn’t halfway done and already Ray had more than exceeded his expectations. Everything from now until midnight was gravy.
“Thought you’d be pleased.” Ray puffed on his cigar, a satisfied grin on his face.
“Keep the tongues wagging.”
You think you’re ridin’ high, you little priss, but I’m in charge of the show. You ain’t getting’ me to do nothin’ I don’t want to be doin’. I’ve got position.
Ray took another puff on his cigar, anticipating another gain of material that would lead to the win that was rightfully his. Everything was going according to plan. That the witch had so easily taken in the reporter proved a bonus. “Hey, ever hear of a guy named Tyler Blackwell?”
“Tyler Blackwell?” There was a catch in the voice.
Ray’s grin widened. Gotcha. The chance at redemption, he’d discovered, made for good motivation. “Yep. Seems he landed on Melissa Carnes’s doorstep last night.”
“Well, well, what an interesting development.” A pause, swarming with possibilities, followed as the contact processed options. “I can get him Tyler Blackwell’s head on a platter as an added bonus.” The phone clicked off.
“Yeah,” Ray said, extinguishing the cigar under the heel of his boot. “What an interestin’ development.” No one knew how to play pawns the way he did.
BEFORE DEANNA RANDALL came to her, an endless parade of nannies had flowed through the castle as if it had a revolving door. The pent-up rage Melissa had harbored since the accident was flung full force on each new and unsuspecting arrival. They never stayed for more than a week. Most never made it through the first day. Melissa’s unruliness drove her stepmother crazy and afforded young Melissa the only source of satisfaction she knew. Sable Lorel Carnes would have gladly sent her ugly stepdaughter to an institution and never given her a second thought, but William Carnes had just enough guilt to grant his daughter her wish to stay home.
Melissa was almost ten when Sable hired Deanna. Deanna was newly graduated from college with a degree in education, and she was a nice change of pace from the dour matrons Sable usually chose. She was full of the enthusiasm of a new teacher bursting with fresh ideas. No one had bothered to tell Deanna that Melissa had the manners of a wild animal. Nor had anyone told Deanna she had the right to refuse