Page 12 of Blackwood

“There was no screaming.” He turned to me again, his eyes barely showing through his waves of dark hair. “I would apologize about this, but I’m not sorry.”

“About wha—” My question turned into a wail as more agony than I thought possible cascaded up my leg, silenced my heart, and drowned my mind in a sea of terror.

Silence.

Birds. Where did all the birds come from? I cracked my eyes open and stared at the lazy turn of the dusty ceiling fan. Each blade passed by slowly, whispering something to the air right next to it, though I couldn’t make out the secrets.

My body ached, my leg sending waves of discomfort along with the steady beat of my heart. The shadows of the prior night danced and skittered across my mind—the woods, the boars, and Garrett Blackwood.

I turned my head to look out the sunny windows.

The cold woods gave off an innocuous air in the morning light, the oranges and golds trying to lull me into a false sense of security. But I remembered the screams. Something was wrong in those trees, and it wasn’t just my father’s death. Whatever claimed his life seemed to be intent on collecting others as well.

I tried to sit up, but the throbbing in my leg advised against it. Instead, I raised up on an elbow and gave my body a once over. I still wore my bra, tank top, and underwear. My pants and other layers had been stripped from me. I rested on top of the covers, my body exposed, my turquoise panties on full display. Embarrassment was overtaken by curiosity as I studied Garrett Blackwood’s handiwork. My left leg was carefully bandaged with white gauze, and my right foot had patches of gauze covering the spots where the boar’s teeth had punctured my skin.

Wincing at the memory, I lay back down and finished my inventory. My hands bore a patchwork of adhesive bandages, and my muscles groaned as I repositioned myself in the bed. I would recover, though I worried about the extensive work he’d done on my left leg. I grabbed my right wrist and felt the slight sting left from the rope. What kind of man ties up an injured person? The rope was gone; he’d cleared away any evidence of my bondage, though the red marks on my wrists left me unsettled.

A board creaked in the hall, and I grabbed a handful of the quilt beneath me and flipped it over my body. Closing my eyes, I feigned sleep.

The door opened, and the air in the room changed, became fuller—charged with the heartbeat and movements of another person.

“I know you’re awake.” The bed sank near my feet.

“Garrett Blackwood?” I opened my eyes and stared at the man who stared right back. His cold eyes told me nothing, not even whether he was friend or foe.

“Why were you on my land?” His scruffy beard spread across his gaunt cheekbones, down his throat, and tickled his Adam’s apple with its dark curls.

“I heard screams. You didn’t hear them?”

“I sure did.” He narrowed his eyes. “Turned out it was some idiot trespassing girl who couldn’t take care of herself.”

“No.” I struggled to sit up, ignoring the fire in my calf. “Before that. I heard her.”

“You didn’t hear anything except your own imagination. And look where that got you.” He extended his long index finger, pointing at my leg.

I shifted farther up the bed, but groaned at the fresh wave of hell that rocketed along my nerve endings.

He scratched his jaw, the sound bristly and rough. “Do I need to tie you up again, Red?”

I stopped moving and glared at him. “My professor will come looking for me. There are others, too. The sheriff—”

“Has already stopped by early this morning after I called him.” He smirked. “He brought your clothes and personal things from the hotel where you’ve been staying.”

“What?”

He pointed to the dresser where my overnight case sat. “He came in here to check on you and everything.”

Color raced into my cheeks, and I swallowed hard. “But I wasn’t wearing any pants.”

His smirk grew bigger, and he let his gaze slide down my body, his eyes lingering on the quilted patch covering my panties. “No, I suppose you weren’t.”

“I have to get out of here.” I scanned the room for my clothes.

He stood and put his hands on his narrow hips, the sun peeking through the triangles created on either side of his body and exaggerating his V-shape. “Not until your leg heals up.”

Now that I’d finally found a clue to my father’s death, I couldn’t waste another moment. “No, I have to go—”

“Let’s get one thing clear.” He stepped closer and glowered down at me. “I don’t want you here. I want nothing to do with you or whatever it is you’re digging for. That’s why I refused to sign your papers.” His glower turned even darker, like a menacing thundercloud. “Remember that?”

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