Deadly Obsession. Elle James
Tell Caroline she has nothing to worry about. I have too much to keep me busy to bother with men right now. Between renovating this house, running my real estate business and planning Molly McGregor’s wedding, I barely have time to sleep.”
“Ever think you might have taken on too much?”
A slightly hysterical giggle left Jillian’s lips. “Yup.”
Mitchell shook his head. “When is the construction crew going to start the demolition of the kitchen and bathrooms?”
Jillian’s mouth twisted and she glanced around. “They were supposed to start today. But I can see nothing’s been done.”
“What time is it anyway?” Mitchell glanced at his watch and blinked. “Holy smokes. I have to pick up the boys at Mother’s Day Out.” He gathered his tools and slung them into a tool bag.
“Mitchell, don’t let the stories keep you from rewiring my house. I have it from one of the top Realtors in Cape Churn that you’re the best electrician for the job. I’m counting on you to bring the house up to code without burning it down.”
Mitchell paused with his hand on the door. He stared past her, his gaze taking in the sweeping staircase and the rooms at the front of the house. “I’ll do the job. With a baby on the way, I need the money. Hopefully it won’t take long.”
Otherwise he wouldn’t be doing the job. Jillian heard the unspoken words. She didn’t care, as long as the job got done. “Thank you, Mitchell. Say hello to Caroline for me.” If it helped, she’d stop by with some fresh-baked cookies for the family. When she had a kitchen to bake them in.
Mitchell drove away in a cloud of dust. Someday, when she could afford it, she’d have the driveway paved. That particular upgrade was way down the list of priorities.
Finally, she had the house to herself. Jillian wandered around, with a keen eye for what flooring, cabinets and countertops would be best in each room. She’d been a real estate agent long enough to know what she liked and what fit with the style of house she’d purchased. As she went through the kitchen, she stopped in front of the window over the sink and stared out at the overgrown backyard, reminding herself that the house came first, then the yard.
A movement in the corner of her eye made her turn her head. Had Mitchell or Bob forgotten something and returned to the house? Jillian stepped out the back door to check, a salty breeze lifting her hair off the nape of her neck. No one was there. She reentered the house, shaking her head. Mitchell and some of the older residents of Cape Churn, with all their talk about ghosts and missing persons, had her spooked.
Determined to shake it off, Jillian opened and closed the kitchen cabinet doors, checking one last time for any leftover items that needed to be removed before demolition started. All she found was an old soda bottle.
With one last glance at the kitchen, Jillian was in the process of turning to leave when she noticed the door to the basement standing ajar. She didn’t remember the door being open when she’d first entered the kitchen. Perhaps the breeze from the back door had opened it.
Jillian strode across the kitchen, grasped the doorknob and started to push it closed when she heard the plaintive cry of a kitten.
She froze with her hand on the knob and tilted her head, listening.
Again, she heard the puny mewling. This time she could tell it came from somewhere below her. Though she didn’t believe in ghosts and she had big plans for a wine cellar in the basement, Jillian hesitated at the top of the steps. She stared into the darkness, her hand fumbling for the light switch. When she found it, she flipped it and the small yellowed bulb hanging over the top landing flickered once and then glowed to life, providing illumination only halfway down the steps.
Every scary movie Jillian had seen in high school came back to haunt her. Every lone female who ventured into a dark basement met with a terrible fate.
The kitten mewed again, startling Jillian into leaving the top landing and taking several steps downward. “Here, kitty,” she whispered, disappointed in herself for her sudden aversion to going downstairs. Why had she let Mitchell’s words affect her? She was a grown, independent, well-grounded woman who’d been living on her own since she left her parents’ house to go to college. She had never been afraid of living alone in the big city, where crime was a given, and being a lone woman meant taking extra precautions to remain safe.
Since coming to Cape Churn two years ago, she’d never felt the sense of dread that now invaded her body as she crept down the stairs into the basement of her own house. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip, despite the cool dampness of the cellar.
She could wait to explore the basement until the next day, when there were more people there who could be her backup should she fall and twist an ankle. Or be attacked by a serial killer hiding out, waiting to pounce on her once she descended to the bottom step.
The cry of the kitten dragged her out of her morbid thoughts and made her feet move, one step at time, to the bottom. If there was a kitten in the basement, it might be in trouble. Perhaps its mother had brought the baby in through one of tiny basement windows and the wind had blown the window shut, thus trapping the poor creature. It could be hungry, maybe even starving.
The needs of the kitten outweighed Jillian’s fear of exploring the creepy, dark basement by herself. She’d have Mitchell lay in the wiring to lighten up the darkest corners and give new life to the dingy space. But for now, she had to find the kitten and rescue it or leave the house worrying about a little animal incapable of fending for itself.
At the bottom of the stairs, the chill air of the basement permeated Jillian’s skin, sending shivers creeping across her arms and making the hairs on the back of her neck spike upward.
All her life she’d had an aversion to dark, dank spaces. In high school, at a slumber party with a friend, they’d played truth or dare. Her friends had dared her to go down in the basement of her friend’s house and stay for five minutes.
Jillian’s parents didn’t have a basement. Having lived in a town house, Jillian couldn’t remember a time when she had been down in a basement. Accepting the dare, she’d gone down the steps into a dirt basement, where her friend’s parents stored old mason jars, lawn chairs and a couple of bicycles. The place was dark, damp and chilled Jillian to the bone. After the first minute, she must have blacked out.
She came to with her friend shaking her shoulders, shouting into her face. “Jillian!”
They’d told her she lay there wide-eyed and shaking, in a catatonic state, neither out cold nor coherent.
Jillian didn’t remember any of it, except going down into the basement. Her parents came to take her home, her friends more than happy to see her leave, all shaken by the experience.
That had been eleven years ago. Why think of that now? This basement was constructed of concrete block walls, not dirt. A little cleaning would remove the cobwebs and old crates.
The chill and the dampness filled her pores. For a moment, she forgot why she was there.
Then the meow of the kitten penetrated the haze of memory and forced her to lift her feet, to move and find the source of the sound.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, Jillian shivered, going deeper into the basement. Something moved among the old boxes. Jillian fought the urge to jump up on one of the wooden crates, her mind conjuring images of giant rats. If there were giant rats, they could easily kill the kitten.
Jillian had a soft spot in her heart for kittens and puppies. She couldn’t leave the animal in the basement. Not even for a night.
As she stepped away from the staircase, the dull yellow light flickered and suddenly blinked out, plunging her into a darkness so very deep, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
A soft click sounded above and what little light that had come from the open door above was erased.
Jillian screamed and spun toward the staircase, her pulse beating so