Secret Sanctuary Part 7

"There isn't."

"No?" His gaze slipped over her. "Then why are you trembling. Elizabeth?"

SURROUNDED by a low stone wall, Elizabeth's cottagea"one of several residences granted by the college for some of the faculty membersa"was almost hidden from view by a thick stand of oak and maple trees that provided thick shade in the summer and a dazzling display of color in autumn. In the winter, however, the trees looked skeletal, desolate and not a little eerie with mist curling like smoke around their bases.

The house was small, a one-bedroom with a steeply pitched gable roof and diamond-paned cas.e.m.e.nt windows that were in perfect keeping with the local architecture. The only access was by cobblestone walkways that connected the residential area to the rest of the campus. A faculty parking lot was provided nearby, and as Cullen pulled into a s.p.a.ce, Elizabeth was surprised when he shut off the engine. She'd been certain he would let her out as quickly as possible.

He opened the door, and a wintry blast gusted through the car. "I'll see you home."

"You don't have to do that." Elizabeth was suddenly nervous. "It's not far, and the campus is perfectly safe."

But was it? Bethany Peters had been a student at Heathrow, and although her body hadn'1 been found on campus, they didn't yet know where she'd been killed. Or who her murderer was. Or if, in fact, there might be some connection to the college.

Elizabeth had always felt safe behind those lichen-covered walls, but now she realized that the elaborate security precautions were hardly more than an illusion. If someone wanted in badly enough, the walls could be scaled. The gate could be short-circuited. The guard could be fooled.

The murderer could even be someone who lived behind those walls....

Cullen came around and opened her door, reaching out a hand to help her from the car. If he noticed how badly her hand shook, he said nothing.

Climbing out of the car. Elizabeth patted down the folds of her heavy cloak and the swirling hoops of her skirt. "I don't know how women used to manage," she muttered, trying to alleviate the fear that had suddenly gripped her.

"That is some outfit," he agreed.

For a moment, their gazes met. and in the light from a street lamp. Elizabeth saw amus.e.m.e.nt spark in Cullen's dark gaze. Amus.e.m.e.nt...and something else. Or was that, too, her imagination?

A tremor slowly rolled along her nerve endings.

"This way," she said breathlessly and started down the walkway to her home.

The campus slumbered unaware. In the distance, an occasional light glinted from a dorm window where an unfortunate student was having to pull an all-nighter. Or more likely, where a late-night drinking party and gabfest was taking place. In a little while, Bethany's room would be roped off with police tape, and word of her murder would be all over school. Elizabeth could already feel a funereal pall settling over the campus.

She turned up her walkway, pausing at her front door. "Well, this is it." She stared up at Cullen. "Thanks for walking me home."

"I'll see you inside."

Elizabeth's heart gave a funny little trip. Alone with Cullen in the close confines of her house? How was she going to handle that? What was she going to say to him?

She had a feeling small talk wasn't going to be a problem. Undoubtedly, the only reason he lingered was to lecture her again.

I'm warning you, Elizabeth.

I'm losing my patience with you, Elizabeth.

Don't go playing Nancy Drew with my case, Elizabeth.

Bracing herself for his complaints, she unlocked her door and walked inside. She'd left a lamp burning earlier, and now, after such a night, her diminutive living quarters were even more of a welcome sight than usual. She closed the door behind Cullen, then turned, surveying the room with a quick, critical sweep, wondering what he would see, what he would think of her home. What it might reveal, inadvertently, about herself.

The area was crowded with furniturea"refinished antiques, tall bookcases, deep tufted sofas and chairs where she could curl up in front of the stone fireplace at night or on a rainy day and read a good book. The floors were maple, stained a golden hue that was a welcome contrast to the darker, heavier pieces of furniture.

On the walls, she'd mounted old photographs and newspaper articles collected from area flea markets and antique shops which provided a rich cornucopia of the town's history dating back over two hundred years. The earlier annals of Moriah's Landing, including the witch trials of the late 1600s, were retold in dozens of leather-bound tomes she kept under lock and keya"along with some of her other prized volumesa"in an old scarred armoire in the bedroom.

She turned expectantly to Cullen.

"It's chilly in here," he said with a frown. "Do you want me to start you a fire?"

Did she want him to start her a fire?

She'd wanted that for a very long time.

"Yes, thank you." she murmured. "I'll make some tea."

Hurrying into the tiny kitchen. Elizabeth leaned against the doorframe for a moment as she tried to catch her breath. She'd been dreaming of this moment for years. She finally had Cullen Ryan alone in her home. She was making tea while he built a fire. It all seemed so cozy. So...domestic. Perhaps they could snuggle up in front of the flames and sip their tea, and then latera"

"Elizabeth? Better make that tea quick. I can't stay long. I have to get back."

The romantic record on Elizabeth's imaginary phonograph scratched to a halt.

So much for later, she thought as she put the kettle on the stove.

While she waited for the water to boil, she slipped out of her cloak, and using the tiny washroom off the kitchen, tried to tidy her hair. She'd had it styled that afternoon at Chops, the best salon in town, but the elaborate updo had come loose in places, and tendrils fell about her shoulders in hopeless disarray. Nothing short of brushing the whole thing out completely would help, but Elizabeth didn't have time for that. She removed a few hairpins, gave her head a good toss, and then shrugged. That was the best she could do.

Arranging cups and a teapot on a tray, she carried everything into the living room and placed them on a low table near the fireplace where a blaze crackled and hissed pleasantly in the silence.

Cullen, studying some of the photographs she'd exhibited on the walls, didn't turn immediately when she came in.

Elizabeth bent over the tray to pour the tea. "How do you take your tea?"

When he didn't answer, she glanced up, thinking perhaps he hadn't heard her. But his attention was riveted on her. Or rather, on her chest.

Elizabeth glanced down and almost gasped. Somehow the WonderBra had shifted during the evening's activities, and now instead of pushing her together and up, it was pushing her together, up and out. She looked as if she were about to pop over the daring neckline of her dress, and Elizabeth had never popped over anything.

Her face went red-hot.

Her first instinct was to adjust the bra or tug on her neckline. Instead she straightened, trying to act cavalierly about the whole affair. But then she caught a glimpse of herself in a wall mirror behind Culle,. and she was even more shocked by the amount of cleavage she'd put on display. Had her chest been that prominent all evening? No one else had seemed to notice.

But Cullen was sure noticing. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze from her decolletage, and, in her nervousness, Elizabeth drew a deep breath, which only accentuated the problem.

Slowly, Cullen looked up. Something glinted in his eyes, something warm and dark. Something that made Elizabeth's stomach tremble and her knees go weak.

"Tea?" Her voice came out hardly more than a croak. Cullen seemed startled by the sound of it. Or at least, something had jolted him.

He gazed at her as if he didn't quite comprehend. "What? Oh. tea. No. Sorry. I'd better pa.s.s. I need to get back...." He was backing toward the front door, all but stumbling in his haste.

Elizabeth started toward him. "Are you sure?"

He put up a hand. "Yes. Very sure." He b.u.mped into a chair. "It's late and you need to get some breasta"rest." He opened the door and retreated outside. "Good night, Elizabeth."

"Good night, Cullen."

She watched him stride down the walkway toward the parking lot. Once he was out of sight. Elizabeth turned and leaned against the door, hugging her middle.

And then she smiled.

She couldn't believe it! She'd actually made him nervous! She! Geeky little Elizabeth Douglas. Who would have thought?

Who would have thought that with all her years of studying, all her degrees, all her brain power, what she'd really needed to get Cullen Ryan's attention was a good push-up bra?

Chapter Seven.

In spite of an almost sleepless night, Elizabeth rose early the next morning, showered, dressed and downed a bagel and two cups of coffee before leaving to meet Lucian LeCroix at the library.

The sun was shining when she walked outside, but the temperature had dropped during the early morning hours and a sharp wind blew out of the northeast. Icicles suspended from barren tree limbs glinted like diamonds in the early-morning light, but the effect was more depressing than beautiful to Elizabeth. The cold reminded her of death, and death reminded her of Bethany's murder and the fact that her killer was still out there somewhere, perhaps even now searching for his next victim.

As she hurried along, Elizabeth resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. It was broad daylight, but the campus was almost deserted. She met only a handful of students on the walkway, their heads bowed against the biting wind. As Elizabeth neared the library, two girls from one of her cla.s.ses recognized her and called out a greeting. Another waved from a ten-speed as she pedaled by, her breath steaming like a racehorse's in the cold.

In all likelihood, the students Elizabeth encountered were only a year or two younger than she. Some of them might even have been older, but their faces all looked so fresh and earnest. So innocent.

Had they heard about Bethany?

Even for those girls who didn't know her personally, news of her death would still come as a shock. A stunned disbelief would descend over the campus, and then, as details of the murder trickled out, imaginations would be fueled. Rumors would spread like wildfire. Human nature being what it was, the more grisly aspects of Bethany's death would eventually enthrall as much as they would terrify.

Elizabeth thought about Bethany lying in the cooler, her skin tinted that awful bluish-gray death hue. her eyes open and staring, but not seeing as she waited for the pathologist's scalpels and saws. Just a few short days ago she'd been like the other girls at Heathrow. Young, vibrant, her whole life ahead of her. Now that life had been cut short, snuffed out by a brutal killer driven by pa.s.sions so dark and hideous that no one but he could fathom them.

Pa.s.sions that would have to be sated time and time again.

She was guessing at the killer's motives, of course, and she could be wrong. Elizabeth hoped she was wrong. She prayed that Bethany's murder, as tragic as it would still be, had been committed by a crazed boyfriend. A jilted lover. A jealous rival. Anything but what Elizabeth feared most.

She remembered what Cullen had told her last night. One murder doesn't make a serial killer.... Besides, twenty years is a long time for a predator to remain active.

Not if he was smart.

Not if his bloodl.u.s.t was matched by his brilliance, by a cleverness and skill that never let him lose control completely. That never allowed him to become reckless.

Most serial killers considered themselves superior and invincible, but supposing this killer really was? What if they were dealing with an extraordinary mind, one that had been carefully cultivated and nurtured until nothing remained but pure cunning? Pure evil?

She gazed into the distance, not seeing David Bry-son's castle, but knowing it was there. Knowing he was inside, stalking those dark halls like an animal trapped in a cage.

Could the townspeople be right? Had he killed those women twenty years ago?

A young man at the time, he'd been brought in for questioning, but nothing had ever been proven. And now he had enough money to protect himself. He was even a benefactor of this very college.

But supposing he had killed those women. Supposing he had somehow managed to keep those dark urges under control all these years until something had once again unleashed the beast in him.

Elizabeth shivered again as she pulled her coat more tightly around her even though she knew it wouldn't help. She'd dressed warmly for her outing with Lucian LeCroix, but her chill came not from the day, but from within.

A deep, impenetrable shadow had crept over her soul, and no warmth or light would be allowed in until Bethany Peters's murderer was found.

LUCIAN WAITED for her outside the library. Dressed elegantly for a Sat.u.r.day morning in dark slacks and an expensive, tailored overcoat, he stood near the bottom of the steps, his gaze scanning the campus.

Elizabeth wondered what he would think of the faded jeans and scruffy ski jacket she'd donned for the occasion. Her concern had been directed more at the weather than at appearances, obviously, and in that vein, she'd twisted her hair into a loose bun at the back of her neck and pulled a red stocking cap over her ears. She barely resembled the woman he'd met at the ball last evening, and she wasn't at all certain he would remember her.

But he smiled when she approached, and she saw at once that even without the intriguing mask he'd worn last night, there was still an air of mystery about the man.

It was his eyes, she decided. So dark a brown they almost appeared black, and with a kind of simmering intelligence that made one wonder what he was thinking.

Yes, those eyes were definitely the source of his mystery. And a great deal of his attraction, but not all. He was an extremely handsome man, with an angular face highlighted by glossy jet-black hair which he'd combed straight back. He was only about five-ten or so, but he had that look of intense virility, in spite of his sophistication, that made him seem all male.

"h.e.l.lo," he said, his voice velvety smooth even in the cold.

Elizabeth held up a gloved hand. "h.e.l.lo. I'm not late, am I?"

"Right on time." He came down a step or two to join her at the bottom. "I wasn't sure you'd show up at all, though."

"Why not?"

"Because of what happened last night." A shadow moved in his dark eyes. "I heard you were the one who found the body."

"Who told you that?"

He shrugged. "Once the police arrived, word spread quickly among the guests."

"I'm sure it did." Elizabeth gazed out over the frozen campus, thinking again about Bethany. Seeing her body swaying overheada"

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She drew a breath. "No, I was just...remembering."

His voice lowered with compa.s.sion. "It must have been a horrible shock, finding her like that." He paused. "They said there wasn't a mark on her body. How do the police know it was murder? Couldn't it have been suicide?"

"There were...other indications." Elizabeth said, not wishing to elaborate. "It was obvious she was dead before she was hanged."

"I guess that would suggest foul play," he agreed.

Elizabeth tried to shrug off the gloom. "I don't want to talk about any of that today. It's a beautiful morning. The sun's shining...." Murder suddenly seemed a long way off. Evil seemed on holiday. "Let's just get on with the tour, shall we?"

His gaze slipped over her. If he found her appearance lacking, he hid his disapproval admirably. In facta"

No. She had to be mistaken about that glint in his eyes. First Cullen. and now Lucian LeCroix? It was too much to think, certainly too much to hope, that two such great-looking mena"albeit very different onesa"could show even a crumb of interest in her.

But Elizabeth could have sworn she'd seen that same glint in Cullen's gray eyes last night, a hint of something that she very much wanted to believe was attraction. After all these years, he'd finally looked at her as she imagined a man would look at a woman he wanted, as she'd dreamed for a long time that Cullen would gaze at her.