Beach Thriller(85)
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Eight thirty had come and gone. Enough was enough. There had been no word from Jade. Every call and text Holly had sent went unanswered. She couldn’t sit on her ass and wait. She grabbed her car keys and drove her Kia up the windy road to the bluff.
Flashbacks hit her hard and fast. Holly’s headlights reflected off the trees, bursts of light reminiscent of emergency vehicles from long ago. The air carried a familiar scent—the smell of summer by the ocean, dry earth mixed with salt water. But the last time she was on foot, her breath ragged, her panicked mother trying to keep pace.
She expected a headache to strike, but it blessedly stayed dormant. Was she starting to be less fearful of her past, or were the headaches only an Ethan thing?
Holly gripped the steering wheel, trying to steady her body and mind. For Jade, she could face the Carmichaels again. She eased her speed. The tall iron gate of Miramar loomed ahead, its imposing spikes warding off would-be intruders. Holly’s headlights illuminated the intercom. She pressed the buzzer and waited. A moment later, a croaky old voice answered.
“A bit late to be selling Girl Scout cookies, isn’t it?”
“I’m Holly Sinclair—I live down the road. My friend Jade Jensen works here. I hope she’s still on the premises, because she’s not answering her phone.”
“I see. One moment, please,” the low voice drawled.
She heard a buzzing sound, then a click as the gate unlocked. It swung open slowly. Holly’s vision blurred as she maneuvered her car down a driveway that she’d sworn she would never travel on again.
The home was as she remembered, as she had described in her book—the turreted tower, windows like dark eyes peering out from behind thick stone walls. She drove her car around the grand fountain in the middle of the circular driveway, parking in front of a large set of wooden doors. The fountain was off for the night. The man and woman, cast in bronze, held a tipped water jug, but tonight, nothing spilled out. Tomorrow would be different—the fountain would flow and glow. Crowds would gather under a large white tent assembled on Maeve’s private beach.
She wasn’t here for a trip down memory lane, but she found herself trapped in a time warp. There he was, silhouetted in the doorframe, poised and confident, Conrad Carmichael in the flesh. He had a sense of ease about him, as if no crisis were afoot.
He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Holly as he always did. She credited him for his sense of style: He was well-dressed in a nice polo and crisp slacks. He kept his hair neat and avoided late-night snacks; his waistline had changed little, and his jawline remained strong. They could have cast his handsome face in bronze and placed it in the fountain.
Yet Holly shivered at the sight of him. After all these years, she could hardly meet his gaze.
“Holly Sinclair,” he said, coming down the stairs to greet her. “I can’t believe it’s you. It’s been so long. How are you? You look great.” He paused for a moment, appearing confused. “But the party is tomorrow. You got the invitation, right? I’m sure it was a surprise. We knew you were back in town, and—well, we wanted to reach out somehow.”
Holly wasn’t buying his horseshit charm. She launched right in. “I’m not here for the party,” she said, clenching her teeth. “Jade Jensen lives with me. She didn’t come home after work, and she’s not answering her phone. I’m hoping she’s still here.”
Conrad’s demeanor shifted. He pulled back, shoulders tightening, eyes darting around like a man looking for a way out.
“Jade lives with you?” His voice rose. “She never said.”
“Where is she?” Holly asked. “I need to see her right away.”
Conrad appeared nonplussed. “I apologize, Holly.” A slight lilt suggested he was crafting a story on the spot. “Jade left hours ago. I’m afraid I can’t help you. But if I hear from her, I’ll get in touch. I do hope you’ll make it to the party. We’d love to have you.” He flashed her a stiff, toothy grin.
Holly recognized the look. She had described it many times in her novels—always when a character was lying.
Chapter 48
Jade
My eyes blink open, but I can’t see well. A grimy, scratchy film coats my eyeballs. My head is pounding, a stampede beating against my skull.
What happened?
I have no idea where I am. For a moment, I am weightless, adrift in space and time. Apart from my throbbing headache, I have only a faint awareness of my existence. But it’s enough to know I’m alive, so I take that as a win.
I come to my senses. I’m lying on my back, a dusty stone floor beneath me. The stones are cold against my neck. I move my limbs to shake them awake. They’re stiff and achy.
With a grunt and groan, I roll to my side, pressing up to hands and knees. My stomach roils. I battle back a wave of nausea. Grit from the stone floor digs into my palms. I lean into the sensation. It helps clear my cloud of confusion.
I blink several times until my vision clears, but what I see makes little sense: colorful glass bottles in various hues stacked in rows, one on top of the other. It takes a moment for my eyes and brain to sync, and then I get it—wine bottles in a rack.
Okay, I’m in a wine cellar. But where?
The masonry work is familiar. I recognize the shape of the stones and the fine gray mortar holding them together. The wall curves around me like I’m inside a barrel. Am I beneath the tower? Either way, I’m still in Castle Carmichael. I never knew they had a wine cellar, but I wouldn’t tell a teenager where we kept the booze, either.