An Unsinkable Love - By Terri Benson Page 0,75
to the barn. Perhaps she'd gone to see Murray. Maybe her legs hurt and she went for more salve?
Malcolm's feet moved faster across the hard-packed dirt.
There were only a few lanterns burning in the massive building, giving off a faint, smoky light that cast deep shadows. "Bree?" he called, running more than walking now.
"Bree, are you there, love?"
Silence.
He was only a few stalls from the far end when one of the half doors swung into his path. He barely managed to stop as Murray stepped out.
"What's the hurry, boy? You and that pretty miss playing hide-n-seek?" Murray's face crinkled in amusement at his joke.
"Have you seen Bree? They said she came out into the yard, but I can't find her."
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The smile slipped from Murray's face. "She's not here. I ain't seen her." The old man seemed to sense Malcolm's growing panic.
He spun away, thinking frantically of where else he should search. The groom called after him, "Carl took the big car out, and Mr. Eldon took the Pierce Arrow right after. They ain't been gone more 'n ten minutes or so, but I didn't see your girl."
Malcolm stopped in his tracks. Eldon drove the Arrow? Why would Eldon take his car when Carlisle drove the Rolls? He was more convinced than ever Eldon was up to something that did not bode well for Bree.
In a few long strides, Malcolm was at the Mercer. He quickly made the necessary adjustments and cranked the car.
With a throaty roar that left the barn full of horses kicking and prancing, and would certainly earn him a dressing down from Murray, he accelerated out into the lane. He pushed the car as fast as he dared, the small electric headlamps barely piercing the darkness. As the car slewed around a corner, Malcolm wrenched the brake handle and careened across the road to avoid hitting a car parked half on and half off the roadway. The racecar bounced down a small embankment and barely missed a big maple before rattling to a stop. He shook his head to clear it from the wild ride, then shifted into reverse and powered the car back up to the road. As he braked hard the car skidded around, its feeble lights illuminated a prone body lying in a pool of dark liquid next to the Rolls' open door. With a heavy weight in his chest, Malcolm climbed out and knelt next to Carlisle's body. A quick 241
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touch confirmed the man was dead. Malcolm stepped around to the Rolls and climbed into the back seat, his heart pounding. No small, copper-headed body sprawled lifelessly on the broad bench seat. Thank God! The weight in his chest eased a tiny bit.
A pale object caught his eye and he reached down to pick up a caramel-colored tassel with a small scrap of ivory lace still attached. Tighter than ever, the band of fear crushed his breath. Bree was in trouble. Since Eldon followed Carlisle and the lane didn't have any place wide enough to pass the big car, his stepfather couldn't have missed the Rolls Royce, even in the dark. Bree wasn't physically capable of hurting a man of Carlisle's size—but Eldon was.
Regretfully leaving the chauffer lying in the road, Malcolm ignored the door and leaped over the side of the sports car, slamming it into gear as soon as his feet touched the pedals, and pushed the Mercer to its maximum speed. He was forced to slow as he entered the town proper, using his horn when required to warn slow-moving carriages as he overtook them.
Angry shouts echoed behind, but he ignored them.
Up and down the grid-like streets he cruised, checking each glint of metal for Eldon's Pierce Arrow. He completed a full circuit and came back to the start. "Damn!" Malcolm cried, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. If Eldon hadn't stopped in town, he could be half-way to Boston or several other cities. There was no way of telling. Slumping in despair, he let his head fall back, eyes closed. The vision of Bree, a hurt, reproachful expression on her face, filled his head. What had he done?
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"Mebbe I can help."
Malcolm jerked as he heard the Cockney accent.
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Chapter 38
As Eldon held the thrashing hellcat in his arms, he had a moment to wonder if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
Slapping Bree when she'd tried to escape