The Man from Falcon Ridge Page 2

  Rex couldn’t wait until the next day. He barreled down the curvy mountain road, gravel and ice spewing as he slowed to a stop. A VW sat in the clearing, and a woman stood in front of the picture window, staring up at the sagging latticework. She jerked around at the sound of his Jeep, her startled expression reminding him of a baby eagle cornered in the forest by a hunter.

  He killed the engine and climbed out, his pulse accelerating. Even though night had fallen and darkness engulfed her features, he could tell she was small with choppy auburn hair that almost looked unnatural. A baggy denim shirt and jeans covered her frame, revealing nothing about the curves he sensed lay beneath. He zeroed in on her eyes, though. He’d never seen any that color. His body reacted involuntarily, heat spread through his limbs and his sex hardened. Stunning was the only word to describe her.

  No, add cold and scared to stunning.

  “Who are you?” She hunched deeper inside her coat, backing toward the porch awning as if it might offer safety. But the lights were out and shadows closed around her, fresh snow crystals clinging to her hair

  “Rex Falcon. I live on top of the mountain at Falcon Ridge.” He dragged his eyes from hers and skimmed down her face. Primal instincts overtook him. Even in the shadows, the rose-petal color of her lips made his mouth water for a taste.

  But the trembling of her lower lip warned him that his gut instinct had been right.

  She was running from something.

  No other woman in her right mind would have traveled up this mountain alone. Not at night in this storm when the roads became almost impassable. Not to look at the Hatchet House. That is, unless she was some kind of reporter. Or maybe one of those nuts who chased ghosts and tried to prove they were real.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Hailey Hitchcock.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Studying the house.” She squared her shoulders in a show of bravado, but the purple bruise on her chin negated the effect.

  Their gazes locked. A tension-filled moment passed between them, fraught with questions and an undeniable awareness of their isolation. His body began to throb, the call of the wild inside him drawing him to her.

  But that could only mean trouble. And he would not give in to those instincts.

  Maybe he could scare her off. “You must be a tourist, stopping by to gawk at the house because of all the rumors.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “You mean about the ghosts?”

  “Yes, and the murders.” His voice rumbled out hard. Cold. “They say the house is haunted.”

  She swallowed, the pale skin of her neck glowing in the twilight. “I know, the real estate agent told me about the ghosts when I bought the place.”

  His pulse kicked up with surprise. “A family was killed here twenty years ago. They say their spirits are waiting around for revenge. That doesn’t bother you?”

  “I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

  Just of real men. He saw it in her eyes and the hands-off look she shot him.

  “You seem to know a lot about this house,” she said. “Tell me more.”

  Her low voice sounded sultry beneath the whistle of the wind. Slightly shaken, he struggled for a reply, not ready to share the truth about his own family’s involvement in the murders. If she stayed, she’d find out soon enough.

  But her presence would complicate everything. How could he search the property with her inside?

  “What are you planning to do with the house?” he asked, ignoring her comment.

  She pulled the coat tighter around her throat, her breath a puff of white in front of her. “Live here. And I’m starting an antiques business.”

  He frowned. “Why antiques?”

  “I like the stories behind them,” she said. “The antiques oncepeople, they were important to them at one time.”

  Did she belong to anyone? A man maybe? How about a family? It was none of his business, he reminded himself. “This house isn’t in good enough shape to live in, much less house a business.”

  “I’m going to renovate it.”

  Dammit. She’d tear up the inside, get rid of things, any evidence that might still be around. “If you’re looking for someone to do repairs, my brother and I happen to be in the business.” At least they were now.

  Her mouth parted in surprise, but her eyes flashed with wariness. Now he knew why they mesmerized him. They were the deepest reddish-brown he’d ever seen, like the earthy tones of a red-tailed hawk.

  Her sweet scent invaded his nostrils, too, stirring urges that warred with his better sense. But old ghosts echoed around the house, reviving memories of the blood bath that had taken place within the rotting walls.

  She studied him for another long moment, then nodded. “Thanks, although I’m not sure how much I can pay.”

  “No problem.” He shrugged, blinking away fresh snowflakes. “We live simple lives in the mountains, our materialistic needs are few.” But his need for the truth and revenge was strong.

  She offered a tentative smile that twisted his gut.

  He steeled himself against her beauty. He was interested in this place for one reason and one reason only. For the answers it offered about his father.

  And he’d be damned if he’d let Hailey Hitchcock interfere with his plans.

  HUNCHING HIS STOOPED shoulders inside his cloak, he watched from the shadows of the forest as the frail-looking woman opened the door and went inside the house. Who was she? And why had she bought a run-down house that was supposedly haunted?

  She obviously didn’t know its history.

  A chuckle reverberated in his chest as he pictured her finding out.

  The house had once been beautiful, painted blue with white shutters, the outside postcard perfect. The ultimate dream for the happy couple who’d moved inside. Laughter and dreams had abounded within the walls, the patter of small feet and children’s voices filling the empty rooms with life and joy.

  Then everything had changed.

  Dreams had been shattered. Lives had been destroyed. The world had crumbled down just as the house looked as if it might crumble now.

  The pain of the woman’s cries still echoed in his head, the sadness in her eyes, the whisper of death as she’d clawed her way toward the boy….

  It had been all her fault.

  And now this…this other woman had come.

  He had to get rid of her.

  The Hatchet House held secrets. Secrets that would ruin his life if exposed. Secrets that would stay behind closed doors.

  Secrets that would kill to keep hidden…

  Chapter Two

  A whisper of unease tickled Hailey’s spine, mingling with the icy cold temperature, as she entered the house. Rex Falcon’s words about the ghosts echoed in her mind.

  But ghosts weren’t real. No, danger came from real, live men who wanted to control the women they were involved with. Not ones who were buried and long gone. Besides, the real estate agent assured her the killer was serving a life sentence in prison.

  It was time to stop running and build her own life. She’d held her ground with Rex Falcon, refusing to let his gruff, mysterious demeanor intimidate her. His dark, sexy eyes had trapped her, though, and a spark of awareness had passed between them. A sexual spark that she had no intention of exploring.

  The low hum of the snowstorm outside echoed through the house, reminding her she was alone. Rex Falcon’s predatory expression flashed back. He hadn’t wanted her here. She’d sensed that was the reason he’d mentioned the ghosts.

  But she refused to let anything chase her away.

  And she was not here to get entangled with a man.

  The wood floor creaked as she closed the front door and fumbled for the light switch. But the power company had yet to turn on the electricity. The realtor claimed the furniture had been left in place. Maybe there were some candles around, also.

  The stale smell of a house having been closed up filled the chilly air
as she moved into the parlor. Twilight settled over the interior, painting the sheet-draped furniture with gray, but on the mantel she spotted a silver candelabra. She hurried over, blew the top layer of dust away, then found a pack of matches on the hearth of the brick fireplace. The pack was so old it took three times before she finally lit the slender tapered candlesticks, but she was grateful for the soft glow.

  Then she studied the room. Heavy velvety drapes covered the windows and hung to the floor, obliterating the outside, and creating an ominous, claustrophobic feeling. Hailey shivered, her uneasiness mounting. But those curtains shielded her from the outside and any strangers who might be roaming in the woods. And they were thick enough to help ward off the cold, as well.

  She’d replace the windows with Thermopane ones, trade the drapes for blinds so the natural light could spill in during the daytime, and she could shut them at night.

  The walls were dingy and needed paint, too, and dust motes swirled in the halo of candlelight. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and a spider retreated into a corner to spin its web. Clutching the candelabra in her hand, she decided to check out the rest of the house.

  Her footsteps echoed in the empty rooms as she walked through the hallway to the kitchen. The counters and woodwork were faded and chipped, but the old-fashioned oven and stove supposedly still worked. The refrigerator was an ancient model with no ice maker, but was functional, and there was no dishwasher. Dust covered the dingy beige countertops, and she spotted droppings near the bottom of the wood cupboard door that had probably come from mice. A set of old-fashioned café curtains in faded orange hung over the bay window, but she nudged them asi look out at a majestic view of the Colorado mountains. The valley below would be green in summer, but now brown dotted the trees, along with an increasing layer of snow.

  She imagined the white-topped mountain peaks at sunset, and a smile tugged at her lips.

  But the wind howled outside, the thin panes of glass crackling with the force. The floor was darker near the mudroom, too. She stepped closer to examine the deep brown of the planks, but a sense of horror immobilized her.

  Was the dark area the bloodstain from the family who’d died inside the room twenty years ago?

  TWENTY YEARS SINCE anyone had lived in the Hatchet House. And now this woman…

  Rex couldn’t shake his anxiety over her appearance. Hailey Hitchcock was beautiful. But she was in trouble. Running from something. Probably scared of her own shadow although she’d tried to appear unfazed by his appearance.

  So why had she bought a supposedly haunted old house in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter?

  Because she didn’t want to be found. But wasn’t she afraid to live alone in a house where a brutal crime had occurred? And who was she running from? Her husband? A lover?

  Or could she be in trouble with the law?

  His father’s haggard face materialized. Years ago, he’d been tall in stature, a mountain of a man with an animalistic nature and skin bronzed from the sun and outdoor work. Now, he was pale and drawn, the lack of ample light and time in his natural environment killing him. Just as it would kill Rex and his brothers to be locked away, deprived of the very essence of their being.

  And his mother…she had suffered so much over the years. She’d loved their father unconditionally, had stood beside him at the trial, had endured the tauntings of the neighbors. Even after his father’s conviction, she’d tried to hold her head up in the town, but some people were cruel. So, she’d finally taken her boys to Arizona, far away from the hateful gossip and condemning eyes.

  Just returning to Falcon Ridge, Rex felt those damning eyes as if the past twenty years hadn’t passed, as if he was that same child who’d been ostracized as a killer’s child.

  Telling himself Hailey Hitchcock was not his concern, that his job here was to find the man who’d framed his father, he strode through the ten-foot-tall stone walls that shaped his homestead on Falcon Ridge. The icy, cavernous rooms echoed with age, like a fortress that had stood the test of time against the bitter Colorado elements.

  Although his mother had hated the monastery-like house and stone walls, the fact that they’d been virtually cut off from civilization during the long winter months, the house resurrected happy memories of his childhood. Of running through the mammoth structure, hiding in the labyrinth of rooms in the basement. Hiking with his dad into the woods to watch the birds of prey.

  He went to his basement office, the space he had set up for his P.I. business, booted up his computer and pulled up the old case files on his father’s arrest. The Lyles’ son, eight-year-old Steven, had been the apple of his father’s eye. Mrs. Lyle had become a recluse,, and kept the little girl, who was supposedly autistic, at home. According to the locals, Lyle, an attorney, had been charismatic, covering for his wife with excuses.

  Rex’s father had been the caretaker of the grounds. He’d claimed Mrs. Lyle was afraid of her husband, that he was abusing his wife and daughter. But no one else could corroborate his story. And Rex’s father’s long trek alone into the woods that day had robbed him of an alibi.

  Rex skimmed further, trying to figure out the motive they’d attached to his father’s alleged crimes. If he’d had an affair with Mrs. Lyle, why murder her and the children? Why not kill the abusive husband?

  Frustrated, he rammed a hand through his hair. In fact, they’d never found the hatchet itself or any bloody clothes or fingerprints. Were they somewhere in the house or on the grounds?

  He stood and paced, thinking about Hailey Hitchcock in that house alone. She hadn’t brought much with her, just a suitcase or two he’d seen in the back seat and whatever had fit in her trunk. Was she having her other things shipped, or did her lack of belongings suggest she’d left in a hurry?

  He pictured those reddish-brown eyes and his body hardened, a surge of lust burning through him.

  Was she sleeping in that house tonight? Thinking of the people who’d lived there before her?

  SHE WAS LOCKED IN A ROOM.

  Alone. Frightened. Only a child.

  She curled within the darkness, listening for footsteps, but the house was silent. The air felt heavy around her. Sickening. Stale. Deathly quiet.

  Was he coming back for her?

  She opened one eye and scanned the interior of her prison, the whisper of a breath cascading through the dust-filled room.

  “I’ll be back for you,” he’d said.

  She shivered. She wanted out. But she didn’t want him to come. No, not him. He scared her so bad she’d wet her pants once. And that had made him madder.

  A sob welled in her throat, and she rubbed her arms, fighting panic. Then footsteps pounded up the steps. The shuffling sounded familiar. It was him.

  One. Two. Three. Four. He was getting closer.

  A scream locked in her throat. The shadow below the doorway moved, blocking the tiny sliver of light she’d latched on to.

  Her safety net. It was gone.

  Then the doorknob rattled, and he opened the door. She shrank back against the closet door as he stalked toward her…

  Hailey jerked awake, sweat-soaked from her nightmare. Her breathing erratic, she searched the darkness for intruders, trying to orient herself in the predawn light. Where was she?

  She had been dreaming, hadn’t she? Or had she b remembering one of her foster homes?

  The floor creaked in the old house. Was that a footstep?

  She hugged the sheets, listening carefully. Another squeak. It was coming from the attic. Chipmunks or mice maybe?

  Struggling for calm, she pulled on a robe, rose and peeked into the hall. Shadows claimed the corners, then something moved at the opposite end. A shadow. Almost ghostlike, it floated into one of the extra bedrooms, the ones where the children had slept.

  Her throat muscles worked to swallow. She had to have imagined it.

  But another creaking sound broke the quiet. A foot-step maybe. The distinct sensation of air moving around her caused he
r to pause, the scent of lilacs drifting nearer. She wasn’t alone, the smell, the sound of someone walking—this time it was real.

  AS USUAL, REX WOKE with the dawn. He slid on the protective gloves he used to work with the hawks, lifted the cloth from the cage and looked inside. Sutter, he called him, a ferruginous hawk who’d been hit by a pellet gun, stared up at him with caution. After the pellets had been removed the bird needed rest, but soon he’d be able to hunt again. A few quiet moments passed as they assessed one another. Rex felt the connection, the bond of trust forming between himself and the animal.

  Sutter’s wings fluttered slightly, revealing his dark brown underbelly, and the whitish comma at the wrist, a good sign. Rex reassured the hawk that he was a friend, then eased open the cage and left him some food. The bird wasn’t ready to come out just yet, maybe the next day.

  Finally, he went inside and gathered his work tools. He’d start at the Hatchet House this morning. His suspicions over the young woman who’d bought the place rose again, so he’d run a background check on her. The more information he had, the better equipped he’d be to handle her.

  His phone jangled. “Falcon here.”

  “Are you settled in?” Brack asked.

  “Pretty much. I’ve got the computer system up and running, and installed a fireproof safe for backup files. The security system was a bitch, but it’s in, too.” He paused. “How’s Mom?”

  “She’s fine, just worried about you. She’s afraid reopening Dad’s case might be dangerous.”

  It probably would be. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Remind her that her boys are grown now.”

  “Yeah, like that’ll pacify her.” Brack barked a laugh. “Be careful, Rex.”

  Rex sighed. “Listen, there’s a slight complication. This woman named Hailey Hitchcock moved into the Hatchet House.” Rex explained his offer to work for her. “I pulled up some information on her. She was living in Denver, where she worked at an antiques auction house. Apparently there’s a missing person’s report out on her. It was filed by a local attorney.”