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Book One: SECRETS OF LOCKE RIDGE
ZOE'S RETURN
By
Patricia Oshier Bruening
© copyright by Patricia Oshier Bruening, April 2009
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, April 2009
ISBN 978-1-60394-294-2
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Prologue
Thirty Years Ago
“It is said that dead men tell no tales,but the ancient writings tell of those who raise the dead, who compel corpses to speak of the future. A warning; beware what you ask, you may not like the answer.”
Clinging to the massive tree trunk, gasping for breath after running full speed through the wild overgrown forest, she stared down into a small clearing scattered with a few old grave markers. She straddled the thick tree branch, feet dangling well above the ground. Her eight-year-old mind, dazed with stark terror, could not grasp the meaning of the unfolding horror that pursued her.
“Find her!”
“Get her!”
Harsh shouts of rage assaulted her ears. Rapid pounding footsteps came closer as she hugged the tree despite the burning pain between her legs. She swallowed back sob after sob until her throat ached with the powerful urge to cry out loud. Tears streamed from her eyes, streaking her dirty face.
She clamped her mouth shut, teeth biting into her tongue in an effort to remain silent. Eyes squeezed tight shut, she pressed harder against the tree trunk, rough bark digging into her young flesh.
Oh, please, oh, please, she begged, clinging to the tree . Her hands and arms ached like fire from her unrelenting hold on the tree. Don’t let me fall, don’t let me fall!
All noise finally stopped. The forest fell into an unnatural silence. Only the rapid beat of her heart reached her straining ears. It echoed in her mind, an eerie endless beat in the dark behind her eyelids.
A rustle in the underbrush drew a startled gasp from her. Her eyes snapped open and she stared down into the clearing. Dark shadows in the forest, scattered around the weathered grave markers, shifted in the slight breeze. The noise stopped and started again as several people moved into the small graveyard.
Though bathed in moonlight, the figures could barely be distinguished from other shadows. Low, incomprehensible voices drifted in the air. Four figures carried four small boxes and four arrows. Cat noises emanated from the boxes, feral growls and snarls of creatures hating their captivity. Another figure led a goat into the clearing.
Terrified yet fascinated, she could not look away. She stared at the strange group as it stopped directly under her. People moved around, talking in voices so low only a hum wafted up to her.
After putting everything on the ground, several people spread something slimy all over the nearest grave. Its marker leaned to one side like a drunk struggling to stay on his feet. A horrible smell rose into the night. Her stomach lurched under a wave of nausea but she didn’t dare throw up.
As she watched, two black robed figures sprinkled something over the layer of slime. They all converged into a thick knot of people so she didn’t see what they did next. When they spread out again, taking places around the grave, a body lay in the middle of their circle. Someone held a lit candle that looked black. Another held the rope attached to the goat and a long knife.
Mesmerized by this unfolding horror, she could only watch. Several smaller candles flared as their owners applied fire to the wicks. Flames wavered in the breeze, throwing eerie shadows over the ground. Four people removed the cats from the boxes, eliciting pitiful mewing noises tinged with terror.
She tightened her grip on the tree, terrified beyond her capacity to understand. They lifted the arrows and stabbed them into the cats with short vicious jabs. Pained cat howls split the air. Blood pooled on the ground from the dying creatures. A horrified scream burst from her throat, shattering the night. Her hands lost their grip on the tree. The ground rushed in a blur toward her. Her piercing scream blasted her ears. Pain exploded in her head and oblivion saved her from the terrors of the night.
Present Day, 2008
Zoe's eyes snapped open and she froze, every muscle rigid. Blood roared in her ears, the only other sound in the pitch-dark bedroom besides the wild pounding of her heart. Drenched in the sweat of fear, she shivered in the draft of cool air from the air conditioner vent directly over her bed. Her fingers tightened in a death grip around the sheet, tangled thick around her waist, between her legs, and around one knee. It effectively trapped her in bed, pinning her to the damp mattress. She sweated as though in the grip of a high fever, but that nightmare did not come from illness. She swallowed hard, her throat parchment dry, and released her grip on the sheet.
Fingers trembling, she fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand, found the switch at its base, and flipped it. Soft light spilled over the bed, bathing her in its glow. Huddled in that welcome circle of light, Zoe carefully disentangled her body from the sheet and dragged it as well as the heavy quilt over her shaking body. The quilt, patterned in strange interconnecting geometric symbols, inherited from her mother, wrapped her in warmth.
She curled on her side, drew knees to chest, and stared into the depths of the bedroom. Beyond the circle of light, the rest of the room held shadows, but nothing menaced her. She waited, her heart gradually slowing its hard, pounding rhythm. He would come. He always came after the nightmares. Only Dominic kept terror at bay, kept her sane.
Minutes later, his warm presence wrapped her in comfort. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t touch him, but his arms slid around her and heat enveloped her, chasing away the last cold shivers. A sigh escaped her as she snuggled deeper under the bed covers, surrounded by him, her own guardian angel, it seemed. Body and mind relaxed until she drifted on the fine line between asleep and awake.
You know it’s time, Zoe. Dominic’s low resonant voice slipped into her hazy mind. Time to come home.
Home, she thought, snuggling deeper in the sense of security Dominic brought to her.
Yes, but you won’t be alone. I’m waiting for you. Come home.
To Locke Ridge, she mused, far too drowsy and too deep in his presence to be afraid, to protest. To Locke Ridge. And the terrors waiting there.
Chapter One
Zoe looked around the huge, brightly-lit ballroom, the glaring lights so powerful no shadows lurked, even in corners. She let out a relieved breath. No shadows meant no sneaky tendrils of terror snaking over her, but Hollywood parties bored her. The champagne flowed freely, and so did the drugs. Zoe steered clear of both in the most secluded corner available, longing with every fiber of her being for a plain old beer. As her idle gaze drifted, her writer’s mind described the scene and committed it to memory for later use.
Floor to ceiling windows, curtains wide open, looked out on a calm lake reflecting the millions of stars in the inky black sky. Across from the windows, floor to ceiling mirrors reflected the scene and the numerous celebrities taking advantage of free champagne, free food, and endless society photo opportunities.
Actors, actresses, producers, directors—a myriad group of people involved in film production and the celebrity jet set strolled, chatted, laughed, mingled and occasionally disappeared into other rooms. They returned moments later, more animated than before.
Ready to sneak out, Zoe let out a huff of breath and looked for the nearest door. Her gaze slid over him and jerked to a halt. Champagne in hand, he stood in a group yet seemed apart from them. His dark eyes roamed the ballroom, darting from place to place, person to person, seldom pausing to take in the party.
Easily six feet two inches tall, he carried about two hundred pounds of solid muscle on that sexy frame. Darkly tanned, he wore black jeans, a black dinner jacket over a white shirt, and a black tie. He radiated self-confidence that bordered on arrogance. Hair the color of the dark chocolate bars she loved as a child fell to his collar in back. It curled over and around his ears, flopped in disarray across his forehead. She knew from close-up pictures that his eyes were hazel though they appeared dark brown from across the room. His bland expression indicated he might be as bored with the party as she was.
His gaze shifted yet again and stopped on her. Zoe sucked in a sharp breath. He caught and held her stare as relentlessly as a cop collars a criminal. Awareness fluttered in her stomach and her pulse scrambled. She couldn’t look away. Her heart skipped a beat. He turned the clichéd phrase tall, dark, and dangerous into fact. Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his predatory stare.
Of course, she recognized him. He had played the lead in the movie she just watched, the movie made from her first published science-fiction novel. She had seen him on the sets as she followed the progress of filming and production. To her surprise, the producer and the director valued her opinion. Hillary St. George, the producer, insisted on maintaining the integrity of the story even though it meant turning the film into an eight-hour miniseries.
However, Zoe never actually spoke to the man who brought her fictional hero to life. She had enjoyed many of his movies before Hillary convinced him to join the cast. Now, Kevin Reed stared across the room at her like she was a buffet of his favorite desserts and he wanted a bite, or several. Her knees went weak and she braced herself against the wall behind her. Her stomach fluttered like a schoolgirl meeting her favorite star. Stop staring, she ordered, but still couldn’t drag her gaze from him.
Those hungry eyes held her captive as he moved away from the group. Zoe gaped as he came toward her. Her spine tingled and every nerve in her body popped and sizzled under her skin. Every sense flared to life and her stomach did a slow roll of sensual awareness. She neither wanted nor welcomed sensations she had not experienced in years. As he moved closer, strides full of energy and purpose, Zoe stumbled away from the wall in the general direction of the nearest door.
“There you are, Zoe.” Hillary materialized beside her, taking her arm in a firm grip. Bent on escape, Zoe blinked and halted. She looked into blue eyes sparkling with amusement and drew in a deep breath. Should have gone back to the hotel after the movie, she thought on a sigh of resignation.
“Hi, Hillary.” Breathless, aware of Kevin Reed approaching behind her, she tried to escape Hillary’s hold. “I need to go.”
“Go where?” Hillary cocked an eyebrow. “The party is just getting started.”
Zoe shook her head and murmured, “Not my kind of thing.”
Hillary wouldn’t release her. Sensing the object of her intense attraction right behind her, Zoe squirmed and refused to look at him.
“Hey, Kevin.” Hillary greeted him, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Like the movie?”
“Turned out well,” he conceded.
That deep voice stroked her senses, sharp tingles zipping down her spine. Zoe fought the urge to flee. It would do her no good.
“You know Zoe Adams. She wrote the book,” Hillary continued, eyes gleaming as she applied gentle but firm pressure to Zoe's arm.
Her stomach lurched as Zoe turned slightly to face the man who spiked her blood pressure.
“Not formally,” he murmured as his stark gaze caught hers once more.
Hillary grinned. “Zoe Adams, Kevin Reed.”
“Nice to meet you.” The gleam of amusement in his eyes belied his formal tone as he offered his hand.
Peeved at the interruption of her escape, Zoe hesitated. I know who you are. I don’t need an introduction, she grumbled to herself.
Something flickered in his eyes and quickly vanished, to be replaced by a glint of challenge. Suppressing an annoyed sigh, and an urge to be rude, she carefully placed her hand in his for a firm but quick handshake. His fingers closed around hers, rough and warm. Electricity sparked between them, jolting her into higher awareness of his sheer male presence. She tried to pull her hand free, but he tightened his grip. The flash of heat shot straight through her. She jerked her gaze from the purely sexual interest in his eyes and tugged at her hand. He released her slowly, fingers sliding over hers in a spine-tingling caress. Everything feminine in her protested the loss of contact.
She clasped her hands behind her back, but her skin tingled as his steady gaze slid over her slender figure. His eyes met hers again and her face flamed at what he must think of her lack of sophistication. Glamour had never been her thing. The black jeans and red T-shirt allowed her a measure of comfort even if she looked like the poor relation next to Hillary, nor did she see a reason to dress like a rich bitch supermodel just to watch a movie. Her wallet bulged in her back pocket and as she took a step back, her keys jangled on her belt loop.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled and, craving solitude in the midst of the bright crowd bolted for the nearest door.
Tempted to follow her, Kevin watched Zoe flee. Unsettled by that spark of heat from their brief contact, he shoved his hand into his jeans pocket. Drawn to her from the first day she appeared on the set, he watched and noted everything about her. He would have approached her then, like any woman who attracted him, but something about her put him off, made him hesitate. At the same time, she intrigued him. She eyed him with interest when she thought he didn’t notice and quickly glanced away when he caught her.
“Well, well.” Hillary chuckled. “Zoe's not the only one pole-axed here.”
“What?” Kevin demanded, his attention jerked back to Hillary.
“You two are like a couple of teenagers,” she stated in mock disgust. A gleam of laughter lit her eyes. “Tiptoeing around each other.” She landed a playful smack on his arm. “Go after her before she escapes.”
“Butt out, Hillary,” Kevin muttered. “You don’t know…”
“I know you’re attracted to her,” Hillary insisted. “She’s just as attracted to you. Do something. Sheesh, you moon around like a starstruck fan.”
Temper flared and Kevin glared at his friend. “That’s enough. It’s not that simple.” Though it should be, he thought, so why isn’t it?
He turned and stalked out of the glitz and glamour of the ballroom. As he neared the door, a large male hand settled on his shoulder.
“Hi, Kevin. Was that Zoe Adams I just saw run out of here?” a familiar voice asked.
Hand on the doorknob, Kevin turned his head to look into Michael Masterson’s sparkling emerald eyes. They glinted with the same mischief as Hillary’s.
“Yeah,” he replied, cautious and skeptical.
“’Bout time you went after her.”
Scowling, he opened the door, stepped onto the terrace, pulled the door shut, and found her. His heart skipped a beat and his cock hardened as it always did at the sight of Zoe. Jeans that fit like a second skin drew his eyes to the gentle curves of her ass. Her loose-fitting red T-shirt fluttered in the slight breeze off the water. The long thick ponytail she always sported hung between her shoulder blades. Hands in her pockets, she stared in silence at the small lake.
She didn’t have to turn around for him to imagine her brilliant dark sapphire eyes behind brown plastic framed glasses. He squelched the urge to remove those glasses, remove the barrier, and drown in her incredible deep blue, need-you eyes.
Need you. He wondered at his poetic turn of phrase as he moved toward her in silence. Had he ever seen actual need in her eyes? Reluctant interest and attraction, yes, but actual need?
Her sigh drifted on the slight breeze, a sound of profound loneliness. Did he also detect longing in that forlorn sound? Even in the crowded ballroom, tucked into her corner, she looked like the loneliest person in the world.
“You’re an idiot,” she muttered into the night. “You don’t belong here. You don’t even like it.”
He eased into place beside her, whispering, “Zoe.”
She jerked around, shot him a wild glance, and backed away until the wall stopped her retreat.
“Are you all right?”
Her spine stiffened and she rolled her eyes in apparent exasperation. Rigid, she radiated ‘go away’ so clearly, he swallowed a chuckle. She watched him through wary eyes. He made no further moves toward her and the tension eased.
“I need a beer,” she muttered and moved away from the wall.
As she started past him, he grasped her upper arm. Heat burned him, but his fingers slid over her soft smooth skin in idle strokes. She froze, her stare riveted to him. Pleasure at his touch mingled with fear in her eyes, behind the shield of her glasses.
“Let me go,” she pleaded in a husky whisper that seduced his senses.
“Not yet,” he said, relishing the feel of her skin as he traced idle patterns on the underside of her arm.
A tremor rippled over her and he wanted to smile, but didn’t. She would run. Though not immune to him, she fought the attraction. Her eyes turned cool and her expression went blank, but her breasts lifted as she drew in a deep breath.
“If I find you a beer, will you stay and talk to me?” he asked, a faint hint of teasing amusement in his voice. He released her and took a step back, wanting her aware of him as a man, not afraid of him.
“About what?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You. Me.” He shrugged and lowered his voice to a persuasive drawl. “Us.”
“Not interested,” she stated, a breathless denial.
His heart leaped. Another tremor shook her as she jerked back and turned to flee. She took two steps toward the door and, to his surprise, halted to glance over her shoulder.
“Why?” Soft and low, her voice quavered as though she feared the answer.
Instinct told him his answer would make all the difference. Would she stay or run? Honesty rarely mattered when he took a woman to bed, but Zoe touched different instincts and urges. She watched him, her stare so intense he forced himself not to squirm. He banished his usual platitudes and compliments. She would know if he said something self-serving and insincere.
“You interest me and I’m attracted to you.” He paused, looking directly into her eyes for a long heart-stopping moment. “I believe the feeling is mutual.”
His breath caught, clogging his throat as he waited for her next move. Will she flee or stay and face me? Her eyes widened as his words registered. She cocked her head and peered at him. Curiosity flickered in her eyes.
“I don’t like champagne.” She finally broke the tense silence. “If you can find me a beer in this joint, you’ll have my company until the bottle is empty.”
Pure pleasure rose from somewhere deep inside him. His jeans tightened more over his hard cock. Slow and easy, he cautioned his excited libido as he turned and went back inside.
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