caught her hand and held it. “Please don’t.” They stood in the dark, not moving, not looking at each other. She could feel his breathing, could feel his heat in every cell of her body. “At least … stay tonight.”
And she knew that no matter what, she was staying: she was caught, and it was not the house that had caught her.
When Laurel finally stepped away from him and turned toward the house, Katrina stood framed in a window of the great room, watching them.
She didn’t talk to anyone on her way up the stairs, just went to her room and stayed there. But when she heard them going up the stairs she slipped back down herself and checked all the doors.
Locking someone out—when in all likelihood whatever they had to fear was already in.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Voices.
Laurel jolted out of sleep and lay with her heart pounding, her eyes wide.
There. Voices. Talking, ranting, raging.
She felt a frisson of blind panic, wild, random thoughts. I should have left, I should have gotten out. Too late, too late …
Stop it, she commanded. Pull yourself together.
She strained to hear in the darkness. The voices had stopped.
She threw off her blankets and made herself stand, and fumbled for the light switch. The light went on … which instantly made her feel better.
She unlocked her door and looked out into the hall. It was dark, and silent, and still. Beyond the arched doorway was pitch black. She left her bedroom light on, but they had not put bulbs up and down the hall; it would have taken several dozen for the upstairs hall alone.
There was another short burst of voices, very faint, seemingly from somewhere in the Spanish part of the house. She felt a rush of fear unlike anything she’d experienced since the random nighttime terrors of childhood.
How badly do you want to know?
She almost turned back into her room, and then had the horrible thought that Katrina had found Brendan, and they were laughing together somewhere in the house.
She steeled herself and stepped forward. The light spilling from her bedroom lit her way for the first few yards, but then the hall jogged and she was plunged into darkness again.
In the dark, the unevenness of the floor was magnified. As she edged forward, she could feel the floor rising and falling underneath her bare feet; it rolled. The floorboards were smooth as glass, though, like satin under her feet.
She jogged right again and carefully descended a set of steps, feeling ahead with one foot at a time. This must be that little sitting room with the cabinets, she thought … then something soft and cool brushed her bare calf and she almost shrieked. She put her hand out and felt leather; the smooth green leather divan.
Another jog to the right, and the archway at the end of the hall came into view. There was a thin spill of light coming from somewhere in the perpendicular wing.
She stepped through the arch and looked instinctively right, toward the library. The heavy dark door was closed, but there was a sliver of light underneath it … and Laurel heard a muffled burst of laughter.
She breathed in and walked silently to the door. She put her hand on the latch, and depressed it, pushing open the door.
Brendan was in the room, and a quick glace around it revealed him to be alone, sprawled in one of the big leather chairs, with a bottle at his feet and a full glass in his hand. His head was lolled against the back of the chair and he was looking up at the portraits. It was them he was talking to, singing to, a growly rowdy tune which Laurel recognized as an Irish traditional song popularized by several punk rock bands:
As I was a-walkin round Kilgary Mountain
I met Colonel Pepper and his money he was countin’
I rattled me pistols and I drew forth me saber,
Sayin’ “Stand and deliver, for I am the bold deceiver!”
Musha rig um du rum da, Whack fol the daddy O
Whack fol the daddy O, there’s whisky in the jar—
He jumped up suddenly, spinning toward the door. His face changed as he saw Laurel, and he swayed, just barely catching his balance. Then he beamed at her.
“Ah, lovely. Company. That is, ‘Ah, lovely company.’ ” He corrected himself, bowing gallantly, with a little flourish. “Let me get you a drink.” He staggered toward the built-in bar.
Laurel swallowed. This was drunk in a way she’d rarely had to deal