Hannah Read online

  I need to sleep on the idea; it usually works wonders.

  “I assume you’re writing about the witch trials in Salem?”

  I watch as the woman places a black mug with fresh mint leaves on the table, along with a bowl of honey and a lemon wedge. I salivate while eyeing the plate with the considerably thick slice of the infamous cake, and only now realize I skipped lunch.

  “Yes, I am,” I reply. “I’m writing a paranormal romance.”

  “A paranormal romance, really? That’s quite…interesting.”

  “Yeah, it’s a first time for me.”

  “You never wrote paranormal fiction before?”

  “Nope. Only a bunch of romance novels.”

  “You have a publisher?”

  I shake my head. “I’m what they call an indie author. It means I’m independent.”

  “Ooh, that must be hard, considering you’re doing everything yourself.”

  “It is, but I also learn a great deal, and I get to make all the decisions myself,” I respond with a tilt of my head. “If you’re able to detect a writer’s block, I suspect a lot of writers stay here.”

  “That, and I can read the look on your face; pensive, frustrated, consumed by your thoughts.” She laughs a deep and full throaty laugh. “Some even start pulling their hairs.” She shrugs. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find your opening.” She reaches toward me, but recoils upon touching my upper arm in a friendly gesture. “Oh, I’m sorry…” She raises her eyebrows and steps back.

  “For what?” I ask with a frown.

  “For touching you. I didn’t mean to see…” She shakes her head slightly, indicating she made a mistake. “Never mind. Don’t let me keep you from writing.”

  “No, please, you looked concerned when you touched me. Is anything wrong?”

  She bites her lip and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, nothing’s wrong, it’s just that…”

  “Yes?” I insist. She’s obviously bothered, and now appears paler than before.

  “I have certain…abilities,” she starts explaining. “Let’s keep it at that before I send you running for the hills.”

  She’s about to turn around, but I’m confused and curious. “Are you a fortuneteller?” I’m in Salem for crying out loud. The entire place is probably drenched in energies I can’t perceive. For all I know, she’s a descendent from one of the witches who once lived here. The thought raises goose bumps on my skin.

  “No, I can’t predict the future, but sometimes I can sense or experience someone’s past just by touching them,” she states, and a flush creeps across her cheeks. “It’s been a long time since it happened, and frankly, until this moment, I forgot I had the ability. I know it sounds stupid, or creepy, or whatever. I’m sorry.”

  “Please, stop apologizing,” I urge. I’m impressed with her ability, although remain a skeptic considering the city I’m in. When I was younger, I visited psychics with my parents. I still saw one about three years ago, albeit in secrecy, but similar to others, it didn’t pan out, so I gave up looking for answers.

  “What did you sense when you touched me? I mean, is it okay to ask?”

  “Of course.” Wrinkles suddenly spread across her forehead. “Are you sure you want to know this?”

  “I do, very much so.”

  She gestures to the couch. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “No, please, go ahead.” I hurriedly collect my things to make space.

  She sits on the beautiful worn leather sofa, and tucks her hands in between her thighs. “My name is Angela, by the way, but everyone calls me Angie.”

  “I’m Hannah,” I say nervously, twisting the big ring on my ring finger.

  “I know. I mean, it’s my job to know the names of the guests at the Brimstone.”

  “Ah,” I smile at the joke with the underlying meaning, “that makes sense.”

  Angie scans my face, and narrows her eyes. “Are you scared?”

  “What do you mean? Right now? Of this?”

  “In general. I felt fear when I touched you.”

  Wow. Then again, others said the same thing. It’s probably obvious when someone is desperately searching for answers for events in their past, yet Angie has no knowledge of the fact I’m looking for answers.

  “I’m not afraid of this particular moment, but yeah, I have anxiety issues.”

  “Something happened in your past,” she states, more than asks.

  I nod. “Would it be awkward if I asked you to touch me again?”

  “I can’t promise I’ll see anything.”

  “I understand.”

  She pauses before extending her hand. “Give me your hand.”

  Reluctantly, I place my hand in hers. “I have to warn you, it could be violent.”

  She doesn’t respond, but closes her eyes, prompting me to look down at our entwined hands.

  I remain barely calm, until I whip my head up in reaction to her whisper, “Oh my…”

  She parts her eyelids, and her dilated pupils stare at me with so much intensity, I madly ache to know what happened.

  “You saw something, didn’t you?”

  She swallows. “What exactly do you remember of what happened to you?”

  “I remember everything as if it happened yesterday. I was fourteen. What you just saw, was it…bad?”

  “I saw different things; all very fleeting. First, I think I saw a funeral, a sea of black umbrellas while the rain poured down. I saw you. I think you were a few years younger. Your hair was a lot longer, hanging almost to your waist. You were held by a young man with the same hair color, maybe a little darker.”

  “What you saw was my father’s funeral. He died a few years ago. The man who was holding me is my older brother.”

  She squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry. I also saw you performing ballet. Your passion was evident.”

  “You’re good,” I say with a smile. “I wanted to be a ballerina when I was in high school. I dreamed of making my debut as Giselle, but all I got at the end of class were bleeding feet, and toes covered in blisters.”

  Angie’s expression slowly transforms from soft and tender, to grave, and I instantly know she just stumbled on my deepest and darkest secret. Well, it wasn’t so much of a secret since the whole country knew we were abducted, but today no one knows I’m one of the Vandenberg siblings. It’s the reason I adopted my grandmother’s name.

  “Tell me, Angie. What was it?”

  “A big man. He was forcing you to… he was…”

  “You don’t need to say it. I know what happened. Did you see his face?”

  “I’m sorry, no, but I did notice something else.”

  “What? I can use anything, no matter how small. I have nothing.”

  “A bracelet.”

  Frowning, I search her face for more. “What kind of bracelet?”

  “I saw a curb link bracelet on his left wrist. Perhaps sterling silver or stainless steel.”

  “My God, really?”

  “Look, I don’t know how accurate–”

  “It’s accurate enough, believe me. I never saw it, but I felt it.” I press my hand against my stomach, realizing Angie isn’t a fraud. She’s the real deal…

  Angie reaches over to the table and hands me my tea. “Here, take this.”

  I sip the drink and try to gather myself. It’s been a while since I thought about the rape twelve years ago. “I’m sorry I asked you to do this.”

  Angie’s lips form a thin line of worry. “And I’m sorry you had to go through it. I didn’t see all of it, but it’s quite obvious what was going on. Do the police know?”

  “They’ll never catch them,” I reply without giving a straight answer.

  “Them?”

  Her question makes me realize I just made a mistake. Tristan and I made a promise never to divulge the details to anyone, which makes this a very awkward situation, because I’m asking her about details. If she touches me one more time she can probably tell me they were with three.

  “You don’t have to answer that question. It’s not my business. I only want to know if you have someone you can talk to.”

  “Like a therapist?”

  “Yeah, or your mother? Someone you trust.”

  “I’m seeing someone I trust whenever I feel the need, but I’d rather focus on my publishing business than relive the past.”

  “You sound like a strong woman,” she says, then narrows her green eyes. “Do you have a dog?”

  Bang on!

  “Yeah, I have an American Mastiff. What gave it away?” I ask as I scan my sweater.

  “Hairs on my clothes?”

  Angie chuckles. “A barking sound in my head when I touched you. You have it for protection?”

  Yeah, Angie’s either good, or cunning. “I do. I would have brought him with me, except the inn doesn’t offer pet-friendly rooms.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. Like I said, I’m not in constant fear of something happening, but I sleep a hell of a lot better with Harley lying on the doormat.”

  “Harley?”

  “I asked my family to come up with a name for the dog, and one of my cousins, one with a thing for bikes, won the contest.”

  “Your eyes light up like a Christmas tree when you talk about your family.”

  “They’re important to me. I would go stir crazy if it wasn’t for them. Listen, what you just saw… I would appreciate if you kept it to yourself.”

  She acknowledges with a smile and a nod. “Of course, don’t worry, but you have to make me a promise too.”

  “Anything.”

  “My ability… I won’t tire you with the name, but I would appreciate it too if you would keep it a secret. If people found out, they’d come here only to gaze at me as though I’m a freak.” She laughs while pointing at her face. “The freckles do a good enough job on their own.”

  “You’re not a freak. You have an amazing gift.”

  “Well, other than my ex-husband, you’re the only one who knows. Don’t ask me why, but I feel like we connect.”

  I’m thinking of taking her hand, but decide against it, not wanting to send more disturbing images to her head. “You can count on me too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. I’m glad we met. Maybe–” My phone rings, stopping me in mid-sentence. Ash’s name pops up on the screen. “Sorry, I need to take this. Family.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be at the front desk if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Angie.” I clamp my thumb on the receive button. “Ash, whassup?”

  “Hi, Han. Just a quick call to let you know I have a special evening planned for Lola, and I want all of you at the country house.”

  “You want me to come to Stockbridge? This evening?”

  “Yeah. Sorry it’s last minute, but I needed it to be a surprise for Lola, so I couldn’t tell you before. She would have seen right through you.”

  “My God, Ash…” I utter, almost gasping for air. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Only one way to find out. If you need a ride, Trist and Mac can pick you up. They’ll come together after work.”

  “I’m in Salem.”

  “What the hell are you doing in East Bumfuck?”

  “Researching for my next novel,” I say, then add, “I hear you laughing!”

  Ash alone considers the profession of writing a hobby rather than a serious job; a brutal pursuit resulting from a lonely existence, often producing tears and frustration when inspiration is lacking – like today.

  “Sorry. No offense. Think you can take a break for a day or two?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say, then open the map on my laptop, and chart the route from Salem to Stockbridge. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour journey. “If I leave now, I’ll be right on time for cocktails.”

  “Then you better start packing.”

  “Already on my way. And don’t you dare drop on your knees before I get there!”

  With a chuckle, he breaks the connection, and I close my laptop and place it into the pink sleeve. I gather my notes and maps, spread all over the couch and table, and shove them into a folder. I have no wish to leave this cozy inn, but considering Ash is going to propose to Lola, I have no other choice. I just need to be there to see it before I believe it. They’ve been together since forever, and I’m so excited for them.

  On the brink of upping myself from the seat, my eye catches sight of the cake dripping with icing. It looks too good to just walk away from, but will also require several rounds on the treadmill. Oh, what the heck... I’m spending the weekend in the country. Harley and I can take long walks.

  I pick up the fork and dive in.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, I roll my carry-on out of the room and head for the elevator.

  I expected to see Angie at the front office, but a young girl with a nose ring is standing behind the desk – or wooden table would be more to the point. “Hi, I need an early check-out.”

  She wrinkles her brow. “I hope everything is okay.”

  I place the key atop the table. “Yes, everything’s fine. It’s an unexpected invitation.”

  “I see.” She glances at the key and punches the room number into the keyboard. Carefully, she turns the screen toward me so we can look together. “Ms. H. Jensen.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Let me see… You stayed three nights in the comfort room. I’m afraid I have to charge for tonight as well.”

  “I understand. No problem.”

  “You ate dinner at our restaurant twice.”

  “That’s right, and I had fresh mint tea and witch cake just now in the lounge bar.”

  “Okay.”

  I search the lounge for Angela, but there’s no sign of her. I do notice a beautiful antique showcase stocked with gifts, and walk over for a better look. Soap bars, scented candles, and colorful jewelry sit on top of the shelf. “Are these items for sale?”

  “Yes. We have more in the shop if you’re interested.”

  “Shop?”

  “A few houses down the street. It’s called Local Rumors.”

  “I’m afraid I missed it. Can I have one of those scented candles?”

  “Sure you can. It’s open. Just pick the one you like best.”

  I scan the labels on the beautiful flower print boxes and decide on “Autumn Leaves,” since it’s autumn. I open the door and carefully take out the box, then return to the desk. “This one, please.”

  The girl with the pierced nose smiles widely. “I love that fragrance. Is it a gift?”

  “It is, but the box looks exquisite, so you don’t need to wrap it.”

  She picks up a pink ribbon. “I’ll just use a ribbon then. Angie made them herself. She makes everything, from the cake to the candles,” she explains, as her nimble fingers tie the ribbon around the box.

  “Really? I just met her. She’s so nice.” And so gifted; some women have it all.

  “She’s the best boss one can wish for.”

  “Boss?”

  “Yeah, she owns the Brimstone. Here, let me get you a bag.” She places the box in a bag and puts a paper-wrapped cake with it. “We don’t let our guests go home without a tasty memory of Salem.”

  “That’s so nice.” I search my shoulder bag for my purse. “You’re all so kind.”

  “Thank you. That’ll be four hundred and sixty-five dollars, and seventy cents.”

  I place my credit card on the desk. My bill is going to hurt my account, but it was worth the experience. I last visited Salem when I was about five, and wasn’t even aware until my mother told me a few weeks ago.

  “Could you give my best to Angie? I thought she would be here. I just want to thank her for the hospitality. And for something else, she knows what for.”

  “She went back to the shop, but I’ll let her know. What’s your first name?”

  “Hannah. Tell her I’ll be back another time, for sure.”

  The girl hands me back my card with the receipt, and her shoulders droop. “We’re glad you liked your stay with us, but I’m sorry to say the Brimstone will be closing in a few months.”

  “For renovation you mean?”

  “No, for good. Maybe you noticed it’s quiet around here. It’s impossible for Angie to compete with the big chain hotels.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, almost feeling responsible. After all, I am a granddaughter of Maximilian Vandenberg, the person who practically invented the whole chain concept. It would be a shame if this lovely inn closed its doors. Where else can you find a hotel where the owner bakes her own cakes?

  “I already landed a new job, but I feel sorry for Angie. She works really hard to keep it all going.”

  “Do you have a business card for the inn?”

  “Yeah, they’re lying around here somewhere.”

  I wait patiently while she rummages through a drawer, and hands me a yellow card. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks!” I carefully place the card in my purse. “In a few months you said?”

  “We won’t last until next summer.”

  I nod, and pick up the paper bag from the desk. “Don’t forget to say hi to Angie, and good luck on your new job.”

  Almost cheerful, I walk out of the inn while digging my car keys from the depths of my bag. I can’t wait to talk to my brother in a few hours. Finally, after many years, I have breaking news regarding our kidnapping, and although I know little of the hotel business, I still recognize good hospitality, thanks to Vandenberg blood coursing through my veins, and decide Angie’s place will close shop only over my dead body.

  CHAPTER TWO

  abel

  Two days earlier…

  “Can you bring us two double espressos?”

  “Of course, Mr. Bishop.”

  The brunette sitting at the bar attracts my attention. Her fingers drape around the stem of her wine glass. When she slowly raises her glass to her lips, she flashes me a sultry smile.

  Fuck.

  “Did you get a chance to look at the total costs of ownership?”

  Cade pulls me from my horny thoughts, where my cock was already buried deep inside my interior designer. I wonder why she’s here anyway, and pull out my phone to check the calendar. I have a meeting scheduled in thirty minutes, but not with her, so, why the hell is she here? She understands I don’t want her here, unless it’s business-related. I’ll fuck her any day of the week, but not within these walls.