The Haunting of Brier Rose (27 page)

They hung there, both lost to rapture, barely coherent of time or
place. Then Taylor collapsed on top of her, sighing in exhausted delight.

She tried to think of a way to tell him how he had made her body
sing, but words failed her. And after a moment, she was glad she had kept silent,
for the time they lay quietly together, fused into one being, was more precious
than anything she could have said. She lay back, vaguely aware of the cold tile
beneath her head, and tried to catch her breath.

After a few minutes Taylor rose up on one elbow and looked down
at her. His eyes glistened a deep brown, their usual hard blackness softened by
their newfound intimacy. His hand slid up her torso and caressed her breast. He
kissed the rigid nipple. "That was incredible," he murmured in his
understated way.

"Yes," she replied and looked into his eyes.
"Taylor, whatever happens, I'm glad I lost my virginity to you."

"So am I." He caressed her cheek, pushing back the hair
at her temple.

"And, Taylor?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be possible for you to do it one more time before
I go?"

Taylor smiled down at her. "Brier Rose, I'm your man."

Later, Rose slipped back into her damp nightgown and pattered
down the hall to her bedroom. She could feel a warm flush over her entire
body—the aftereffect of Taylor's lovemaking—and hoped that Bea
wouldn't notice and ask questions. Luckily, Bea was lying on the bed with her
eyes closed, and Rose was able to hurry past to the bathroom and take another
shower. She wished she could have spent the rest of the day in Taylor's arms.
And she hated to wash away the scent of him, as if sloughing off his memory.
But Bea needed her, and they had too much to worry about for her to spend the
day making love.

As she turned on the water, she thought of being in the spray
with Taylor. She would never take another shower without thinking of him. What
a birthday gift he had given to her.

Taylor knocked on the door of her bedroom twenty minutes later.
He had showered again, too, and was dressed in a pair of jeans and a white
shirt that set off the blue highlights in his hair. For an instant they simply
stared at one another, savoring the secret they shared. Rose felt a blush
spread over her skin as he gave her a low smile full of warmth and intimacy.

Though she had seen him many times, she was struck anew by his
good looks whenever he entered a room. She wondered if the reaction would ever
wear off with time. She doubted that it would—and longed for the
opportunity to prove her theory correct.

She had changed into a simple blue cotton smock. She resumed
braiding her wet hair as Taylor walked across the floor toward her.

"How are you doing, Bea?" he asked, looking down at the
older woman.

Bea actually smiled at him. "Much better, Mr.
Wolfe,
thanks to you."

"What happened to you this morning? Who tied you up?"

"Why, that Mr. Bridges—Rose's client!"

"Taylor thinks Mr. Bridges and Seth Bastyr are one and the
same," Rose put in.

Bea glanced from Taylor to Rose and back again. "He
does?"

"Yes."

"Oh my!" Bea fingered the collar of her robe. "Oh
my, that would explain it, then. I thought he had just come to rob us!"

"Rob us of what?"

Bea's hand spread out at the base of her throat. "Of the
emerald."

"What emerald?" Taylor questioned, sitting on the edge
of the mattress to ease the weight off his leg.

"An emerald Rose's mother entrusted to me to keep Rose safe.
We both wear emerald rings as a talisman against the Bastyrs. We don't dare
take them off for fear of becoming overpowered by that awful family."

Taylor glanced at Rose. He had noticed the absence of her ring
yesterday morning. "Why have you taken yours off, then, Rose?"

Rose's gaze darted to her own hand, as if in surprise. Bea sat up
in horror. "Don't tell me you aren't wearing your ring, Rose!"

"I didn't notice it was gone." She held out her hand
and stared at her fingers. "I wear it so much that I rarely think about
it." She frowned. "I don't remember taking it off."

Bea hung her head in defeat. "That's it.
First
Donald's.
Now yours. All they need is mine now."

"Your husband had an emerald, too, Mrs. Jacoby?" Taylor
asked.

"Yes. But when the setting fell out, he became vulnerable
and they killed him."

Taylor saw Rose's head rise in surprise, as if she hadn't known.

"The Bastyrs killed your husband?" Taylor went on,
trying to get more information to use against Seth.

"Yes."

"But I thought he died of a heart attack or something,"
Rose countered, her face blanching. "Natural causes."

"No, Rose. Didn't you notice that the plants all around him
were withered and dried up, as if something had sucked the life out of
them?"

Rose ran her fingers through her hair. "Yes. But what could
have done that?"

"Seth could have." She set her jaw in determination.
"He killed my son and my husband. I'll die before he gets to you."

"But what about my mother's emerald, the big one?"

"He's got it, as well. That's what I've been trying to tell
you, Rose. Seth Bastyr came into my room last night, and I thought he was Mr.
Bridges."

"What did he do?" Taylor asked.

"He asked me for the emerald. When I refused to give it to
him, he told me I'd be sorry. Then he tied me up and said he'd take it himself.
He seemed to know right where to look for it."

Rose rubbed the bare finger of her hand where the ring should
have been. Seth had read her mind during the night and then had gone to Bea's
room to steal the stone. Once again she was reminded that the danger Bea had
been subjected to was the result of her own bullheaded foolishness. She put a
knuckle to her lip and knew what she had to do.

She could hear Bea and Taylor still talking, but they sounded as
if they were far away.

"Why didn't Seth just kill you?" he asked.

"He couldn't, not when I was wearing the emerald ring. But
he probably thought I'd die in the fire."

Rose swallowed and stood up. There could be no more death, no
more killing. It was time for her to leave Brierwood, time to make her run for
the carriage house.

Rose’s only obstacle was Taylor's concern for her safety. She would
have to invent an excuse to get away from him. Rose brushed out the wrinkles of
her dress and adopted a casual tone. "Since you're here, Taylor, would you
stay with Bea for a minute? I need to get something from the kitchen."

"I don't want you going off by yourself."

"Bea really shouldn't be left alone yet. Besides, I'll only
be a moment."

He surveyed her. "I don't think it's safe, Rose."

"You said yourself that Seth is a vampire. If he is, he
won't be out and about in the daylight. I'll be perfectly safe."

"A vampire?" Bea screeched in surprise. "What are
you talking about?"

"Why don't you fill her in on your theory, Taylor, while I
go downstairs?"

"Mrs. Jacoby might not want me to stay with her—"

"I don't mind." Bea pushed up her glasses. "I misjudged
you, Mr. Wolfe, thinking you were a Bastyr, and for that I'm sorry. I was just
so afraid for Rose, you understand."

"I understand, Mrs. Jacoby. Seth Bastyr is a dangerous
man."

"I'd like to hear more of your theory about him." Bea
glanced at Rose. "But I still don't think you should be going off alone,
Rose."

"I'll come right back. I need to get some medicine."
She hurried to the door.

"Then hurry right back, dear."

"I will," Rose lied, knowing that she wouldn't see Bea
or Taylor again. She wished she could look at both of them one last time, to
imprint their images on her mind, but she couldn't allow herself the luxury of
a final gaze for fear that one of than might question her behavior.

She slipped out of the room and down to the kitchen to get the
car keys, which Bea kept on a rack by the pantry door. Edgar soared through the
doorway and landed on the back of a kitchen chair.

"No, Edgar," she said, slipping the keys into the
pocket of her dress. "You can't come this time. Not where I'm going."

A tear slipped down her cheek as she crossed the floor to him.
She knelt on the floor beside the chair and reached out to stroke his back.

"Dear Edgar," she crooned. "I'll miss you."

He gazed at her sideways, in his peculiar fashion, and angled his
head, reminding her of the way Taylor tilted his head when he studied her.
Tears streaked down her cheeks as she thought of Taylor. She wished she could
have embraced him one last time and told him how much she would miss him, how
much she had come to love him.

"I've got to leave you all here," she whispered,
scratching Edgar's head. His eyes closed in hedonistic appreciation, as if he
were heedless of her trouble. "It's the only thing I can do." His
form shimmered through her tears. "I've got to face my problem
alone."

He half opened a lid and looked at her.

"Be good, Edgar, my friend," she murmured. Then she
slowly got up and heaved a sigh. Nothing stood in her way now. She would open
the back door and run for the carriage house. Grimly, she wiped away her
tears with the backs of her hands while she walked to the utility room near the
rear entry. She got her running shoes, pulled them on and laced them, trying
not to think about what lay ahead. Then she padded to the back door and looked
out. The garden stretched outward, bathed in morning sunshine, with dew
twinkling on the leaf tips of the rhododendrons, and the faces of the poppies
and lilies opening to the brilliant blue June sky. The fir trees beyond the
sundial stood unmoving, their dark green branches tipped with new buds. Nothing
disturbed the peaceful green of the garden, and it was hard to imagine that
anything evil at all existed at Brierwood.

But Rose knew the truth. Beneath the flowers and the sunshine of
Brierwood was a network of secrets and debauchery, a network as finely woven
and deadly as a spider-web. And she was the hapless fly.

She unlatched the door and warily poked out her head to glance
down both sides of the house. The overturned patio furniture reminded her of
their narrow escape from the dogs earlier that morning, and a shudder coursed
through her. Carefully, she surveyed the few shadows at the edge of the
foundation plants and along the herb-garden wall. The Rottweilers were nowhere
in sight. She listened intently for the sound of their panting or their strange
chant of
Roselyn, Roselyn,
Roselyn
.

No noise broke the stillness of the garden, not even the song of
a bird.

Senses straining for the slightest sound or movement, Rose
ventured out to the patio and silently closed the door behind her. She had a
nearly overwhelming urge to leave the door ajar, but she was afraid that,
should the dogs attack, they would get into the house and endanger Bea and Taylor.
She couldn't allow her fate to jeopardize the others any longer.

The carriage house was about a hundred feet from the main house,
accessible by both the drive in front and a walkway from the patio in back. All
she had to do was run along the path between two buildings and unlock the side
door of the carriage house. A hundred feet wasn't a great distance, especially
for a healthy young person. Yet her heart pounded as if a thousand-foot chasm
stretched between her and the outbuilding, and she had to run across a felled
log to reach the other side.

Glancing right and left again to make sure the dogs weren't
around, Rose stepped onto the narrow cement pathway bounded by lavender
impatiens. The moment her tennis shoe came in contact with the walk, she heard
a familiar, dreaded snarl.

Roselyn, Roselyn, Roselyn.

For a moment she stood poised in midair, undecided what to do. If
she turned back, she would be sentencing Taylor and Bea to certain death. If
she ran for the carriage house, the dogs would rip her to shreds.

"No!" she cried, unwilling to choose and angry that she
had to make a choice at all.

The dogs bolted around the carriage house, heading right for her,
as if they knew her plan of escape. The instant she saw them charging at her,
Rose whirled around and fled back to the house, skittering across the flagstones
of the patio, and flinging herself toward the door.

She pulled it open just as the Rottweilers scrambled around the
toppled wrought-iron chairs. Only a few strides ahead of them, she dashed into
the house and slammed the door behind her. Once again, as soon as she returned
to the house, she heard no more of the dogs. She slumped against the wall.

She had failed. In the split second when she had been forced to
choose between life and death, she had chosen her own life over those of Bea
and Taylor. How could she be so weak, so selfish? Damning herself for being a
coward, Rose backed into the hall, never taking her eyes off the door. Behind
her, she heard Taylor thundering down the stairs.

"Rose!" he called. "Rose!"

"I'm here," she answered, anguish hanging in her voice.

Taylor
tRotted
down the hall, using his
cane to aid his injured leg. "What happened?"

"The dogs!" she replied. "They came back."

"You didn't try to go out, did you?" He took her shoulders.

Rose hung her head. "I tried to get away, to see if Seth
would go with me and leave Brierwood alone."

"Rose—"

"But it's like the dogs can read my mind, Taylor." She
looked up in distress at him. "It's as if they knew what I was going to
do!"

"Read your mind? How?"

"I don't know. Last night Seth read my mind about Bea's
emerald. That's how he knew where to find it. The dogs must be connected to him
like that, too."