The Raven Master Read online

  As she watched in fascination, the circular light beam rotated from ceiling to floor then settled on the enameled wainscoting that paneled the lower third of the wall. Quinn’s hand slid smoothly along the cap molding. To Janine’s utter shock there was a faint creaking and an entire section of wall suddenly yawned open. After glancing furtively around, Quinn slipped inside the opening and disappeared. A moment later, the wall segment swung back into place with a soft click.

  Janine blinked, rubbed her eyes and stared out into the deserted hallway. Unless this was the world’s most realistic dream, the old bordello really did have a secret tunnel. And Quinn Coulliard had located the entrance.

  Excitement, anticipation and a hint of dread mingled together and slid down her spine. Entering the hall, she moved stealthily toward the landing and inspected the segment behind which Quinn had just disappeared. Considering the original purpose of the tunnel, the entrance location was perfect, easily accessible from the upstairs bedrooms or from the downstairs community areas. Janine didn’t know how in the world Quinn had ever found the perfectly concealed doorway, but he’d obviously spent considerable time searching for it. She wondered why.

  Without a flashlight her vision was limited, but she ran her fingers over the molding as Quinn had done and to her shock found a spot where the wood felt mushy. Her heart leaped like a triumphant trout. She’d found the latch.

  Now she should go directly back to bed and confront Quinn about his discovery in the morning. That’s exactly what she should do.

  Of course, should was the operative word, as common sense argued with a newly discovered sense of adventure. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and ignore what she’d seen, but she also wanted desperately to follow him. The mental discussion was foolish. Janine had always done the right thing, the safe thing. It was her nature.

  So when she returned to her room, she didn’t have a clue as to why she was suddenly pulling on a pair of jeans and lacing up her sturdy hiking shoes. After shrugging into a warm sweatshirt, Janine was halfway down the hall before she snapped her fingers and returned to her room.

  Two minutes later, with flashlight in hand, Janine pressed the hidden lever and the panel swung aside to expose a five-foot-wide space concealed behind the wall.

  Gingerly moving inside, she held the panel open with one foot and used the light beam to explore the area. She was surrounded by exposed studs from which a few rusted nails were protruding. An oil lantern hung from one of the nails. The antique was dusty but not coated with the thick, grimy film she would have expected from an item supposedly undisturbed for the past ninety years.

  Tucking that observation away, she continued to inspect the tiny enclosure and saw that, as expected, the plank floor was dirty with dried mud clods scattered about. A trapdoor had been propped open, exposing an antiquated wooden ladder descending into the bowels of the house. She eyed it with considerable trepidation. Of course, if Quinn had climbed down the rickety thing, then she could certainly manage it. But that meant releasing the door panel and she wasn’t about to close herself in until she’d figured how to get back out.

  That didn’t take long. She spotted a wooden latch attached to a stud beside the opening. Closer scrutiny revealed that the lever was directly linked to the locking mechanism. She tested it several times, assured herself that it was indeed the lock release, then tested it again.

  After a reluctant moment, she took a deep breath, pulled the panel closed and carefully descended the ladder. Claustrophobia tightened her stomach. Feeling nauseated, she moved lower, testing each splintered rung with her foot before daring to put her full weight on it. Because of her death grip on the flashlight, only one hand was free to hold the side rail, making the descent even more precarious.

  By the time Janine stepped from the rotting ladder into a horizontal passageway, she was well below the Victorian’s basement level. Like an old mining tunnel, the underground alley was reinforced with two-by-fours and extended well beyond the scope of Janine’s vision. It was damp and cold and smelled musty.

  The ground was littered with junk from another era—a rusty snuff tin, bent nails, a couple of dented food cans and another antique oil lamp—along with evidence of more recent visitations. She spotted a pair of rubber galoshes caked with dried mud, a couple of discarded flashlight batteries and a wadded plastic grocery bag.

  As she moved farther into the passageway she noticed an odd reflection from a broken piece of hard plastic half-buried in the damp earth. She picked it up, noting that it was a smooth white tube about an eighth of an inch in diameter with no recognizable function. Extruded plastics had only been available for the past few decades, so she considered the shattered tube as a good indication that the tunnel had been traversed in modern times.

  After tossing the broken plastic aside, Janine continued to pick her way through the darkness with considerably more empathy for the plight of the world’s gopher population. She didn’t like the closed-in feeling of being surrounded by earth. It was unnatural, spooky and definitely not for the faint of heart—like herself. Each breath seemed more difficult than the last, and after several long minutes, she was assaulted by an almost overwhelming desire to claw the packed dirt with her fingers. She had to get out. She had to—

  Then she saw it, a shaft of dappled moonlight marking the tunnel’s exit. With a massive sigh of relief, Janine hurried forward, anxious to emerge from the confining corridor and taste fresh air.

  The opening was obscured by bushes and, she assumed, nearly invisible from the other side. Getting through the brush might be a bit tricky. Although she probably should have spent a few minutes searching for a neater exit, the stagnant passageway felt like a grave so she thrashed clumsily through the leafy barrier and stumbled outside.

  Janine managed one gasping breath before something hard and warm covered her mouth. Instantly she was yanked backward with stunning force and dragged into the woods like struggling prey.

  Kicking and clawing, Janine realized only vaguely that her fingernails were digging into the flesh of a human arm. A steely hand was muffling her screams, and she wondered if the slab of granite pressed against her back was her assailant’s chest. Doubling both fists, she struck backward at a point above her own head and pummeled at what she hoped was a skull.

  A yelp of pain indicated that she’d hit her mark.

  Before she could take satisfaction from that, she was released and spun around so quickly that her teeth rattled. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She squinted into the angry face looming inches above her own. “Quinn?”

  “You were expecting someone else?” He gave her shoulders a final shake, then let go. When he stood back, his unfettered hair flowed in the soft wind giving him a frightening, almost savage appearance. “You little fool. You could have been killed.”

  She eyed him sullenly. “Isn’t that a bit melodramatic?”

  Without responding, he tucked something shiny in his waistband and swore under his breath.

  When Janine recognized the handgrip of a weapon jutting from beneath his leather jacket, she stiffened. “Is that a gun?”

  He silently rubbed his temple.

  “It is a gun. My God, why do you have a gun, Quinn? What are you planning to shoot?” Stumbling a step back, Janine clutched the neck of her sweatshirt, realizing that anything could have crept from the woods into the tunnel. Lord, she could have run into a mountain lion…or worse. “Wild animals? Is that it? Were you expecting to run into a bear or something?”

  “Right. An animal.” Obviously disgusted, Quinn wiped his face with hands and peered over his fingertips. “Unless you want to wake up the entire town, I’d suggest that you lower your voice.”

  “The town?” She blinked, glancing around the unfamiliar woods. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “In the ravine just below the lumberyard.”

  “You must be joking. That’s over a mile from the house.”

  “It
is if you cross at the bridge but the tunnel cuts a path straight through. If we were to ford the creek and climb that embankment, we’d be within spitting distance of downtown.”

  “I don’t believe it.” The weak denial was perfunctory, of course. In point of fact, Janine did believe what Quinn had told her because it made perfect sense. For the brothel’s clients to have consistently escaped undetected, the tunnel would have to lead nearly to the center of town. And it did.

  Of course, the embankment in question was a couple hundred feet high and so thickly wooded that visibility in any direction was limited to a few dozen feet. That concealment, however, would have been a real boon to red-faced residents attempting to slink away from the naughty recreation facility.

  Janine sighed. “All right. You’ve proven that the old legend was true. But I don’t understand why you had to be so…so covert about it.”

  “That should be obvious. I didn’t want anyone to know.” His jaw tightened. “And you aren’t to say a word about this, do you understand? Not one word.”

  “But why not? The tunnel has no significance now except for historical interest. In fact, the town librarian will be ecstatic when she finds out ab—”

  “No!” Frustrated, Quinn took hold of her arms. “Listen to me, Janine. It is crucial, absolutely crucial that you tell no one about the tunnel.”

  Even in the moonlight she recognized fear in his eyes and something else she couldn’t quite identify. “If secrecy is so important, then you’d darn well better explain why.”

  “I can’t.” Obviously agitated, Quinn raked the waterfall of hair cascading down his back. “You’ll have to trust me.”

  Her breath caught as echoes of an earlier warning reverberated through her mind. Trust no one…especially me.

  When he unexpectedly touched her face, she jumped away and his hand fell to his side. “I don’t enjoy frightening you, Janine.”

  She stepped warily back, her gaze automatically dropping to the weapon tucked in his waistband. He seemed different tonight. With that untamed mass of hair flowing free, he was a magnificent warrior, a throwback to another time. Wild. Dangerous. Exciting.

  “You do frighten me,” she whispered, realizing even as she spoke that her alarm was caused more by her own burgeoning desire than by him. But then, he had caused that desire. He was responsible for the slow heat spreading through her, turning her knees to jelly. Yes, he did frighten her. Almost as much as she frightened herself.

  He watched her silently, intently, as if gazing deep inside her and finding the unspoken message etched on her quivering heart. Then he reached out to caress her cheek with his fingertip. “Perhaps that’s best,” he murmured. “Fear breeds caution. Always be cautious, Janine. Trust is the great betrayer.”

  She swallowed hard, shivering as his touch slid along her jawline. “Yet you ask me to trust you.”

  “I know.” His eyes closed for a moment. “Everything will be clear to you in a few days. Can you give me that?”

  She considered his plea. “And if I don’t give you that time? If I tell about the tunnel, what will happen then?”

  “You will be in grave danger,” he said simply. “I may not be able to protect you.”

  That got her attention. “Protect me from what? From whom?”

  He slid a fingertip along her jaw. “From those who would take advantage.”

  “Advantage—” she gasped as his knuckle skimmed the side of her neck “—of what? And why must the tunnel be kept secret?”

  But even as the murmured question emerged from her quivering lips, the answer didn’t matter as long as Quinn was touching her, stroking her throat with hypnotic tenderness.

  Her muscles turned to butter. She took a shuddering breath, then did something so bold she wondered if she’d been possessed. Turning her face, she rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand and touched his wrist with her lips.

  Quinn stiffened but made no move to stop her as she turned over his hand and kissed his palm. There was such strength in his hands, she thought dreamily, a sense of security that was an odd paradox to his aura of mystery. His scent surrounded her, an erotic mingling of masculine fragrances—soap and forest and maleness—a heady combination that made her head spin.

  Suddenly Quinn framed her face with his hands and questioned her with his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was husky. Broken. “Janine…do you understand what you’re doing?”

  Oddly enough, she did. “Yes.”

  He lowered his gaze, just for a moment, then looked at her so softly that her breath caught in her throat. “I should send you away.”

  A tiny panic sparked in her chest. “Are you going to?”

  After a lingering silence, he sighed. “I haven’t got the strength.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips over his, tentatively at first, then again with more confidence. His mouth was warm, moist, enticing. He returned her kiss without demanding more, empowering her to set the pace. It was a new sensation, one that both thrilled and perplexed her. She’d expected him to take over. Instead she was suddenly in control, and he was responding to her.

  This was certainly an unexpected development. She chewed her lower lip and stared at his chest. “What should I do now?”

  “What would you like to do?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t you dare psychoanalyze me.”

  “That is the last thing I had in mind.”

  Feeling silly, she touched his collarbone with her finger-tips and stated the obvious. “I’m not very experienced with this kind of situation.”

  “I know.” He tipped up her chin and smiled gently. “That’s what makes you so appealing.”

  Before she could respond, Quinn took her lips in a kiss so deep, so completely shattering, that her knees nearly buckled. Embracing her tightly, he parted her lips and explored the softness beyond until she was whimpering and writhing against him.

  The slow heat building in her core ignited into an erotic inferno, melting her inhibitions and making her wild with need. When his mouth moved to her throat, she clutched at his shoulders, gasping for breath, making tiny mewing sounds that she barely recognized as her own. Electric sparks encircled her ribs, and she vaguely realized that he’d slipped his hand beneath her loose sweatshirt.

  Her lips parted in a silent cry as his fingers massaged the soft flesh beneath her unbound breasts. She was on fire, burning with a passion she’d never experienced. Every nerve in her body screamed, and without conscious permission her back arched an invitation for a more intimate touch.

  When his palm teased her sensitive nipple, she moaned aloud. He took her breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh, rolling the hardened tip between his fingers, caressing her so sweetly she thought the sheer ecstasy would kill her.

  Then he stepped back, lifted her shirt and cherished her with his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “So very beautiful.” He kissed each breast reverently, using his lips to expand the exquisite torture.

  With her fingers tangled in the silken mass of his hair, Janine emitted a strangled sound and realized that her legs would no longer support her. As she collapsed under the sweet assault, Quinn caught her and gently lowered her to the leaf-strewn ground.

  She lay there, taking air in broken gasps, watching, waiting, wondering how she could have lived for twenty-six years without ever having experienced such rapture. As Quinn knelt beside her, she trembled in awe and anticipation. He gazed at her as though she was the loveliest creature alive, and for that moment, for that blessed moment, Janine actually felt like a beautiful, desirable woman.

  Murmuring her name, Quinn slid his thumb down her cheek, allowing his touch to linger at her lips. Suddenly he pulled off his jacket, then cupped her head, urging her to turn so he could spread the leather garment beneath her. After he’d removed his T-shirt and jeans, he arranged them to shield her hips and legs from the forest clutter.

  To Janine, the small act of kindness was chivalry of g
igantic proportions. No man had ever treated her so gallantly, with such tender consideration. The gesture moved her to tears.

  Instantly concerned, Quinn touched the dampness on her face. “Have I hurt you?”

  “Oh, no.” She wiped her eyes, and suddenly noticed how beautiful his bare chest was. Reaching out, she touched him, marveling at the strength hidden beneath the smooth, warm skin. “I—I love the way you touch me.”

  He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Do you?”

  “Yes.” The word was more a sigh than a whisper.

  Her fingers found their way to his furred thighs and delicately traced a path to his knee. His muscles trembled and she was thrilled to realize that he was as affected by her touch as she was by his.

  Finally he lowered himself to the ground, ignoring the sharp twigs and prickly leaves as he stretched full-length beside her. Propping himself on one elbow, he bent to kiss her. His lustrous hair swept her face and pooled around her bare breasts. Like in her dream, she thought groggily and wondered if it was really happening.

  Then Quinn’s kiss deepened and she knew without doubt that this was no dream. His hands caressed her more boldly, sliding down her belly and over her thighs until his heat permeated through her jeans into the marrow of her bones.

  Her head moved from side to side, slowly at first, then thrashing wildly as primitive instinct took control. Moaning frantically, her fingers curled into fists, and she lifted her hips in response to his whispered request. Air brushed her thighs as he slid off the denim barrier. Then her lacy panties were swept smoothly away.

  Except for the fleece bunched under her arms, Janine was completely exposed yet too drugged by passion to feel vulnerable as Quinn explored her body with gentle strokes, arousing her into a crazed frenzy of desire. With a soft cry, she pulled at his shoulders until he moved over her.

  Somewhere in the deepest recesses of her brain, a joyous voice cried out that she wasn’t dead inside, that she was a real woman, with a woman’s body and a woman’s needs. Charles had been wrong.