After a devastating personal tragedy, history professor Hillary Bennett seeks refuge in the quaint Scottish village of Culcraig, hoping to research a legend and salvage her career. Instead, she finds her hostess dead, and her hopes for the future pinned to the woman’s black sheep heir.
But an ancient curse hovers over the village, and the secret to lifting it lies in the journals. Will Caid and Hillary realize what they have and uncover the truth before a twisted killer silences them forever?
Someone was in the house with them…
“You know,” Hillary said, keeping her voice low. “This house is huge. We could check each room individually, but who’s to say that whoever’s here won’t just keep moving around as we search, eventually working their way into a room we’ve already checked? We’ll never be one hundred per cent sure we’re alone.”
“Are you suggesting we separate?”
Her grip on his hand tightened. Did she even realize she’d done that?
“It would probably make more sense to split up. If we worked from opposite ends and met in the middle, it would reduce the chance of an intruder slipping away. But as I said, this place is huge and we’re only two people, the odds of our mystery person eluding us are still pretty good. Not to mention the confusion.”
“Confusion?” Caid tried to suppress his grin.
“Yes. If we separated, we could easily wind up tracking each other. At least together, if we hear or see anything out of the ordinary, we know that it has to be someone else.”
“What an astounding rationalization.”
She frowned at him in obvious consternation. “I think I made some very good points.”
He smiled. “Aye, you did. I’m sure you’ve convinced yerself quite nicely. Did you bring the subject up simply because you were concerned that I might think you liked holding my hand?”
He couldn’t stop his smile from widening, especially when she struggled to untangle her fingers from his, but as they entered the kitchen, he tightened his grip.
"Dinnae be like that. I’m just having a wee bit of fun with you."
She ceased struggling as her delicately shaped brows drew together in disbelief. "That wasn't here earlier."
"What?" He turned to the direction she pointed.
A brass fireplace poker lay dead center on the battered harvest table. On the floor, a series of watery footprints stretched between the back door to the table.
Christ’s sakes. Hillary hadn't just been frightened alone in an old house, there had been someone else here.
But who? And why?