Do Your Worst(10)

Sensing the palatable tension in the room, the project manager stepped forward.

“Miss Rhodes, if I may?” Martin ran a hand through his hair. He had the tall, slightly stretched look of someone who’d shot up over a single summer and never recovered. “Thank you for coming. I was just—”

“Getting ready to fire me?” She kept her tone innocent, inquiring.

This wasn’t the first time someone had screwed her over. And besides, Riley had thick skin.

“No. No, of course not.” Martin reached forward to clasp her hand in his own. “We need you. I fully believe there’s evidence of supernatural forces at work on this property. We need this pesky curse cleared up yesterday.”

Clark groaned.

“Haven’t you yourself claimed to have tools go missing?” Martin scolded him. “And just last week you reported a spontaneous explosion in the room you were surveying.”

“I was in the weapons storeroom.” Clark gazed critically at the project manager. “There’s enough unstable cannon powder in there, it’s a wonder the whole place isn’t burned to ash.”

“Well.” Martin released Riley to tug at the sleeve of his dress shirt. “If you’re uncomfortable with Ms. Rhodes’s presence on the project, you always have the option to walk away.”

“I can assure you,” Clark said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t.”

“Ah.” A somber look passed across Martin’s face. “That’s right, I forgot.”

Forgot what? Riley didn’t see anything sympathetic about Clark’s position.

“My apologies, Dr. Edgeware.” Martin dipped his head. “I simply assumed that since your father arranged this assignment, he could—Well, never mind. We’re indebted to him for his referral in our hour of need.”

“Wait a minute.” Riley stepped forward. “Your last name is Edgeware?”

Just like that guy from the movie. The one she’d basically roasted in front of him. “And he just said ‘father’ . . . oh my god. Is Alfie Edgeware your dad?!”

Clark winced.

Great. Sure, why not add another log onto the Riley-looks-like-a-fool fire?

“And he got you this job?” She laughed helplessly, holding a sudden stich in her side. “Wow. Gotta love nepotism, I guess. Is that why you were in such a rush to get me out of here? Were you that afraid I’d find out?”

To think she’d had a twelve-hour crush on this dillweed.

“Nothing about you scares me.” He held her gaze for a long, heated moment.

It felt like a dare. A challenge to see who would look away first.

Riley didn’t care if he feared her—the response she’d been craving her whole life was respect, and clearly, she’d never get that from him.

Everything she’d once found beautiful about Clark’s face filled her with rage now. Those dark, heavy brows. The sharp, stubble-lined jaw. His thin, cruel mouth.

“How can you be so sure the curse doesn’t exist?” Riley couldn’t believe she’d let herself be open and vulnerable with him.

“Occam’s razor,” Clark said. “That means—”

“I know what it means,” Riley cut him off.

The simplest explanation was usually the right one. Usually, but not always.

“You know what?” She brushed her palms off on her jeans. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I can prove it.”

Clark scoffed. “You’re going to prove this place is haunted?”

“Cursed,” Riley corrected.

Martin held up a finger. “What’s the difference?”

“Whether the person fucking shit up still lives here.” It was a common enough misconception, and she would have happily explained the nuance in more detail, but right now Riley needed to wipe the smugness off Clark’s face before she did something worse.

Martin thumbed toward the door. “I’ll just wait outside, then, shall I?”

“Don’t go far.” Riley closed her eyes for a moment, anchoring herself. “This won’t take long.”

Again? Gran asked each time one tracking exercise ended, and the answer had always been yes. Until Riley could follow her nose even in the middle of a summer storm.

There. Underneath the smell of her own bodywash and a spicy, alluring sandalwood and citrus scent she was terrified might be coming from Clark, she had it. Faint but present. A trail.

Riley barreled out of the room and headed for a massive, imposing staircase with weeds sprouting up through cracks in the stone.

“Wait.” Clark came up behind her, holding out a long metal flashlight. “If you insist on maintaining this farce, at least take my torch.”

Despite the chunks of missing ceiling, it was kinda dark in the castle, devoid as it was of electricity. Riley could track at twilight with only the barest sliver of harvest moon. But she’d known that forest. She’d had Gran at her back. Her plans for vengeance would be wrecked if she twisted her ankle or fell through a hole in the rotting floorboards. She snatched the thing reluctantly.

“Don’t think this makes up for you pretending to be nice to me last night.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” he protested, following her as she started up the stairs.