“Faelan! You scared the stuffing out of me.” She glanced guiltily at the time vault, then at Faelan’s face, and almost wet her pants.
His eyes were obsidian slits. “What are you doing here?”
The low rumble of his voice made the hair on her neck stand. She backed against the burial vault, clutching the camera to her chest to keep her heart in place. “I lost an earring last night.”
“Why is the time vault uncovered?”
“I thought while I was here, I would get a couple of pic—” She yelped as he ripped the camera away.
“Why?” The word dripped with venom.
“Why? Because it’s incredible, that’s why.”
His hands clamped around the camera with so much force she thought he’d crush it. “No photographs.” He tugged the heavy cover of the burial vault into place with one hand, grabbed Bree’s arm, and pulled her outside, eyes scanning the graveyard and woods.
“Wait,” she said, wrenching free. “I promised Orenda I’d put this back.” She picked up the piece of headstone, cradling it in both hands.
Faelan’s expression was hostile and wary, as if he expected her to bash him in the head. If she could lift the headstone high enough, she would. She left him standing there and started toward Orenda’s grave.
Faelan caught up, planting himself in front of Bree. He opened his mouth to speak, looked past her, and his jaw dropped. He walked to the back of the crypt.
Bree turned. From this angle, she could see a pile of dirt behind the crypt. She followed him, still lugging Orenda’s stone. Outrage rumbled through her as she stared at the gaping hole. Was this what he’d been doing out here? “What did you do? This is my favorite grave.”
“I didn’t do it—” his head snapped up. “We have to go. Now.”
“Orenda’s headstone—”
Faelan snatched it up as if it were a marble and dropped it on the ground. “Put it back later.” He pushed her past Layla’s and her dad’s graves and out the gate.
“Wait. We can’t leave the grave uncovered.”
“I’ll come back.”
Had he seen something? She expected gunshots or screams as he dragged her into the house. As soon as they were inside, she wheeled around to blast him for being so rude, and the phone rang. Frustrated and angry, she answered without thinking.
The voice caught her off guard. She gripped the table to steady herself, leveling her voice to hide her dread. “What do you want, Russell?”
“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
She wrapped her hand around her shoulder to stop the shaking. “I have nothing to say to you.” He’d stolen her money, her dignity, and peace of mind. What more could he want? Her blood? “I’ve asked you not to call.”
“I miss you, Bree. Don’t do this to us—”
He sounded sincere, like the old Russell from college, and for two seconds she remembered how charming and sweet he’d been. After she moved to Florida, the relationship died a long-distance death. A year and a half ago, she ran into him in an antique shop while visiting her grandmother; the same shop where she’d bought the Highland warrior painting. Bree had reached for an old book, only to find Russell’s hand there too. They’d both laughed, and he bought the book for her. She couldn’t remember which one now, she had so many. They went to lunch and a friendship renewed, blooming into a relationship, followed by an engagement. But little by little, he’d changed, turning into something dark and ugly. When she finally escaped him, it took her months to feel like herself again.
“There is no
“Just meet me, please. I have something to tell you.” His voice grew raspy, like it did when he was desperate. “Something important.”
“It’s all been said before.”
There was a pause on the other end that chilled her blood. “This hasn’t.”
“Leave me alone, Russell.” Bree hung up and threw the phone on the table, swiping at tears threatening to spill over her cheeks, angry she’d let him get to her again. Someone moved behind her. Faelan. She’d forgotten he was here. He stood a few feet away, watching her, his eyes stormy.
Men. Sometimes she wished she were a nun.
Letting Russell make her cry was bad enough, without witnesses. She couldn’t deal with Faelan’s lies right now.
***
He didn’t know who Russell was, but Faelan wanted to crush the man’s skull for making Bree afraid. Yet he’d acted no better in the crypt. “Are you okay?” he asked, following her out the front door, onto the porch.
She jumped and turned away, but not before he saw her damp cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so,” he said softly, moving close behind her. He put his hand out, wanting to touch her, to take away the tears, but he doubted she trusted him any more than the bastard who’d put them there.
Her knuckles tightened on the railing and her shoulders began to shake. This was a new side of her, a dangerous one. It made him want to dismiss the suspicion and fear still coiled around his mind like a poisonous snake.
