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Somewhere inside the crumbling walls of the LeBeau estate, he hoped to find the answers to the questions his dad had left him with. Zach knew it was possible that his dad’s words had only been the ramblings of a man drugged up and near death, but something in his dad’s voice troubled him to the point that he needed to find answers.
He’d thought the words would fade after his burial, but they haunted Zach in his dreams and nagged at him while he was awake. Finally, he’d given up fighting it and started a thorough search of his dad’s records from the time his dad had spoken of. It had only taken a couple of days to come across the entry in his checkbook that had made Zach’s breath catch in his throat. A twenty-thousand-dollar deposit with no explanation noted.
What had his dad done?
What had he regretted so much that he’d laid on his son a garbled confession of some wrongdoing?
Zach had spent many hours since discovering the unexplained deposit trying to imagine what his dad’s secret could be. His father had been an honorable man, a good man, raising Zach alone after his mother passed when he was only eight. Zach simply couldn’t wrap his mind around his dad doing something so horrible that he felt he had to make it right before he died.
If only he’d spoken to Zach before that last stroke, before his speech was so impaired and before he was so drugged that he couldn’t maintain a semblance of coherence. But all of that was wishful thinking and a waste of time.
His dad had said only one name during his ramblings—Ophelia LeBeau.
Somewhere in that house were the answers Zach sought. He had to believe that. It was the only thing that allowed him to sleep at night. And now he had the opportunity to find out for himself.
When he reached the second crossroads outside of Calais, he checked the map the estate attorney had provided and turned to the right. His truck bumped on the sad excuse for a road, and the farther he drove, the denser the trees and foliage became. If he hadn’t known it was only noon, he’d have thought it was dusk. The faintest streams of sunlight managed to peek through the top layers of the cypress trees, but by the time that light penetrated the thick moss clinging to the tree branches, it was filtered to only a dim glow.
If he’d tried, he couldn’t have come farther from his Bourbon Street flat than this expanse of seemingly never-ending swamp. He’d expected remote, but he hadn’t expected to feel so enclosed, so claustrophobic. After all, he lived in an eight-hundred-square-foot flat. Miles of dirt and water should make him feel less confined, not more so.
He shook his head, clearing his mind of fanciful thoughts that had no place there, and ran through his plan once he’d gained access to the house and the records. With any luck, everything would be well organized and he’d find his answer quickly. Honor and loyalty would force him to complete the work needed on the house, even if he got his answer the first day, but the work would be easier and go more quickly without the distraction of the unanswered question hanging over his head.
His truck dipped into a large pothole and he cursed as he gripped the steering wheel more firmly, trying to maintain control of the vehicle as it lurched sideways. If he had to replace anything in the house that was breakable, he’d have to creep down this road to keep from destroying things before he even got them there.
Finally, when he thought he’d driven straight across the United States to Canada, he turned a final corner, and the house loomed before him. Involuntarily, he lifted his foot from the gas, and the truck rolled almost to a stop as he stared at the imposing structure.
The architect in him formed an immediate appreciation for the bold lines and refined features of the mansion. The part of him dedicated to B horror movies was certain he’d driven straight into a midnight feature.
It was horrifying and seductive, all at the same time.
He inched the truck around the decrepit stone driveway and parked behind an ancient sedan. The attorney’s car, he thought as he exited the truck and made his way to the massive double doors. He scanned the door frame for a bell, but didn’t see anything resembling such a device, so he rapped on the solid wood door.
Seconds later, the door flew open and he found himself staring at someone who clearly was not the aging male attorney he’d spoken to on the phone.
The girl in front of him was small but toned, with short black hair and amber eyes that were narrowed on him. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that despite her youthful appearance, she was more woman than girl, and a bit of relief coursed through him because the male part of him had been instantly appreciative of her trim body and chiseled facial features.
The woman’s shrewd eyes looked him up and down and glanced at his vehicle, quickly making an assessment, but when he expected her to speak, she just stared directly at him, her eyes locked on his, unwavering.
“I’m Zach Sargent,” he said finally, extending his hand. “I’m the contractor William Duhon hired to make the repairs to the house.”
The woman hesitated a second before briefly clasping his hand, then releasing it. “I’m Danae LeBeau,” she said.
Zach felt his pulse quicken. Could this woman be Ophelia LeBeau’s daughter? William had mentioned that one of the heiresses had been living in the house, but the name Danae didn’t ring any bells.
She stepped back and opened the door for him to enter. “I have the key to the caretaker’s cottage in the kitchen.”
Zach stepped inside and did a double take at the gloomy interior, layered with dust and sadly lacking in basic maintenance and care. The attorney had said the property needed a lot of work, but Zach thought it had been occupied until recently. He was somewhat shocked that a person would choose to live like this.
“You coming?” Danae asked, her eyebrows arched.
Before he could reply, she continued down a wide hallway to the left of the entry. He blew out a breath and followed her down the hall, then drew up short in the kitchen. The room was a refreshing change from the entry. Stone countertops and floors gleamed, the cabinets and dining table were polished to a high sheen and a new coat of paint covered the walls.
“Is something wrong?”
“What...? No,” he replied, realizing he’d been casing the room like an eager real-estate agent or petty thief. “Sorry, I was just taking in the contrast between this room and the entry.”
Danae nodded. “My sister started cleaning and remodeling here a couple of weeks ago, but hasn’t had time to get much more done.”
Zach frowned. “I don’t understand. William said the house had been occupied until recently.”
“By our stepfather. My sisters and I haven’t been allowed to set foot here since we were sent away as children...when our mother died.”
Her jaw flexed when she delivered that information, and some of the bitter edge the heiress displayed began to make sense. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive subject.”
“You’re not the first. Won’t be the last.” She pulled a key out of her purse and placed it on the end of the counter. “That’s the key to the caretaker’s cabin. The path to the cabin is at the north end of the main driveway. William had it stocked with basic living supplies, but he has you set up with the general store to handle anything beyond that.”
He nodded. “Great. And what about a key to the main house?”
She stiffened and shook her head. “The house isn’t habitable in the shape it’s in, but I’m going to be working here, as well. I’ll let you in every morning and lock up at night.”
Zach struggled to maintain his aggravation, but knew if he made a big deal out of having free access to the house, she may start to wonder. Still, being under constant scrutiny wasn’t going to get him what he’d come for. He had to find an angle that worked.
“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “I prefer to start early.”
She’d been gazing out the back window, but when he delivered his last sentence, she looked directly at him—pinned him with those dark eyes—and he got the impression she wasn’t buying what he’d said. Not completely.
“I’ve worked in cafés and bars for years. I’m used to getting up early and finishing up late, and as I have no other personal business in this town except the estate, your work won’t interfere with my schedule.”
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven. If that’s all right?”
“No problem at all.”
“Have a good evening,” he said and started down the hall to the front entry. Zach knew when he’d lost the battle. As much as he didn’t need the interference, he’d have to play things Danae’s way.
At least until he could find a way around her.
Chapter Four
Danae peered out a tiny crack in the front door, watching Zach drive away. He hadn’t been at all what she’d expected when William had told her he’d hired a contractor. She’d thought someone older, someone not as adept at repair as they used to be, would be the only person interested in a job out in the middle of the swamp. The young, gorgeous man who’d just left was the absolute last person she’d thought would be interested in a job in a town like Calais.
With his light brown hair, piercing green eyes and stellar body, Zach belonged in the heart of New Orleans, charming all the ladies who came downtown looking for a good time. He certainly didn’t fit Calais and the LeBeau estate.
Frowning, she pushed the heavy wooden door shut, unable to shake the feeling that something about the sexy contractor didn’t add up. Briefly, it crossed her mind that he was running from something, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it came. He didn’t have that look of flight, and she knew that look well. She’d worn it several times herself and seen it in many others.
Finally, she sighed. Likely, it was something simple and embarrassing. If bartending had taught her anything, it was that most people had some secret that they kept locked away from others. The secret wasn’t often earth-shattering, but simply something the person felt would change others’ opinions of them. Maybe Zach had such a secret—like a gambling or drinking problem. Something that had given him a bad reputation with construction companies in New Orleans.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts of Zach and the many different things he could be hiding and tried to focus on what she wanted to tackle next. She’d arrived at the house only twenty minutes before noon, and aside from talking to Zach, she’d spent the rest of the time doing a run-through of the downstairs rooms, checking windows and exterior doors to ensure no unwanted guests could enter.
By the time she had finished her review of the downstairs, she expected Zach to arrive at any moment and had been unwilling to start poking around upstairs. She preferred instead to get her meeting with the contractor out of the way and delve more into her past when she was alone again with the memories that she couldn’t seem to access.
She had just decided to head upstairs and get a feel for the rooms there when her cell phone rang. She checked the display and frowned. It wasn’t a number she recognized, but it definitely wasn’t in Louisiana.
She answered and was happy to hear Alaina’s voice.
“I’m so sorry,” Alaina said. “I meant to call earlier, but I didn’t charge my cell before leaving, so it’s dead as a doornail. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to break away from the family and call you. I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten.”
“No, of course not. How is your...er, mother?”
Even though she didn’t really know Alaina at all, it still felt strange calling another woman her sister’s mother. She wondered how it felt for Alaina.
“She’s doing fine, considering. My brother has a service lined up for home care until she can get around again, but they are on another job at the moment and not expected to free up for another week at least.”
A twinge of something—sadness...jealousy—passed through Danae when Alaina said my brother but she pushed it aside. Their stepfather hadn’t given any of the girls a choice when he’d sent them away. Alaina couldn’t help it if she’d gotten a decent family, while Danae had gotten an addict. That was simply the luck of the draw.
“I’m glad she’s okay,” Danae said.
“Me, too, but the timing couldn’t be worse. I’m so sorry I had to dash out this morning like I did. I have a million things to talk to you about. If I started now, I probably couldn’t finish by next year.”
Danae smiled. “I know.”
“But first things first—I am so glad you don’t have to stay in that house. When I thought about you staying there, my chest hurt so bad I felt like it was in a vise.”
“I’m at the house now. It’s not exactly a welcoming sort of place.”
“No, but it’s more than that. It’s...I don’t know... Oh, I’ll just say it. I think there’s something wrong in that house. I know you don’t really know me, but I promise you, I’m not a fanciful sort of person. And given my profession, my senses are better honed than many. I know something’s off. I can feel it in every inch of my body.”
Danae tensed at her sister’s description. It was the same way she’d felt since she’d walked into the house.
Alaina sighed. “I bet I sound like a crazy woman.”
“I almost wish you did, but you’re not crazy. I feel it, too. And let’s just say my survival skills are as finely tuned as your ability to recognize when things don’t add up. They’re firing on all eight cylinders here. But I have no idea why.”
“I don’t, either, and that’s what concerns me the most. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I wish you wouldn’t go there at all.”
“William has hired me to go through the paperwork and attempt an inventory of the valuables, so I don’t have a choice, and I really want to do the work. I want to discover things about our past. Things I’ll probably never remember.”
Alaina was quiet for several seconds, then finally she said, “I tried to find you—you and Joelle. I started writing letters to Purcell when I was in high school, asking him to tell me how to find you. I even tried sending him a letter on the law firm’s letterhead when I got to Baton Rouge.”
“But he never answered,” Danae finished. “He wouldn’t have. I spent months looking for that opening where I could get to him, but there wasn’t one. He was a mentally disturbed old man who only cared about himself. He never would have helped any of us.”
“You’re probably right. I understand why you want to try to find some of the things that were torn away from you, but I still don’t like the idea of you being in that house alone. Can you at least work at your cabin until I return?”
Danae felt a tickle of warmth run through her. The concern in Alaina’s voice was so sincere and passionate—something she’d never experienced until now. It was everything she’d ever wanted and something she’d never counted on getting.
“When we get off the phone, I’ll grab some files and take them home with me today. The contractor starts tomorrow, so I won’t be alone. He’s young and looks like he’d be good in a fight.”
“Well, I guess that’s all right.”
Alaina didn’t sound the least bit convinced, but Danae couldn’t exactly fault her when she wasn’t convinced herself.
“Purcell’s office is upstairs at the end of the right hallway,” Alaina said. “The room I stayed in—our childhood room—is at the end of the left hallway, right over the kitchen. The power is out in the office area of the house, so it will be dark. There’re some flashlights and a lantern in the laundry-room cabinet.”
“Thanks. That helps a lot,” Danae replied as she committed all the information to memory.
“Danae,” Alaina said, “I know this is going to sound completely odd, but I have to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
Danae’s breath caught in her throat. Of all the things she’d thought Alaina might ask, that hadn’t been anywhere on the list.
Before she could formulate a reply, she heard background noise on Alaina’s end.
“I’m so sorry,” Alaina said, “but I’m going to have to go. I’ll call you again as soon as I get a chance.”
Alaina disconnected and Danae set the phone back on the counter. Ghosts? Sure, all kinds of rumors about the house and its other-than-earthly inhabitants wafted about the Calais locales, but it was the sort of thing she’d expect in a small town with a run-down, isolated house. It was not the kind of thing a reputable, hard-nosed attorney would normally come up with.
It made Danae wonder exactly how much she didn’t know about the night Alaina was attacked.
She leaned back against the counter and blew out a breath. All the work she’d done to simplify her life. No strings, no baggage—at least not the physical kind. She’d even come to Calais with an assumed identity simply to avoid the looks and questions she was sure would come. And in less than a day, her life had become more complicated than it had ever been.
This is what you wanted.
And that was what she needed to keep reminding herself. In the past, she’d kept her life simple by avoiding anything beyond surface-level relationships, but she’d come to Calais to find her family. She couldn’t have it both ways. If she wanted a family, she had to drop her guard, at least where her sisters were concerned.
She pushed herself off the counter and headed upstairs for the first time. She paused on the landing, trying to remember what Alaina had told her about the layout. Right was Purcell’s office. Left was the girls’ room—the room Alaina had been staying in when she was attacked.
Danae took one step in that direction, then froze. Was she ready to see the place where she’d spent her very limited childhood in Calais? If she had no memory of that room, then the chances of her remembering anything were so minuscule as to not exist. Not that she’d had any concrete expectation of remembering things she’d last seen at two years old, but she’d hoped for an emotional tug—something that let her know a piece of this place was part of her.
Something that let her know where she fit.
Abruptly, she turned and headed in the opposite direction, to her stepfather’s office.
Coward.
Ignoring the voice in her head, she increased her pace. Plenty of time existed for her to see her childhood bedroom, she argued. She had no reason to try to force it all into one afternoon. When she was comfortable with the house, she’d go to the room.
Or when she was ready for the disappointment.
Sighing, she pushed open the last door in the hallway and reached inside for a light switch, hoping the power had been miraculously restored. No such luck. She stepped inside the room and flicked the switch up and down to no avail. It figured. First thing tomorrow, she’d ask Zach to look at the electrical problems, starting with this room.
The light from the balcony was the only source of illumination in the office. The lack of windows and cherrywood bookcases that lined every wall made it so dark it was impossible to see more than the dim outline of office furniture. She cursed under her breath at her lapse of logical judgment. Alaina had told her about the flashlights in the laundry room. She should have grabbed one before coming up here.
She backed out of the room, but as she started to turn, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. She froze and stared into the darkness at the far end of the room, where she’d seen the flicker of movement. Nothing moved there now, but everything in Danae screamed at her that she was not alone in the house.
She whirled around and ran all the way downstairs and back into the kitchen, where she’d left her purse. It was still on the kitchen counter, and she snatched it up. From the inside pocket, she drew out the nine millimeter she was never without.
Let that be a lesson.
