The Gift Read Online Free Page A

for several seconds. He was either completely convinced his wife was dead, or a damned good actor.
    “Did you have her signature analyzed?”
    A muscle twitched in his jaw. “No.”
    “Why wasn’t it analyzed by the authorities?”
    Malone remained silent for several moments. “Her father wanted to let it drop. The letter was mailed to him. Not me.”
    “Where’s the letter now?” Beth asked, determined to have a look at that crucial piece of evidence.
    “Sheriff has it.”
    “Then he must’ve had it analyzed.”
    He snorted. “Don’t be so sure.”
    Convincing. She wished the man weren’t so attractive, and especially that she hadn’t reacted to him so carnally earlier today. Of course, she hadn’t known who he was then. Still…
    He dropped the truck into gear again and drove. “The house is just over yonder.”
    “Good.” They crested the hill and Beth held her breath. The house was pristine white against a backdrop of green so lush it looked as if an artist had painted the setting. “Nice.”
    Malone pointed toward the house as he continued to steer the truck closer. “Lorilee’s great-great-grandfather built it after the War Between the States.”
    Beth rolled her eyes. No true Southerner would ever refer to it as the Civil War. More often than not, she heard it called the War of Northern Aggression. Sheesh.
    “It’s beautiful.”
    “Her grandfather built a more modern home over that ridge, and that’s where her father and stepmother still live.” Malone’s sigh drew Beth’s gaze back to his impressive profile. “Lorilee wanted to live here, so we bought the place from her father. Lord, it was a dump when we first got married.”
    Making more mental notes, Beth tried to concentrate on information, rather than the man himself—not an easy task. “So you and your wife fixed it up?”
    “Right, though it was a lot more fix than up at first.”His expression hardened again as he brought the truck to a stop in front of the house. “She called it…”
    “What, Mr. Malone?” Beth watched that same muscle in his jaw clench and release several times as he stared at the house. “What did she call it?”
    He opened the door and climbed out; Beth did the same. Staring at her from over the hood, he said, “She called it her castle.”
    His pain was clear, but that didn’t prove anything. Even the guilty could feel and show genuine pain. “Well, let’s open the drawbridge and have a look around.”
    After a curt nod, he headed for the massive wraparound porch and turned the knob. The door swung open easily.
    Another old building. Full of lingering memories, lingering…spirits?
    A ball of lead settled in her gut, and her palms turned clammy. The world was full of old buildings. She had a job to do.
    Buck up, Dearborn. She braced herself and followed him to the door.
    Something stopped her at the threshold. Her belly churned and this morning’s egg-and-muffin sandwich turned on her. That would teach her to skip lunch and live on coffee all day—a bad habit remaining from her detective days.
    “Come on in and look your fill,” Malone invited.
    Beth gritted her teeth and stepped through the door. A powerful sensation gripped her. Fear. Gut-wrenching terror. Her throat tightened. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She couldn’t breathe. She had to get away. They were hurting her.
    They who? What the hell? She’d felt this before. Was it happening again? No, it couldn’t be. Her gift was gone. It had to be. She was safe now. But then an icy chill swept through her. She’d let down her guard—grown too confident and allowed this crack in her armor. She wouldn’t let it come back.
    A moment later, the creepy sensation vanished completely. Had it been her imagination? Maybe it really was nothing more than an empty stomach compounded by the long drive, and that would be the end of it.
    “Where do you want to start?” He dropped his hat on a table near the door.
    Beth shook her head and