Shrouded in Darkness (Shrouded Series) (3 page)

Marmaduke sat regally by his empty, water dish.

“Why you little monster!” She crossed the room and eyed the cat with a mixture of relief and disgust. “You really don’t deserve any water. Not after scaring the pants off of me like that.”

But she picked up his dish and filled it with water anyway. Over the sound of the faucet, a noise, faint but distinct, echoed through the house. A door closing. She snapped off the water, and looked at the doorway leading to the hall.

“Who’s there?” she whispered. “Jake?”

Only the tick of the kitchen clock answered her. Then Margot noticed the cat. Tall switching in clear agitation, Marmaduke, sat hunched low on all fours.

“You heard it too, didn’t you?”

Uneasiness pricking the back of her neck, Margot moved across the kitchen and bent down to place the water dish on the ground by Marmaduke. Suddenly, the cat sprang, bounding from the kitchen and disappearing into the hall.

Margot jerked, sloshing water over the bowl as she placed it on the floor. Cautiously, she walked to the doorway and peered around the corner. She found the hall empty. The door to Jake’s room stood closed.

She laughed self-consciously as she stepped into the hall. Her nerves were obviously shot. And Marmaduke sure as hell wasn’t helping matters.

Suddenly, the air stirred about her, teasing her hair and seeping into the fabric of her housecoat.

Someone was in the hall with her.

Pivoting, Margot searched the shadows around her. Her bare toe hit something on the hall mat. She looked down. A set of her keys to the lab. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She picked them up. They were warm to the touch.

“Hello?”

Her whisper washed over the hall and died into silence.

Unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching, Margot backed out of the hall and into in the kitchen. With a shaky hand, she put the keys back on the empty hook on the wall beside the doorway to the laundry room.

No. It couldn’t be. They’d only been childhood stories, made up scary tales between Johnny and her during long boring days stuck in the house as kids. There were no ghosts. Never had been. Still, her hand wouldn’t stop trembling. After all...Johnny was dead. Which could mean it might be him who— No. Impossible.

To hell with her headache. Margot needed a drink, something with a kick, anything to calm the wild beat of her pulse. She uncorked the bottle on the counter and drank the first glass without pause. The second, she savored. At the sink, she stood until tension eased from her limbs. Her pulse slowed and a numbness settled over her mind and body.

Suddenly, Margot was exhausted. The funeral, the cries in the night, her fear for Marmaduke’s safety, and Johnny’s co-worker in the other room. And, of course, her overactive imagination. Ghosts. Really. She rested both hands against the kitchen counter and bowed her head.

“Are you all right?”

Margot whipped around, her robe billowing around her, and stumbled. She caught the counter with a steadying hand and found Jake in the doorway, the hall’s shadows clinging to his large frame. He still wore the same clothes he had on earlier. “Ah—yes. Of course. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“The same. Do you mind company?”

She cleared her throat, trying to appear unfazed. “No. I can light a fire in the den. It won’t be so chilly in there.”

The fire wasn’t such a good idea, Margot soon realized as she stood back and watched the flames put an intimate cast to the room. She glanced over at Jake beneath her lashes. Something about him fascinated her. Some inner energy, or magnetism. She couldn’t even begin to explain to herself never mind anyone else as to the reason why.

He sat with a leg crossed over the knee in one of the high-backed chairs. The black clothing accented his lean frame and pallor.

Maybe he was recovering from some surgery, an accident or a broken heart. He turned and caught her stare. Flushing, she swung around and sank down onto a matching chair. Already, she disliked those sunglasses. Because of them, she had yet to read his expression.

“So tell me, how long have you—did you know Johnny?”

“Almost four years.”

“Mmmm. What was he like to work with?” She leaned forward.

Jake glanced at the place where her robe gapped open, revealing the shadowy curve of her breasts. He could see why Malcolm had married her. She was gorgeous. All the right curves, and a face that would make even a dead man’s heart race. More than anything, she was completely unaware, or uncaring of her appeal.

He smiled sadly. “He had a quirky sense of humor. You might say he was the optimist the department. But he pulled his weight. Out of everyone, I knew I could count on him. He was very much a team player. I can’t think of anyone who disliked him.”

Before Margot turned to shield her face with the thick wall of her ebony hair, he caught sight of her expression. The anguish, the despair. Sudden affinity caught at his insides.

“I’m glad he was well liked,” she whispered. “Malcolm showed up at the funeral. He was the only one from Miltronics. Then again, I wasn’t really expecting anyone. Northern Arizona’s quite a ways from Massachusetts. But I am surprised you hadn’t heard of the funeral.”

Damn. She didn’t know. How could she not know about the fire, the dozen people who died? What did it mean? Was she so out of touch with the world around her? He decided to keep the news to himself, and, instead, cleared his throat. “I don’t work there anymore.”

She swiveled in her chair to look at him. She had beautiful, bold, brown eyes with thick winged brows that accented their rich color. She looked innocent. But could she really be, having been married to Malcolm? Jake wished to hell he knew.

“You must have known Malcolm then. My ex-husband.” The alcohol had thickened and added a roll to the end of her words, giving her voice an oddly sexy intonation. But even the wine didn’t relax the tightness to her lips.

“Somewhat. I was in a different division.” Which was a damn lie. “I know he wasn’t the most popular person around.” Which wasn’t.

She leaned back against the high-backed chair, exposing the long column of her throat to the fire’s glow. “I can believe it. He’s a very stubborn man. Too much at times. But so very smart and logical. And ambitious.”

He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I’ll grant him that.”

As she turned the wine glass in her hand, the flames from the fireplace flickered through the crystal. As she stared at it, her expression turned thoughtful. She bit down on her lower lip. “You didn’t happen to hear anything earlier tonight, did you?”

He shifted in his chair. “No. Why?”

She shrugged. “I thought...I guess I must have just heard a coyote.”

The sigh of the gas fire in the hearth enveloped the room. He watched as she sank deeper into her chair and laid a cheek against a brocade throw cushion.

When she yawned behind the back of her hand, he rose from his chair. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

She sent him a rueful, sleepy smile. “I’ll try.”

Jake went to his own room to sleep, but after an hour of battling with his sheets and a racing mind, he gave up and slipped from his room. Light from the den illuminated the hall in a soft, yellow glow. He entered the room. Gas flames still danced around the ceramic logs in the fireplace, their light revealing Margot asleep in the chair where he’d left her. Somehow, she’d retained a grasp on her wine glass without spilling its contests.

He walked over to her. Bending, he eased the partially filled glass gently from her fingers and placed it on the end table. She shifted but didn’t wake.

Jake noticed she’d downed far too much alcohol tonight. Could it be because of a guilty conscience? Or something more? Yet the reason might be simply because she’d just buried her brother.

None of the wine had spilled onto her robe, part of which had slipped from one creamy shoulder to reveal a red satin nightgown. Her skin looked as silken as the gown shimmering against the firelight.

His chest tightened.

Unable to stop the impulse, he reached down and curled a finger around a lock of her satiny hair. She stirred. The ebony strand slipped through his fingers to curve against her cheek, and her lips parted. They were wide and bow shaped. So damn kissable.

But was Margot really delicate? Was she like her brother, John, whom he’d trusted and respected? Or did that face hide something hard and unfeeling? Something just as ruthless as Malcolm? After all, she’d married Malcolm. At some point she’d been attracted to him.

He sighed. Who was he to judge? He was far from anyone’s Prince Charming. And what did it matter? Either way, she was unattainable.

He pulled a crocheted blanket from a basket by the chair and draped her in its warm folds. For one long moment, he watched her as yearning and loneliness sank and pooled deep in his gut. Then he slipped silently from the room.

“So what’s he like?”

“Who?” Margot acted dumb as she hid behind the evening paper and pretended to read the business section. She didn’t particularly like being reminded of how she’d let alcohol and her bad judgment convince her to rent a room to Johnny’s co-worker.

Joyce Hoffman grunted. “Your house guest, renter, whatever you want to call him.”

“He’s okay. Did you know the Dow lost 120 points yesterday?”

Pressing down on the newspaper between Margot’s two hands, Joyce crumpled it against the restaurant’s table. “Just ‘Okay’?”

Margot eyed her friend with amusement. Joyce’s short, platinum hair swept back from a face chiseled with smooth precision.

She might look the cool blonde, but Margot knew better. Joyce could lose her temper with the best of them. And she cared. Always had. From as far back as grade school.

“Yes. ‘Okay’.”

“Oh, come off it, Margot!” She grabbed the newspaper and flung it into the adjacent chair. “Give me a break, will you? You’re not even reading the thing!”

“Oh, all right. I’ll stop. And can you keep it down? We are in a restaurant. I don’t want everyone in town knowing my business. It’s bad enough as it is.” She sat up in her chair and glanced around the room decorated in a definite country flavor with stenciled cows edging the doors and ceiling. Even though only a few locals dotted the room, the place was packed. Ski season was in full swing. Many a person from the Phoenix area escaped the desert to Greyson and the surrounding mountains for a bit of snow and clean air. “And as for Jake. There’s really nothing to tell. He’s been renting a room for almost a week now. Not enough time to see much of him, other than in the evening. He seems pretty busy and keeps to himself, which is just fine.”

“Is he cute?”

“I never noticed.” Margot laughed. “Oh, okay. Just stop rolling your eyes like that. I guess he’s kind of attractive. I haven’t really gotten a good look at him.” Margot sank back against her chair.

“Well, why not?”

“I don’t know.” She picked up a peppershaker and twirled it in her hand. “I’ve only seen him in the evening.”

“Oh, I seeee...”

Exasperated, Margot plopped the shaker on the light blue tablecloth, leaned forward and whispered, “No, you don’t. I’m not sleeping with him.”

“Now calm down. It was just a little wishful thinking on my part. Anyway, it’s about time you hooked up with someone and had some fun. We all know Malcolm didn’t do you any favors.” Both elbows on the table, Joyce leaned toward Margot. “I can understand wanting to come back here for a while to lick your wound after the divorce, but you’re still here.”

“I like it here.”

“That’s something I’ll never understand. If I’d been you, I would never have come back. And if I had, I’d have left so fast your head would have be spinning.”

“Then why are you still here?” Margot asked, surprised at the bitterness Joyce’s voice.

“It’s called money.” Joyce drummed her fingers by her plate. “I was stupid not to try for a degree or move out when I had a chance.”

“You still can.”

Joyce grunted and arched a blonde brow. “Yeah, right. My brother can’t function on his own. Plus, I inherited the grocery store from our folks. It takes all my time, and trying to unload it to some local or crazy tourist hasn’t worked.”

Margot really didn’t know what to say to that, and thank goodness the arrival of their dinner saved her from having to reply

“Hey, ladies. Having a night out on the town?” Mark, owner, and tonight helping out as waiter and cook, placed two steaming plates on the table.

“I was getting a little claustrophobic in the house,” Margot said as the meal’s aroma wafted to her nose, tempting her that second to sink her teeth into a thick battered shrimp. From past experience, she knew they tasted as heavenly as they smelled. To hell with calories. People didn’t come to Mark’s Hideaway for something light. Grease was his trademark. From thick wedged French fries to shrimp and monstrous hamburgers.

Mark stuck a pencil behind an ear. “Hey, Margot. I’ve been wanting to ask you if you’ve got any cookbooks.”

“Oh, just a couple hundred. Anything in particular?”

“Got anything from England? I wanted to try something different. Maybe some fish and chips they wrap in newspaper over there. Or maybe I’ll go way out and try my hand at something real sick and sweet like buttered tarts.”

“I might. I’ll see what I can find and give you a ring later tonight. I know I had this recipe for dumplings and stew. The dumplings were to die for. Johnny loved them. Every time he came to visit he’d talk me into making them.”

To her horror, tears welled in her eyes. Oh, please not now. She couldn’t lose it here. She thought she’d be able to say her brother’s name aloud without crumbling. The strained silence and Mark and Joyce’s pitying glances worsened the ache in her chest.

Mark clumped her on the back. “We all miss him. You did good on the funeral. All those flowers, the speech....”

She blinked rapidly. “Yes, I...thank you, Mark.”