Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (39 page)

Coated in perspiration, his
lungs aching to breathe, he continued moving inside her until he
felt renewed throes gripping her body. With a cry of primordial
rapture, she clutched him tightly within her legs and forced him
deeply inside her. Shudders of exquisite ecstasy racked him. For a
matter of seconds, he was one with her. Time and space didn't
exist, nor reality in any form. When he was finally spent, he
collapsed to one side and nuzzled her damp neck with his
face.

Their panting breaths fell
into synchrony. Lachlan laid a hand on her slick abdomen. He wanted
to knead her soft skin, but he couldn't summon the
strength.

"I think that...bordered
on...torture," she wheezed.

"No' bad...for a prude,
aye? Fegs, I'm exhausted."

"You? Exhausted?" she
chuckled.

"Lass, I did all the
work."

"Torture, you
mean."

"Wha’ever you say,
love."

"Okay." She grinned up at
the ceiling. "Again."

Lachlan frowned into the
moist tendrils of her hair. "Wha'?"

"Again."

"Make love?"

"Aye," she
gurgled.

Weakly, he managed to prop
himself up and look into her eyes. "Are you serious?"

In response, she arched one
eyebrow.

Muttering Gaelic, he
lowered his brow to the area between her breasts. "I canna...for a
while, at least."

Stroking the back of his
head, she whispered, "Wanna make a bet?"

C
hapter 14

Everyone at Baird House had
practically forgotten about the attempted burglary of over a week
ago, until two officers arrived to remind them. For the next three
days, there had been no time to relax and begin the plans for the
wedding. The younger of the two constables had been present the
night of the break-in. The second was an older man, an inspector,
with a burly attitude. Mornings, afternoons, and sometimes twice at
night, they had come to question the original statements made by
Laura, Roan, Lachlan, Deliah, and Winston.

No one in the household had
ventured near the backyard to see the bulkhead, where the area had
been cordoned off with yellow police tape. Beth and the infants
remained hidden on the third floor, while Winston mostly handled
the officers, for which Lachlan, Roan, and Laura were immensely
grateful.

Inspector Douglas Grant was
the problem. He was fond of telling them he didn't believe in
coincidence, especially the convenience of Cuttstone and the
burglar, Robbie Donnely, targeting the same house. It was this that
made Grant a tenacious investigator. Winston again and again went
over the details of the night the Phantom died, only omitting the
MacLachlan dirk, Beth, and the twins. During each visit, Winston
had remained calm—until the inspector had deviated from his
questioning last night and asked about "Horatio" Lachlan's
background, birthdate, place of birth, and occupation.

Before Lachlan could think
up a viable history, Winston informed the inspector they had been
patient and cooperative till that point. Then he informed him that
no more questions would be answered without a solicitor present.
Inspector Grant had been wryly amused by this tactic, and assured
Winston it wouldn't be necessary.

This morning Inspector
Grant came to the house without another officer in tow, and on a
different matter he said might possibly tie in with the recent
deaths. To everyone's discomfort, he had encountered Reith at the
carriage house and insisted the young man join the
questioning.

Laura, Roan, Winston,
Deliah, and Reith gathered in the parlor, while the boys remained
in their rooms despite Grant's insistence they, too, be questioned.
Roan adamantly warned the inspector he was stepping over the line,
and Grant had acquiesced.

It was barely 8 AM, and
tempers were on the rise. This time, Laura refused to offer Grant
coffee. His mood was overly cheerful as he sat in one of the
high-back chairs and thumbed through a small pad. When he looked up
he insisted everyone take a seat and waited until they had followed
his order.

Then his bombshell
detonated, and the immediate tension in the room was so thick that
it couldn't have been cut with a chain saw.

"Wha' can you tell me abou'
Beth Staples's headstone?"

Silence and grim
expressions met his inquiry.

"The one in the field?" he
asked with a sardonic grin.

Again, silence was the only
response, and Grant sighed with a theatrical flair. His gaze
lingered for an excruciatingly long moment on Deliah, then Reith.
During this time Winston scanned the man's mind, and his stomach
clenched in to a sickening knot to discover that this time there
wasn't a lie that could save them, or even bide them enough time to
get Lachlan, Beth, and the twins out of the country.

The inspector's smug
attitude permeated the room as he crossed one leg over the other
and bobbed the raised foot. "We're no' very cooperative this morn,
are we?" He grinned, his bushy dark eyebrows stretched upward as
far as they could go. "Perhaps I'm confusin’ you. Forgive me if I
am. I'm sure you were prepared to go over yer previous statements.
Yet again."

Lachlan rose to his feet,
despite Roan's terse advice for him to sit and remain calm. But
Lachlan wasn't in the least calm. A brewing storm of anger was
visible in his dark eyes.

"Mr. Baird, I prefer you
remain seated, if you will."

"I'll stand if I please, in
ma own home."

The inspector's mouth
stretched a bit further in its condescending grin. "Yer home? I
thought Mr. Roan Ingliss—"

"Wha' do you want from us?"
Lachlan asked heatedly.

"Don't say anything more,"
Winston warned.

"Bloody hell!" Lachlan
sucked in a breath and glowered at the inspector. "Fegs, mon, the
members o' this household have gone through quite
enough!"

The inspector nodded in
mock appreciation of Lachlan's statement, then eyed the information
on his pad. "To be sure, Mr. Baird, and ma heart does go ou' to
each and every one o' you. However, there's more goin’ on here than
a couple o' dead bodies. So let's stop playin’ games and get to the
truth."

"You believe one or mair o'
us is capable o' murder?"

Grant chuckled a bit
nastily. "Mr. Baird, I'm satisfied Cuttstone murdered Miles. And,
though I shouldn’t admit to this, I really don’t care how tha'
murderin’ bastard—pardon me ladies—met his end. But I have been
curious abou' the happenin’s at this house for a long time. You
see, Mr. Baird, some years ago, I came here on one o' the tours,
and I met yer ghostly relative. Oh, no' in the context tha' I spoke
to him. No. Unfortunately. But I saw him as clearly as I now see
you."

"He had the ability to
appear verra much alive," said Lachlan, his voice husky from the
stress squeezing his insides.

Grant nodded. "I'll never
forgot tha' day. You could say it led me to take up reading abou'
the paranormal as...oh, kind o' a hobby. I'm a curious mon by
nature, and I'm curious abou' the anomalies surrounding this house
and its occupants."

He gestured expansively
with his free hand, the grin intact and his gaze unwaveringly fixed
on Lachlan's face. "So wha' does a mon in ma position do abou' all
the questions runnin’ round in his mind?"

"I repeat," said Lachlan
bitterly, "wha' do you want from us?"

Grant released a breath
through pursed lips. "Mr. Baird, park yerself back on tha' couch,
and I'll tell you exactly wha' it is I want to know."

Lachlan hesitated then
lowered himself next to Winston.

"Thank you," said Grant
cheerfully. He thoughtfully rubbed the spiraled top of the pad
beneath his chin. "Okay, here's wha' I have. Feel free to jump in
at any time wi' an explanation."

He looked upward, as if
taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Lachlan's hands were fisted
atop his lap, but he loosened them when Winston nudged
him.

"There are four headstones
ou' by the oak in the field," the inspector began, his gaze riveted
on Lachlan. "Now, o' course Lachlan Baird's grave is duly
registered, and I found the paperwork grantin’ the Cambridges'
burial on the property. However, Miss Staples is anither matter. It
has come to ma attention tha' the news media misspelled her last
name, but there are no records regardin’ her death wi' the county,
under either name."

"It happens," said
Roan.

The inspector's gaze
shifted to him for but a second. It returned to Lachlan with
disquieting intensity. "On the night o' the attempted burglary, ma
dear friend and co-worker, Constable Clare Bruce, handed me a most
curious report. Accordin’ to him, no' only did a mon in this house
claim to be the Lachlan Baird, but a womon said she was Beth
Staples. Then o' course, we have the newspaper articles statin’ Mr.
Baird is in fact a descendant, but I found it a wee strange tha'
there was no mention o' Miss Staples. And more curious still, I
haven’t encountered her durin’ ma investigation, which makes me
wonder why this womon is hidin’.

"So, either there's a very
cunnin’ scheme afoot here to defraud the public, or...a no' so
cunnin’ scheme to confuse the police. Whichever the case, I intend
to have those bodies in the field exhumed and examined."

"The hell you will!"
Lachlan bit out, jumping to his feet.

"Sit down!" Grant
ordered.

Lachlan defiantly glared at
the man. When at last he sat, Grant gave an irritable shake of his
head. "I know Beth Staples arrived at Prestwick Airport in July o'
last year. I also know she arrived at this house by taxi. I have in
ma position a copy o' the list o' passengers—bearin’ her name,
thank you—and Callum MacGregor's log o' his fares tha' same week.
Imagine ma surprise when his log revealed he had picked up a fare
at Prestwick, and delivered this same fare to our verra own Baird
House."

"Wha's the point!" Lachlan
snarled. "I dinna deny she was here!"

Grant's eyebrows, as dark
as his curly hair was white, quirked upward. "So you were here,
then?"

"Aye!"

Winston shot to his feet,
his face livid. "Are any o' us being charged wi' something, or are
you here based on your curiosity, Inspector? Wha’ever your answer,
I can't allow this questioning to continue wi’ou' a solicitor
present."

Grant pinched the bridge of
his nose for a short time. "And will you tell this solicitor why
you have a Yank buried in the field, o' who there isn’t a single
report to verify her death? And will you explain to this solicitor
where this—" He gestured impatiently to Lachlan.
"—
Horatio
character
actually hails from, and how is it Miss Deliah and Mr. Reith's
fingerprints can’t be found on anythin’ in this house or in the
carriage house?"

His knees suddenly unable
to support his weight, Winston sat. He was dimly aware of Deliah
entwining the fingers of a hand through his, but he found no
comfort in this gesture. His mind raced to no foreseeable end, and
his heart seemed to be lodged in his throat.

"Aye, we did a thorough
dustin’ for fingerprints," Grant went on, no trace of his usual
sarcasm present in his voice. "And you know, Mr. Connery, anither
matter which has me confused is, you bein’ a renowned psychic and
all, how is it you didn’t know the Phantom was hidin’ in the
cellar?"

"Do ye know wha' be a
telepath?" Deliah quietly asked the inspector.

He nodded.

"The Phantom was verra
strong in this ability."

"Don't say any more,"
Winston told her.

"Ahhh. So, Miss Deliah,
you're tellin’ me he was able to block his presence from Mr.
Connery?"

"And maself."

Grant bobbed his head.
"Anither psychic. Fancy tha', miss. And wha' o' Mr. Reith? Is he
also psychic?"

"Ma brither only just
arrived here a few a days ago," said Deliah, a maternal frown
leveled at the inspector.

"Yer brither?" Grant
chuckled, and again it was an unpleasant sound. "I don’t see a
family resemblance. Tell me, does he also sprout wings?"

This time, Lachlan, Roan,
and Winston shot to their feet, their expressions protective,
almost murderous. The inspector studied them for a time. He curtly
gestured for them to sit, then gestured again more forcefully when
they remained standing. One by one they sat and exchanged
conspiratorial glances, all of which Grant filed away in his mind
for later reference.

"Donnely insists Miss
Deliah had wings afore Constable Bruce arrived the night o' the
break-in."

Winston snorted derisively.
"And you believe him?"

"Normally, I'd think the
mon daft. But as I said, I don’t believe in coincidence. So how is
it the siblin’s here don’t have fingerprints?"

"That's ludicrous," Winston
charged, trying to make light of the question. "Obviously, your
team missed them."

"No. Even if someone
believes themselves diligent in erasin’ their prints, there's
always at least one we find." Grant leaned forward and braced his
forearms on the top of his thighs. His expression was deadly
serious as his blue eyes glanced at each person with practiced
scrutiny. "You might say I'm like a dog wi' a favored bone. I won’t
give up searchin’ till ma teeth are firmly locked onta wha' I
consider ma prize."