High Stakes Bride Read online

  Slipping into the stygian cavern of the barn, he shrugged out of his knapsack and set it on the floor. His chest and belly felt tight; the tension that gripped him was close to suffocating. The night wasn’t proceeding as he’d planned. Something was wrong.

  His gaze was drawn upward. A small red dot winked in the corner. For a moment he thought he was staring at a firefly, although he had never seen one outside of a cave, and this was bright, the colour too red.

  He stepped closer to the light—risked turning on his flashlight—and found himself staring directly into the lens of a camera.

  Dani tried the main light switch in the bedroom. The power was definitely out. The blackout took on a more sinister connotation. Either the fire had burned through wiring, or whoever had set it had tampered with the electrics. There was a faint possibility that this wasn’t arson, that the electrics themselves had failed and started the fire, but Dani didn’t think so. Everything else about the house might be antique, but the wiring was modern. Robert Galbraith had had the house rewired the year before he’d died.

  Pulling open a drawer, she grabbed jeans, socks and a shirt and quickly dressed. As she made her way down the hallway and took a left into the mudroom, she thumbed the emergency number into her cell phone.

  A drift of smoke clogged her nostrils and stung her eyes as Dani began relaying details. Feeling along the shelf next to the door, she found the flashlight that was kept there and flicked it on. The smoke was thicker here than in the rest of the house, pouring up through floorboards that were rougher and set further apart, courtesy of a conversion that had enclosed what used to be part of the porch, turning it into a utility room.

  The operator paused and queried her name.

  With jerky movements Dani juggled the phone while pulling on boots. If this had been a movie she would have seen the humour in the situation, but with her throat already raw, her lungs burning, it was hard to smile at the fact that while she had never spoken to this particular operator, he had heard of her. “Yeah it’s me. Again.”

  She reached for the key, which usually lived in the lock. Frowning when she didn’t find it, she tried the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. Grimly, she yanked at the handle again. It was locked and the key was missing. Skin crawling, because if she hadn’t removed the key from the door that meant someone else had, she backed out of the mudroom and slammed the door closed on the smoke. The key had definitely been there when she’d checked all the doors and windows before bed. For it to be missing now meant that whoever had stolen it had come inside the house to get it while she was lying in bed—and to do that they would have already had to have a key.

  The implications piled up. To already have a key meant the person had stolen one earlier, had it copied, then replaced it. That added up to three visits.

  Coughing, eyes stinging, she terminated the call, slipped the phone into her jeans pocket and made her way into the kitchen.

  The keyboard, which hung on the wall next to the back door, was empty. Every key had been removed.

  Cold grew in her stomach as she tried first the kitchen door, then a set of French doors off the lounge. Both were locked. Logic told Dani there was no use trying any of the other doors: as they had been at Dora’s house, they would all be locked. The sabotage wasn’t enough to imprison, but it had already confused and delayed her, giving the fire more time to take hold.

  Holding her shirt clamped over her nose and mouth, Dani unlatched one of the sash windows in the lounge and pushed upward.

  Gulping in fresh air, she gripped the sill, flashlight in one hand, and climbed out, half stumbling, half falling into the herbaceous border. Pushing to her feet, Dani unhooked the clinging tendrils of a rose and played the beam of the flashlight over the side of the house. Thick smoke billowed from beneath it.

  Chest tight, she found the hose where it was always kept, neatly coiled at the base of the main water supply—a six-thousand-gallon tank that fed the house. As she flicked on the tap, her boots sank into mud. Her jaw tightened as she tested the water pressure. Everywhere else in Jackson’s Ridge the ground was as hard as iron: for the mud to be that soft, it meant a lot of water had soaked into the ground recently. It was possible the tap or the hose had a leak, but she didn’t think so. She wasn’t slapdash with repairs and lately she’d been keeping a close eye on all the water systems. If the hose had developed a leak, she would have known about it.

  Grimly, she hauled hose around the side of the house, laying it out as she went. The light from her flashlight picked up details she’d missed before; scattered chunks of wood on the ground, and a dark hole where the hatch to the underside of the house had been left open. Crouching down, Dani directed the flashlight into the smoke-filled cavity. The beam of light was swallowed up within a few feet, but she didn’t need the flashlight to see the orange glow that lit the far corner of the house.

  The house itself was raised on piles with a deep timber skirt. As a kid she’d crawled under every draughty inch of it. In places the crawl space had been large enough for her to stand up in, in others she’d had to crawl on her belly.

  Whoever had set the fire had known what he was doing. He’d used her own wood supply to start it, had set the fire at the point where the house was set low to the ground, then left the hatch open to help fan the flames. With the rising sea breeze, the hollow area was acting like a wind tunnel, sucking flames along the structural timbers.

  Working feverishly, Dani pulled the hose further along, found a gap in the timber skirting and began to spray the flames with water. Steam billowed along with smoke, making it difficult to assess how effective the water was. If she crawled under the house with the hose she would be able to direct the water with more accuracy, the only problem was that with the dense smoke and heat she would be overcome within minutes. Her dilemma died an abrupt death when the stream of water dropped to a trickle, then stopped altogether.

  Dani stared at the dripping end of the hose. Yesterday, she had had less than a quarter of a tank, which equated to over one thousand gallons of water—enough to run the hose for a good hour. If the tank was empty now, there was only one reason—someone had drained it.

  Dragging the hose with her, she backed away from the heat and smoke. Her foot caught on something lying on the ground, and the beam of her flashlight picked out a familiar shape. Bending, she retrieved the axe, which was protruding from beneath one of the leggy hydrangeas that grew rampant in this part of the garden. A chill went down her spine. She hadn’t moved the axe from its usual place, propped up beside the woodpile, just as she hadn’t removed all the keys and locked the doors.

  Someone had been prowling around her place for weeks now, familiarising themselves with the house and outbuildings and finding out where everything was kept.

  She’d dismissed her uneasiness and the feeling that she was somehow connected with the arsonist as the product of coincidence and an over-active imagination, but she wasn’t imagining this. Someone had drained her water tank, locked her in her own house and set it on fire while she supposedly slept, then removed any tools that could possibly be used to rescue her.

  The malice and premeditation were chilling. If she hadn’t been too restless to sleep, in all probability she would never have woken up.

  When Dora’s house had burned down, the locked doors had seemed a nasty and potentially lethal twist aimed at a disabled pensioner. Now Dani was abruptly certain that she had been the target all along.

  A thud followed by a splintering sound jerked her head up. Flicking the flashlight off, Dani backed into the cover of a tall, weeping rhododendron, her fingers closing around the handle of the axe. Seconds later a dark figure flowed over the sill of the same window she’d used to exit the house.

  The man straightened in the deep pool of shadow cast by the house. His head swivelled, gaze locking with hers, as if she were plainly visible. When she’d grabbed clothing she hadn’t cared about the colour; she had pulled on the first things she’d found. Coi
ncidentally, her clothes were all dark; she should have been invisible.

  Reaching up, he tugged at his head. Relief shuddered through her when she caught the gleam of blond hair. Carter.

  “I thought I was going to be too late.” Stepping toward her, he tossed the scrap of black—a woollen cap—to the ground and jerked her into his arms, his grip momentarily crushing.

  “You’re supposed to be in Auckland.”

  “I had a change of plan.”

  “You mean you never left,” she said with sudden insight. Carter and Murdoch had been cooking up schemes for days.

  Dani leaned into his warmth, breathing in Carter’s familiar, comforting scent. “The fire engine’s on the way.” The cold in the pit of her stomach intensified as he loosened his hold and stepped away. “All the doors were locked.”

  “Until about thirty seconds ago. You’re going to need a new kitchen door.”

  The breeze gusted. Dani stared at the house and the smoke billowing from beneath it. The building was over one hundred years old and built of tinder-dry kauri, by the time the fire engine got here there wouldn’t be anything left. “In a few minutes there won’t be a house. The main tank’s dry.”

  A short burst of static distracted Carter, and for the first time she noticed the lip mike. Her chill deepened as he relayed the information that she was all right. If she’d needed an answer as to why Carter was out this late, dressed in black, she had it.

  “Murdoch and his men are searching the grounds, but it looks like our boy has given us the slip.”

  Carter directed the flashlight beam into the shrubs surrounding the house. “What about your back-up tank?”

  Dani directed her own flashlight at a lichen-encrusted tank almost completely enshrouded by honeysuckle. The tank was old, and it leaked. It was kept functioning as an emergency supply for when the main tank was exhausted. “There’s a problem. It feeds directly into the house; it doesn’t have a hose connection.”

  And the other hose wasn’t connected to the main plumbing system—it came straight out of the tank—one of the vagaries of a water system that had been constructed before either of them had been born.

  Carter examined the tank. He knew the practicalities of the situation as well as she did. They could connect the house hose up with Dani’s garden supply—a small corrugated iron tank that caught the water off the barn roof—but they still wouldn’t have enough hose to reach the house. They could try getting more hose from Carter’s place, but even if he had enough, by the time they got organized it would be too little, too late.

  Carter knocked on the tank—midway the sound was flat and solid, indicating the tank was close to half full. Ironically, they had their water supply, and it was only metres from the centre of the blaze—but for all the use the water was, it could have been a mile away.

  Carter took the axe from her fingers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Thinking outside the square.”

  With a fluid movement he chopped at the base of the tank. Comprehension dawned. The house was built on a slope, tilting toward the ocean. The slope wasn’t much, but it was enough. Lately, things had gotten certifiably creepy on Galbraith, but the last she’d heard, water still flowed downhill.

  The night took on a surreal quality as Carter adjusted his grip on the axe and swung again. A repetitive buzzing sound caught her attention. Her phone.

  Thumbing a button, she answered the call. The familiar voice of the emergency services operator registered. “Hang on a minute,” Dani said, stepping further away from the water tank. As she did so, she absently noticed that the back of her hand was covered in a gleaming tracery of blood. One of the rose thorns must have sliced into her skin; she hadn’t felt a thing.

  The wire-reinforced concrete of the tank chipped and buckled, water spurted. Carter continued to swing, using short chopping motions, marking out a broad circle of damage. When the circle was complete, he sent the head of the axe crashing through the centre. The entire section exploded outward, water gushed from the gaping hole, soaking Carter and sweeping beneath the house in a torrent.

  Chapter 17

  The fire under the house reduced to smouldering damp timbers, the E.T.A. of the fire engines just minutes away, Carter did a quick tour of the house then reappeared in the kitchen.

  “Where’s the furniture?”

  Dani blinked. In the adrenaline rush of dealing with the fires, she’d forgotten that she’d virtually emptied the house—and Carter’s likely reaction. “It had to be sold.”

  Carter said something short and succinct. “Who to?”

  Dani gave him the name of the used-furniture dealer.

  “You should have told me. I would have helped.”

  Dani’s jaw tensed. “I don’t need charity.”

  For a long moment Carter was utterly still, his face expressionless. “It wouldn’t have been charity.”

  Too late, Dani realized she had offended Carter on a level that had nothing to do with controlling either her or their relationship. She had instinctively always fought against Carter’s macho, take-charge attitude, but that was like fighting the testosterone that made him male. With the women in his life, Carter would always react in the same way. He was male, therefore he was in charge and would provide.

  A hiss of static broke the silence. Carter spoke into his lip mike, his voice terse. When he was finished he turned on his heel. He paused at the kitchen door. “Stay here where I can see you through the window. O’Halloran’s just spotted something over by the barn. I’ll be back in a minute.” Then he strode out of the kitchen and melted into the night.

  Dani let out a breath. He wasn’t about to push the issue now. He’d checked every room of the house, but he still had to check the outbuildings.

  Knowing Carter, he wouldn’t bother with any further discussion with the furniture; he would ring the dealer direct and coldly demand the furniture was returned. She wouldn’t want to be in Docherty’s shoes if he had sold any of it.

  Placing her flashlight on the kitchen counter, Dani reached into a cupboard and found the medical kit. As she lifted the plastic container off the shelf, the back of her hand brushed against cool metal—a fire extinguisher. Blinking, she stared at an object that was so familiar she had forgotten it was there, placed near the stove for kitchen emergencies.

  A breeze sifted through the windows over the sink, making the filmy curtains shiver as she set the medical kit down on the kitchen counter. Despite the familiarity of the room, with the added distortion of the beam from the flashlight, the shifting shadows took on an eerie aspect.

  A small shudder moved down Dani’s spine—a touch of déjà vu—as she unfastened the plastic lid and began rummaging through the contents until she found sticking plaster and a tube of antiseptic.

  “Get real,” she muttered to herself. Whoever the arsonist was, he was a coward—but a clever one—which was why he hadn’t been caught. He set his fires and ran, but she couldn’t shift a feeling of apprehension. Coward or not, he was dangerous.

  Paper rustled, preternaturally loud in the dim quiet of the kitchen, as she unwrapped a plaster and laid it ready to use. The plastic cap of the tube of lotion clicked on the bench, the smell of antiseptic lotion filled her nostrils—and something else.

  Dani’s head came up, all the small hairs at her nape lifting as she turned and stared in the direction of the living room. She could smell gasoline.

  Something moved at the edge of her vision and a chill raced down her spine. With slow, careful movements, she reached upward. Her fingers brushed against the cool cylindrical shape of the fire extinguisher and closed over the plastic handle. “Carter?”

  Movement flickered again. A whooshing sound, followed by a flickering glow sent a sickening jolt of adrenaline through her veins. A split second later a shadowy figure, backlit by flames, stepped into the kitchen.

  Jaw set, pulse racing, she lifted the extinguisher off its hook. It wasn’t a full-sized exting
uisher, but it was heavy.

  Eyes glittered in a blacked-out face as he charged, and time seemed to slow and freeze as she aimed the extinguisher and depressed the lever. A heartbeat shuddered past. Nothing happened.

  She’d forgotten there was a safety feature—a tiny piece of plastic that had to be removed before the lever could be depressed.

  In a convulsive movement, she threw the cylinder and ducked to one side. The extinguisher hit him full in the chest, slowing his momentum, but, as he reeled off balance, his shoulder caught hers, bouncing Dani back against the kitchen counter. Hard fingers sank into her arm and panic exploded. He was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, smell the sharp scent of sweat. Acting purely on instinct, Dani grabbed the flashlight, which was placed on the counter and brought it smashing down on his head.

  With a guttural snarl, he released his hold and clutched at the side of his face.

  Fingers numbed, but still locked in a death grip on the flashlight, Dani lunged for the door. Halfway across the room a hand caught at the fabric of her shirt. Jerking free, she threw the flashlight. The glare of the beam flashed over his blacked-out face, already lit by the glow of the fire—a macabre freeze frame as he ducked and kept coming. In desperation, Dani put the width of the kitchen table between them and grasped at the only other object in reach, a broom propped against the wall, but before she could swing it, a dark form rocketed past her. Carter.

  The two men caromed against the far wall, then reeled back, a blur of movement as they smashed into the table, sending it sliding into the wall. The thud of flesh on flesh was followed by a grunt and the hiss of laboured breathing. A chair was overturned, another splintered as both men went down. A split second later, Carter rolled to his feet and the two men engaged again.

  Pulse pounding, and keeping clear of the brawling men, Dani inched around the kitchen until her fingers closed on the fire extinguisher. She didn’t know if it would work—it had been stored in the same cupboard for years—but she had to try.