Kane

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Regina Dalton snapped awake the instant the coffin lid closed.

Darkness pressed around her like a smothering blanket. Not a sliver of light penetrated. The dense air smelled of old dust and ancient velvet. The side walls seemed to contract, so she was supremely aware of her left shoulder wedged against padded wood while her right nestled beneath unyielding solid flesh and bone.

Warm flesh and bone.

Horror exploded in her mind. She gasped and jerked up her free hand. It came in contact with cloth-covered wood that was heavy, immovable.

She was imprisoned in the antique coffin she had seen, only moments before, in the front parlor of the old Louisiana mansion. Set in incongruous display on a base skirted with wine red velvet, its polished walnut surfaces and ancient brass fittings had gleamed in the warm summer sunlight falling through tall windows. She had been fascinated by it, drawn to it.

Now she was locked inside. And she wasn’t alone.

“Surprise, honey.”

The deep, purring voice, the brush of warm breath against her temple, sent a shiver along her nerves. Relief and dread clashed in her mind. The man who lay pressed against her was alive. It seemed, however, that he might have a direct connection with how she’d come to be in the coffin.

“Who—” she began, then stopped abruptly as her teeth came together with a distinct chatter.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” the man answered. “Who you are is what’s important. That, and just what you’re doing at Hallowed Ground.”

Hallowed Ground was the name Mr. Crompton had given the old, white-columned mansion as he’d welcomed her at the door. It had seemed perfectly appropriate for a house that had been both funeral home and family dwelling for years.

Regina remembered, with the haziness of a dream, being left alone for a few minutes in the sitting room where Lewis Crompton, her host and owner of the old house had received her. The graceful proportions of the room and its air of abiding comfort had fascinated her, as did anything antique. She’d got to her feet and wandered here and there, looking at the faded yet lovely prints on the walls and the pieces of interesting bric-a-brac on every flat surface.

At the crack between heavy sliding doors leading into the next room, she’d paused to peek inside. The coffin had caught her attention as it sat on display, surrounded by a brocatelle-covered parlor set and tables where wax flowers and mourning ornaments made of human hair were protected by bells of glass. Intent on the oddity of it, she’d opened the doors a bit more and stepped inside.

Something had charged between her feet, she thought. She’d tried to sidestep. The fat, furry creature had squalled. Regina had stumbled, started to fall. There’d been a sudden flare of pain at her right temple, then gray, star-lit dimness closed in on her.

“I asked you a question,” the man said, his voice hardening.

“Business. I’m here on business.” The words came with difficulty from her tight throat. She felt as if she were suffocating, unable to get enough air into her lungs.

“What business would that be?”

“I don’t see how it concerns you. Whoever you are.” He definitely was not Lewis Crompton. This man was younger, a stranger.

“I’m making it my concern.”

She couldn’t think for the angry desperation rising inside her. A part of it was the close confinement, something she hadn’t been able to stand for years. The rest was the trapped position in which she was being held, welded against this man from shoulder to ankle, almost beneath him as he lay on his side. She was overwhelmingly aware of his superior strength and weight, of his clean scent of starched cotton, citrus aftershave, and overheated male. Her breathing was also constricted by the muscled arm across her chest.

“Well?” The question was rough and dangerously impatient.

She said hastily, “I—I came to see Mr. Crompton.”

“Mr. Crompton is an elderly man, one too nice for his own good and too easily taken in by a beautiful woman. I’m none of those things.”

He was trying to intimidate her. That recognition brought a flash of defiant scorn. “Good for you! But since I’m not trying to take in anybody, you can let me out of here right now.”

“Not likely.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

“There are things I want to know. It seems a good way to find out.”

She moistened her lips as she searched her mind for some way to gain her freedom. “Where is Mr. Crompton?”

“I wouldn’t count on him coming to your rescue. He’ll be a while.”

“You’re the reason he was called away in the middle of our discussion, aren’t you?”

“Is that what you were doing, discussing things?” He shifted his arm slightly where it was centered between her breasts, directly above her pounding heart.