“Really?” Scully asked. “I mean, the police said that it was an accident when the reverend fell. And someone was running around the halls? It could have been the ghost.”
“It wasn’t a ghost,” Sloan said flatly. “It was flesh and blood that tried to get to you tonight, Emil. Dressed in black, sneaking around. And a man died here less than twenty-four hours ago. Let’s be smart about this.”
Emil nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Let’s do what we can with the rest of the night,” Logan said. “I’ll take the hall first.” He glanced at his watch. “Each of us takes an hour and a half. That gives everyone a few hours of sleep before morning. Kelsey, you relieve me. Sloan and Jane, you’ll be up last.”
“I meant to go home,” Scully murmured.
“You can’t now,” Kelsey said flatly.
“But I’ll be in the same clothing and Mrs. Avery—”
“I do own the place,” Emil said again.
“You’re a little shorter than Kelsey, but about the same size,” Sloan said. “We’ll get you some clothing. For tonight, sit tight.”
They left Emil Roth and Scully Adair and adjourned to the hall.
“You know, we’re forgetting people,” Jane pointed out. “Chef lives over the old stables. I’m not sure where that is. And Phoebe Martin is up in the attic.”
“The stables are down the hill and to the right of the gatehouse,” Sloan said. “And the attic, you walked Phoebe up there tonight, right?”
“Doesn’t mean she stayed there,” Jane pointed out.
“But what would Phoebe or Chef have to gain from hurting Emil Roth?” Kelsey asked.
“The only one to benefit would be Denise Avery,” Sloan said.
“But she was there, down at the gatehouse, when you banged on her door, right?” Jane asked.
“Oh, yes, spitting fire, warning us that she had the right to throw us out,” Logan said.
“Let’s get through the night,” Sloan said. “And hope we get something to go on in the morning.”
Logan turned to Kelsey. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a bit. And you two,” he said to Jane and Sloan. “Go on in and—whatever. You have three hours.”
Sloan slipped his hand to the base of Jane’s spine and urged her toward their door. They entered and he waited for the click. He cupped her head between his hands and kissed her tenderly, the feel of his fingers feathering against the softness of her flesh an arousing touch. He had a talent for the right move at the right time. He could walk into a room and cast his head in one direction and she would just see that he was there and want him. He could be a joker. He could walk naked from a shower and tease and play and tell her that the offer was evident.
But, right now, he wasn’t sure what was on her mind. He could always make her long for him.
“She’s been here.”
“What?” he asked her.
And she told him about waking up to the feel of something on her cheek, of Elizabeth being there and looking at her worriedly. She told him about John McCawley waiting in the church, forever watching the windows for his love.
“Why can’t he come in the house?” Sloan asked her.
“Maybe he was never really invited inside—invited to be a part of the family,” Jane suggested.
“Did you ask him about any of this?” Sloan asked.
“I didn’t really have time. You screamed for me and he disappeared.”
“We’ll talk about this with the others tomorrow,” he said. “And until then—” He paused, his fingers tracing a pattern down her cheek, his eyes focused on hers. “Until then, we’ll get some sleep.”
She smiled. “When this is over, let’s go to an island. A resort. Maybe one of those all-inclusive ones. One where we have our own little hut on the beach.”
“No ghosts,” he said.
“No ghosts.”
“Or Mrs. Avery.”
“You think she’s guilty?”
“She has the only motive,” Sloan said. “Can you think of another?”
At the moment, she couldn’t.
She kissed his lips with a promise for the future.
“Go to sleep,” he told her. “I can’t sleep anyway, right now. I’ll take both our turns watching the hall. I’ll be back in once it’s full light. Logan will be up by then.”
She headed into the bedroom, exhausted. She knew Sloan. He’d be pacing in the foyer area of their room for a while, thinking.
But she fell quickly asleep.
She awoke.
And felt Sloan’s warmth beside her. She loved that she lay with him at night and woke with him in the morning. She even loved that they could disagree, even argue, that life with him was comfortable—and yet, she could see him, breathe his scent, watch him walk from the shower and want him as if they’d never made love before.
She rolled over to tell him that she loved him.
But never spoke the words.
A shrill scream pierced the castle’s quiet.
Chapter 7
“I guess that Mrs. Avery wasn’t responsible,” Sloan said.
The scene was a repetition of the previous morning. Only now, it was Denise Avery who lay at the foot of the stairs, her neck broken.