The Betrayed. Jana DeLeon

the files to the kitchen to work, but it would make it easier to see in there...”

      Her voice trailed off and she frowned.

      “Is something wrong?” he asked.

      “It’s stupid.”

      “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

      She stared off across the entry then finally blew out a breath before turning to face him. “It’s creepy, okay? I know that sounds foolish and girly and weak, but the room is creepy and the lack of lighting makes it worse.” She dropped her gaze to the floor.

      “It doesn’t sound foolish or weak at all. For my own well-being, I’m not touching the ‘girly’ comment.” He scanned the cavernous room, littered with columns with various sculptures and statues—all covered with layers of dust and cobwebs. “Look, I’m sure this place was beautiful once, but I have to tell you, it wouldn’t be someplace I’d choose to stay.”

      She looked up at him, a flicker of appreciation in her expression. “Really?”

      He held up one hand. “Swear. This place is gloomy and depressing. Your sister’s work in the kitchen gives me an idea of what it could look like, though.”

      Danae gave him an appreciative smile. “You’re right. I need to keep reminding myself that it will feel different after the repairs are made and we’ve managed a good scrubbing.”

      “It’s none of my business, but why doesn’t William hire someone to do the cleaning?”

      “According to café gossip, he’s tried, but none of them last more than a day.”

      “Why not?”

      She smiled. “Because of the ghost.”

      Maybe it was the decrepit state of the house, or maybe it was the swamp that was slowly swallowing up the entire structure, but he actually gave her statement more than a moment’s passing thought.

      “Ghost, huh?” he said finally.

      “That’s what I hear.”

      “But you haven’t seen it?”

      “No, but then today is the first day I’ve been in this house since I was a toddler.”

      He wanted to ask her more about her stepfather and her sisters, but as soon as she’d issued that statement, her expression had gone from somewhat relaxed to completely closed off again.

      “Who’s the ghost supposed to be?” he asked instead.

      She frowned. “I don’t know. I assumed it was my stepfather. Based on the description of his lifestyle from the locals, it sounds like he was agoraphobic. I guess I figured that even in death, he didn’t want to leave the house.”

      “Well, then, I guess I best get to work lighting up this place before I have to add a ghost to the payroll.”

      Danae gave him a small smile, but he could tell that something was bothering her. She appeared to be telling the truth when she said she hadn’t seen a ghost, but something had happened that put her on edge—something beyond just a spooky house. She was too observant, too suspicious for the average person. Either she was paranoid or she had something to worry about. Both concerned him as either could blow his cover.

      “Where would you like to start?” Danae asked.

      “Well, I know the electricity is a priority, but I need to test everything before I can pin down the problem. I brought my voltage equipment with me, so I’ll start that tomorrow morning. I thought I’d take a tour of the house and note the obvious needs. Then I can have supplies on hand for several jobs.”

      Danae nodded. “So if you have to wait on special orders, you can keep working on other things.”

      “Exactly.”

      “Then I guess we can start downstairs.”

      We? The last thing he needed was the cagey heiress lingering over his shoulder while he cased the house, especially now that his mind had formed a permanent imprint of her absolutely perfect rear end. But before he could formulate a logical argument, she spun around and headed to the kitchen, then came right back with a pad of paper and a pen.

      “It will probably go faster if you dictate as you go,” she said. “I can make the notes. That way you don’t have to stop what you’re doing to write.”

      He nodded, unable to argue with the efficiency her plan presented. “I assume you have a basic idea of the layout, so lead the way.”

      She pointed to rooms that lined the south side of the house. “We can start over there and work our way around.”

      He followed her into the first room and was pleased to find it only contained a table, dresser and a couple of boxes. The west window was intact, but a sheet of plywood covered the wall where he guessed a south-facing window was located. “What happened here?” he asked, pointing to the plywood.

      “I haven’t asked about it yet, but I assume the guy who attacked my sister broke it to get inside. The plywood covering it looks new.”

      He stared at her. “Someone attacked your sister in the house?”

      “Yeah.” She frowned then shook her head. “I guess I forget it’s just hitting the news this morning. He attacked her here but she ran into the swamp and got away. He caught up with her trying to get away in her SUV, and that’s when Carter shot and killed him.”

      He stared at her for a moment, trying to absorb the implications of trying to keep his cover intact at a crime scene. This entire situation was becoming more complicated by the minute. “Wow! Is she all right?”

      “She’s fine.” Danae cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment. “Most people would ask who was trying to kill her and why.”

      “You said it just hit the news. I can catch up on the local gossip later. I have a younger cousin who’s more like a brother to me. I guess I was thinking about something happening to him.”

      “Are you always this logical?”

      “I try to be. It seems to make life easier.”

      “Well, then, I guess we best get back to this list. I don’t want to throw you off course.”

      He crossed to the intact window and studied it. “I’ll have to remove the plywood to check the dimensions, so I’ll leave off replacing the window for later. I’m going to have to special-order something to even come close to matching the others, but I know a guy in New Orleans who specializes in making windows for restoration projects. I can get some pictures tomorrow and see what he can do.”

      He reached up for the latches and opened the window, then pulled it upward, but it stayed firmly in place. It only took a moment to realize the sliding pane of the window had been nailed into the frame. The oxidation on the edges of the nails let him know that wasn’t a recent addition.

      “This window is nailed shut,” he said.

      “Yeah. They all are. I suppose my stepfather was agoraphobic and paranoid.”

      “He didn’t want out and didn’t want anyone else in.” He shook his head. “That’s no way to live. I’ll remove the nails tomorrow—test all the windows and make sure they lift properly.”

      “No!”

      The single word came out with such force that he spun around, surprised. She stood with her arms crossed. Her face was slightly flushed and her jaw set in a hard line.

      “I can’t test the windows if they’re nailed shut.”

      “Then I guess they won’t get tested—not as long as I’m working in this house. At least this way, if someone wants to get in here, I’ll hear them coming or see the results of their attempt the next morning. What I don’t want is for someone to have the element of surprise.”

      He