Return To Falcon Ridge

Chapter Two

Deke had managed to stay behind Elsie without her noticing for the two-hour drive, but her frantic escape worried him. She obviously was terrified of him, or somebody. And she was in trouble….

Just what kind? Trouble with the law? With a man?

Either one would complicate his job.

Then again, maybe she’d confide in him once she learned his real reason for coming. But what if she didn’t want to see her mother? What had her father told her about Deanna?

Night had fallen as she’d turned into a mile-long driveway that climbed a curvy dirt road. Snow swirled in a blinding haze, fogging his windows and creating crystals of ice that clung to the glass. Not wanting Elsie to see him, he parked in the alcove of a cluster of pines, then walked the rest of the way up the drive. Wind clawed at his face and hands, the sound of a loud growl in the woods nearby alerting him that the forest could be dangerous to some. The birds of prey who were his friends. And others….

As he drew nearer the mansion, his skin crawled. That was no ordinary house. There had been tall metal gates at the entrance, although they’d been open, and an eight-foot electric fence surrounded the property as if it had once been a prison. The gray stone structure resembled a mausoleum with turrets and a spiked chimney. There were five of them actually. A smaller stone garage was attached, a gardener’s shed beside it connected by a path of overgrown weeds fighting through the snow and ice.

The sign, Wildcat Manor, indicated it had been an orphanage at one time. It had obviously been deserted for years. The boxwoods and shrubs were misshapen, weeds draped the porch and sides and a fire had burned the bottom floor caking the stone with black soot, worsened by decay and age.

What the hell was Elsie Timmons doing here?

The realization that this might have once been her home hit him in the gut. Geez, the place looked more like a funeral home than a loving place for children. Had her father kidnapped her, then left her here for some reason? Because he hadn’t wanted her, or had something happened to him?

Deanna’s anguished face flashed in his mind. If her husband had been alive and left Elsie here because he didn’t want her, Deanna Simmons had pined away for her daughter while the girl must have felt so alone…. And if he’d died, why hadn’t someone contacted Deanna? Why hadn’t Elsie tried to reach her mother over the years?

Elsie walked up the steps, her slim figure tiny next to the massive oaks flanking the drive. He watched, mesmerized by her beauty. But her face was as pale as the white snow dotting the ground. And when she reached for the door, her entire body trembled and tears flowed down her cheeks.

As hard and tough as he’d always thought himself to be, his heart throbbed with emotion.

Emotions had no place in his job.

He would not allow himself to care for a woman, especially Elsie Timmons who had run from him at first glance. She had a mother waiting for her, and he had no part in her life. He would return to Arizona when he finished here. Alone.

Back to his birds of prey and the wilderness where he belonged.

Determined to complete the job, he stepped forward anyway. He had to get to the truth, pry into her secrets and convince her to return to Falcon Ridge. Then Deanna Timmons could find peace.

And he would be done with them and could go home.

ELSIE SHOULDN’T have come. She should have driven to a hotel for the night.

But she had to face her demons or she might never be whole again. Hadn’t the professors pounded that into their heads in psychology class?

Still, there were so many ghosts here, so much anguish….

The wind cut through her bones as she closed her eyes, willing her courage to surface.

You witnessed Hodges burn to death yourself. You even saw Hattie Mae standing over his grave, her head bent in sorrow. Or maybe it had been shame or relief.

Elsie had never understood how Hattie Mae had succumbed to her husband’s sick wishes and let the girls suffer his cruelties.

Hattie Mae is gone, too. The house is empty, and no one can hurt you.

Elsie braced herself for the squeak of the stone door, but she shivered as she stepped inside the dark entry. The scent of dust and mildew filled her nostrils, along with fear and death. Even ten years later, the pungent odor of Hodges’s flesh being charred rose with the dust motes.

Her footsteps sounded hollow on the marble floor, her erratic breathing rattling in the ominous quiet as she forced herself forward in search of a light. The electricity had probably been turned off. With the frigid temperatures, she’d freeze tonight.

No, there were the fireplaces and the lanterns.

Hattie Mae had always kept a dozen kerosene lanterns filled and ready for use when the power failed, and wood had been stacked in every room with a fireplace. As if on autopilot, she moved through the icy, cavernous living area to the kitchen. There she felt along the wall until she reached the pantry where she discovered several lanterns filled and ready for use. Matches were also stacked beside them as if Hattie Mae had been waiting on someone’s return.

Elsie barely stifled the urge to turn and run. But she had been running all her life.

No more.

She would face this place and slay her demons. In honor of all the girls whose hopes and dreams had died here, she’d turn it into a safe haven for troubled teens who could find hope for a better life.

A flick of the match and the lantern lit up. Determined to overcome her anxiety, she forced herself to examine the kitchen, then the rooms on the main floor. Only leftover discarded antiques that had once shone with polish and glory remained, still sitting in the same places she remembered. The fabrics were faded, the wood dusty, the walls a dreary pea green, the paintings water damaged. She would change all that, paint the rooms bright colors, get rid of the grim furnishings and replace them with more functional contemporary pieces, sturdy ones that would turn the dark, sinister interior into a welcoming home.

Exhausted from her drive, and the tension from her encounter with Deke Falcon, she checked the door locks, pausing in the hall as she noticed the padlock to the basement. The acrid smell…

She would not go down there. Not now. Maybe never.

The memories were too painful, the images too real, the anguish and shame too raw.

Her secrets had to remain hidden.

Shaking off her paranoia, she climbed the steps, grateful for the flickering light of the lantern as she studied the print carpet, the shadows from the corners, the long hallway that led to the dormlike rooms the girls had occupied.

The room where Hattie Mae and her husband slept had been on the main floor, off-limits.

The dorm wings had separated the girls by ages. She had slept in the east wing while the kids under ten had slept in the west. She didn’t think Hodges had ever ventured into the younger girls’ rooms, but couldn’t be sure.

Uncertain if she could sleep, she stopped at the private bedroom on the second floor. It had been reserved for the caretaker, who had seen after the girls and made certain they were tucked in at night, their doors locked securely. Elsie stepped inside, the scent of lavender and old lace greeting her. A hand-crocheted blanket covered the iron bed with cross-stitched pillow cases in blue and white. The dust that had been so evident in the house seemed minimal in here, the room clean and tidy. A white rocking chair sat beneath the window, and a full-length mirror occupied the opposite corner, complementing the antiques.

Outside, sleet slashed the roof. She built a small fire to ward off the chill, then looked out the window. Thick woods surrounded the place, trees bending and swaying with the force of the wind. The Smoky Mountains rose toward the sky like a fortress that offered a hiding place from the rest of the town.

The way Hodges had wanted it.

Back then, it had frightened her to be so far away from everyone else. Now, she sought comfort in the solitude. Keeping herself at a distance from others had saved her life in the past.

A shadow moved outside, and she tensed, studying the darkness. Was someone out in the woods watching her, or had it only been her imagination? The roar of an animal rent the air. What if the werecats were real?

No, she did not believe in the supernatural. The monsters she saw were human.

A noise inside startled her. Birds flapping in the attic? Or maybe raccoons or another trapped animal?

Seconds later, the sound of a baby crying trilled through the hollow walls. Elsie covered her ears. The sound would never cease. She heard it every night as she tried to fall asleep.

She’d run from this place to escape it, but she had never been able to. And she never would.

Because the baby had been hers. And it was lost forever.

DEKE STUDIED the orphanage, surprised that Elsie had gone inside and hadn’t returned to her car. Age and weather had grayed the exterior while cobwebs and years of fallen leaves and tree branches overflowed the gutters. Weeds had overtaken the yard, the grass brittle from the winter, the windows dark and coated in layers of dirt and grime. It was as dark as Hades inside.

He couldn’t imagine Elsie spending the night in the spooky place, but the fact that she had gone inside proved she wasn’t as skittish as he’d first thought. Or maybe she assumed this was one place no one would ever look for her.

He considered approaching her again, but decided to wait until morning. Let her think she’d escaped him. Let her get some rest. Meanwhile, he’d do a little research on Wildcat Manor.

Then he’d catch her off guard, early in the morning before she had a chance to leave again.

Still, he watched the house until after midnight, when it grew quiet and the small light flickered off. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he walked down the graveled drive back to his Range Rover, climbed in and followed the dirt road to the main highway. A battered sign pointed left, guiding him to the small town of Wildcat. He’d heard the South and Smoky Mountains were filled with spooky old legends. Would he find ghost stories in Wildcat?

Blinking to see through the fog, he circled the square until he found a small ten-room motel called Mountain Man’s Lodge. He grimaced at the dilapidated concrete building. There was probably a cozy bed-and-breakfast the tourists used, but he didn’t need frills, only answers. This truck-stop dive backed up to the woods, which beckoned him to visit for his nightly ritual.

Inside, an old-timer with gray hair, overalls and a hearing aid lifted his frail hand in a wave. “I’m Homer. You ain’t from around these parts, are you?”

He shook his head no. “I need a room for tonight.”

“Just passin’ through?”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”

Homer handed him a key to room nine, then looked him up and down. “You never been to Wildcat before?”

“No. What can you tell me about the town?”

The old man huffed. “Don’t many people that come through here ever come back.” A chortle rumbled from his thin chest. “Fact is, some of ’em never leave, either.”

“You mean they like it so much, they settle?” Deke asked.

“Not hardly.” Homer gestured out the window to a small white chapel at the foot of the hills. “See that cemetery? That’s where they end up. Damned just like the town.”

Deke frowned, wondering if the man’s comment had been a warning. Then again, Homer didn’t look dangerous.

“The devil lives in those woods along with wildcats as big as tigers, some of ’em half-human,” Homer continued. “Call ’em werecats. They feed off animals and humans.”

Homer must be senile. “Then why are you still here?”

He pointed out the window toward the hills. “Buried my wife, Bessie, a few years back. Cancer got her. We were together forty-five years. Can’t bear to leave her here alone.”

Deke frowned. He had no idea love and devotion like that existed anymore. Of course, his parents had weathered their own terrible storm and wound up back together. “I passed a place called Wildcat Manor coming in,” he said, putting his personal thoughts aside. “It used to be an orphanage?”

The man’s thin skin stretched over his bony jaws as he frowned. “Yep, but they closed it down ten years ago. Bunch of troublemakers lived there, didn’t associate with the townsfolk. Strange things went on in that manor. Stories about young girl runaways. The old man was crazy.”

“What happened to him?”

“Died in the fire that destroyed the basement of the building. The orphanage was disbanded then. Reckon his wife, Hattie Mae, was too scared of the hellions they put with her.” He wheezed a breath. “Rumors said one of the girls set the fire.”

“What happened to Hattie Mae?”

“She died a few weeks ago.”

“Did you know a woman…a girl actually, named Elsie Timmons? Was she one of the orphans?”

“Didn’t know any of them by name,” the man said. “Hodges never let the girls come into town, thought they’d stir up too much trouble with the decent young boys.” He scratched his chin. “To tell the truth, most of ’em were troubled, had been sent there by the law or cause their families didn’t want ’em. The town sure as hell didn’t.”

Anger sparked in Deke’s chest. How could the people in town have been so cruel to homeless kids? To Elsie?

And someone had wanted her—her mother. Only Elsie might never have known.

The tragedy of his own lost years with his dad rushed back, yet somehow Elsie’s situation seemed worse. He had to convince Elsie that her mother wanted to see her. He would go tomorrow.

His mind set, he accepted the key from Homer, retrieved his bag and let himself into the small motel room. The furnishings were minimal, the furniture old, the drapes and spread faded. He didn’t care.

He stepped outside, ignoring the brutal weather as he slipped into the dark wooded mountains. He’d see Elsie tomorrow. Find out why she was running. Tell her about Deanna.

Tonight he had to regroup. He couldn’t let Elsie’s sad story get to him. He was a loner. A falconer who needed no one. Who could not afford emotion. He had his own rituals. His own secrets.

Nature called his name, begging him to return to the wild where he belonged. He had to answer.

SOMEONE WAS IN Wildcat Manor.

A young woman. He had watched her enter from the safety of his woods, and wondered if she was a stranger or if she might be one of the lost girls who’d finally come home. He’d figured that some day one of them might return. Looking for Hattie Mae.

Wanting answers.

Or revenge.

The abject fury in the thought sent a burning pain through his hunched shoulders. Wind whipped through the thin layer of his jacket and clawed at his aching bones.

He had vowed to Hattie Mae that he would keep the secrets of Wildcat Manor safe. That no one would ever find out about her weakness. And if this girl had come to snoop around or expose them, he wouldn’t hesitate to stop her.

No matter the consequences.

Forcing himself to remain in the shadows of Hattie Mae’s life had been torture, yet she had always known he was there. That if she needed him, all she had to do was whisper his name. That she was never far from his mind or his watchful eye.

This girl would learn that she wasn’t welcome.

Now. It was almost dawn. Time of the awakening.

A smile slid onto his wind-parched face as his boots sank into the thick snow. Slipping through the back gate came easily—he had done it a thousand times. Even sought refuge from the cold behind those monumental stone walls. Tonight would be no different.

Clenching his jaw, he eased his way through the basement, his eyes automatically adjusting to the darkness, the sounds and smells of the dank space and the rituals that had been performed there rushing back as if time had stood still. He could still see the young girls pleading for their lives. The children who had been turned by the devil. The sinners who had to pay.

Hattie Mae watching in horror.

It was her fault, though. Hers and the bad children.

Pungent odors filled his nostrils, and warmth slowly seeped into his freezing body. He ascended the steps, remembering the night Howard Hodges had died. It had been a night just like this. Bitter cold. Complete darkness.

The wooden rungs squeaked, the sound of a mouse skittering beneath the furnace causing him to grin as he opened the door leading to the main hallway. Like a cavern, the house was completely void of light, but the scent of freshly lit kerosene wafted from above, and he realized the woman had found the lanterns. How had she known where they would be?

She had been here before. It was the logical explanation.

So which one of the pretty children had returned to the lair?

He slowly padded up the steps, his hand shaking as he focused on his plan, his mind spinning with the names of the orphans who’d stayed at Wildcat Manor, with the sounds of their cries and pleas, with the vulgar truth of their pasts. With their tempting eyes….

The dim glow of the lantern drew him closer to the bedroom, and he paused to listen, then heard sheets rustling and a whimpering sound as if a child had returned, not a woman. Pulling his cloak around his face and over his arms, he moved to the doorway and watched.

Her long dark hair was curly and lay across the pillow. So erotic. It had been a long damn time since he’d held a woman. She thrashed from side to side as if in the throes of a nightmare.

A chuckle threatened to erupt but he tamped it down. Didn’t she know that by coming here her nightmare had just begun? Like a voyeur, he hid in the shadows and watched her struggle for sleep, but no peace came. She muttered nonsensical panicked sounds, clutching the sheets with clenched fingers, perspiration trickling down her honey-lit skin.

Then he recognized her.

Elsie Timmons.

Rage and fear warred with the need to hold her. His hand trembled. His pulse quickened. Sweat beaded on his neck and rolled down his back.

Suddenly, she jerked awake, eyes wide in the darkness, wild with confusion and fear. A shrill scream pierced the air when she saw him, and his instincts drove him forward. He pounced on the bed, covered her mouth with his hand, then shoved a pillow over her face. He desperately wanted to kill her. And he had to protect the secrets at Wildcat Manor.

She squirmed and clawed at his hands, but he chuckled.

No, killing her now would be too easy. She deserved to suffer.

Yes, he’d draw it out, torment her, make her feel the pain for a while.

Then he’d put an end to her….

Chapter Three

“Leave Wildcat Manor or die.”

Panic pumped through Elsie. The man’s acrid breath brushed her ear, and he loosened his grip on the pillow slightly. “Let the dead rest in peace,” he murmured. “Or you’ll be one of them.”

Icy fingers of fear tore up her spine, and she tried to wrench herself away. The years rolled back as if it had only been seconds since she’d run from Wildcat Manor.

The devil was in the house and he’d come to get her. Unspeakable horrors awaited.

He slid one hand down to her throat. His fingers dug into her skin, and Elsie summoned her fighter spirit. She’d found it the night she’d murdered Howard Hodges. And on the streets she’d practically become an animal.

She had to act now. A second longer, and he would cut off her windpipe completely.

Gathering her strength, she thrust her elbow up sharply, catching him in the ribs. He yelped and loosened his hold at the unexpected blow. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she spun around and stared at him, trying to see his face, but a long black cloak shrouded her view. He lurched forward, but she jabbed his eyes with her fingers, then rammed her fist into his belly. He bellowed in pain, grabbed her hair and yanked her head so hard pain rippled through her scalp. Then he flung her across the room. Like a beast, he shot toward her with a roar.