Victoria House (Haunted Hearts Series Book 2) Read online

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the author in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved including the right of reproduction, distribution, or transmitted in whole or part in any form or means, or stored in any electronic, mechanical, database or retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

  Contact information: [email protected]

  VICTORIA HOUSE

  The Haunted Hearts Series: Book Two

  Copyright © 2014 Denise Moncrief

  Electronic Edition

  Paranormal Romantic Suspense

  Editor: Linda Pitts

  Cover Design: Keri Neal

  Cover is copyright and trademark of the author, used under license owned.

  VICTORIA HOUSE

  Haunted by a dark mystery in her family’s past...

  When Tori Downing takes possession of the abandoned Hamilton estate on the longest peninsula on Lake Jefferson, Arkansas, she avoids revealing her connection to the ill-fated Hamilton family. Is the glowing image that shimmers in the second floor window of Victoria House the ghost of Victoria Hamilton?

  Tormented by a scandal she thought she’d left behind...

  Until she leaves her career at the Arkansas State Crime Lab behind, she never even considers moving to Lake Jefferson, but the fallout from scandal gives Tori a very good reason to escape to Hill County and refurbish and restore the old family mansion. She settles into her new life...until the old accusations from her past start resurfacing.

  Attracted to a man haunted by secrets of his own...

  Lt. Mitchell Grayson of the Hill County Sheriff’s Department dives into a tangled web of jealousy, deceit, and revenge as he attempts to solve the murder of Jared Crenshaw, but his past keeps interfering with his present, causing turmoil in both his professional life and his personal life.

  Can their love survive revealing the truth—from both the past and present—surrounding the tragedies at Victoria House?

  DEDICATION

  For lovers of ghost stories.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to my long-suffering family, Larry, Katy, and Eric, who put up with my many writing moods and encourage me to pursue my publishing dreams anyway. I would like to also thank the fabulously talented Keri Neal for the beautiful book cover she designed for Victoria Heights. Keri took my vague ideas and brought the concept for the cover to life. This book wouldn’t be what it is without the wonderful feedback and suggestions from my friend and fellow author, Chantel Rhondeau.

  I’d also like to acknowledgment all the readers who enjoyed Laurel Heights and gave me encouraging feedback. I write because it’s an obsession. I publish because I want someone to read what I write. My readers are why I do what I do. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  FOREWORD

  For those of you who know and love the state of Arkansas, I apologize for mangling the geography. Hill County and the town of Fairview are fictional places and loosely based on multiple locations, a conglomeration of locales woven together to create a setting especially designed for The Haunted Hearts Series.

  Each book in the series is written to stand alone, but together they tell the story of one man’s corrupt influence over an entire county and how one bad decision can affect so many lives. I hope you, the reader, enjoy Victoria House as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author

  Other Titles By Denise Moncrief

  Bonus Material: Excerpt From Ashley Ridge

  VICTORIA HOUSE

  Chapter One

  Lake Jefferson, Arkansas

  April 1924

  The small boat slipped across the gentle waves, oars dipping into the dark water only making the slightest noise. The rower kept his eyes fixed on the overgrown end of the peninsula ahead of him. Behind the thicket hid a door to a tunnel that would allow him entrance into the home of the woman he hated more than he loved life. His goal was in sight. Revenge would be sweet. She would die on the anniversary of the night his soul had died.

  Through the thick branches of trees, a lone light glowed from the second story of Victoria House. Was that her room? Was she still awake? Would she die with the horrible realization that he was the man who had executed a swift punishment for the crimes of her past? She was no saint, but then he was no sinner. He was a dark angel of retribution.

  The woman who had become mistress of Victoria House was the last of the men and women who had stolen his future. He’d made everyone who ruined his misbegotten life pay for his or her sins against him. Five souls had paid for their cruelty and selfishness with their lives. Each had passed into the afterlife with a horrified expression of understanding spreading across their faces. Hers would be the sixth offering to appease his need for vengeance.

  Sooner or later, the law would catch up to him. Maybe sooner. But that was all right. Once he had her blood on his hands, he didn’t care what happened to him afterwards. His life had been over for a long, long time.

  The hull of the boat thumped against the thin lip of shoreline. He jumped onto solid ground, caught his balance, and dragged the craft into the thick tangle of brush that covered the secluded end of the peninsula. His tread crunched ground cover as he peered into the dark, searching for the path that led to the door of the tunnel. Bringing a lamp would have been foolish. The owner of the house had trained men guarding him, day and night. The slightest flicker of a flame might have alerted old man Hamilton’s bodyguards to an unwanted guest on the premises.

  The man smiled with satisfaction. The brutes would soon discover they had been guarding the wrong Hamilton. He hadn’t come for Alfred’s blood. No, he wanted Victoria’s life to drain away. Her skin growing paler. Her eyes turning glassy. Her consciousness filled with the horror of sudden realization when he pulled the mask away from his face as she gasped her last breath.

  His fists clenched and unclenched. He opened his hands and spread his fingers wide, forcing himself to relax. A quick pat of his pocket assured him the knife was still where he’d stashed it. He pushed aside limbs, but the semi-darkness made it hard to detect landmarks. Where was the path to the door? The tunnel entrance was supposedly set into a hillside only a few yards from the shore.

  The pale half moon cast long, shadowed fingers between the branches of trees swaying and twisting in the wind. Eerie night noises swirled around him. His breath rasped in and out of his c
hest. As he dove further into the thicket, the moon slipped behind a cloud and the air became heavier, almost cloying with the scent of decaying vegetation. When his eyes finally adjusted to the deeper level of darkness, he found he had stumbled upon the entrance to the tunnel. Perhaps the gods were smiling on him after all.

  The door was already open a crack. He peeked inside, straining to detect any movement. He attempted to draw in a deep breath, but only ragged hacking and coughing followed the effort. He slapped his hand over his mouth, fearful of premature discovery. Steadying his nerves, he pulled the black bandana over the lower half of his face. Did his eyes sparkle with malice over the edge of the cloth? He hoped so. Oh God, he hoped so.

  He slipped along the dirt floor of the tunnel one slow step at a time. If he met one of Hamilton’s men down the long corridor, his life would end. No questions asked. No one would ever find his body. Hamilton would make sure of it, but he wouldn’t handle the task himself. Hamilton had men to do his dirty work for him, never allowing his hands to be soiled with the details of his enemy’s demise. Many men had disappeared, presumably murdered on Hamilton’s orders. The residents of Hill County whispered rumors of revenge and death behind their hands, but no one dared speak of his criminal activities aloud.

  At regular intervals, dim lights were set into recesses in the wall, so that the tunnel was never totally dark. Of course, Hamilton could afford to light his house and his grounds. Hamilton ruled the county, financially, socially, and criminally.

  The dim corridor seemed to go on forever until the man came to another door just like the one he had entered. This entrance was unlocked as well. Either Hamilton and his men were incredibly lax with their security or something else was happening at Victoria House that night.

  He stepped back from the open door. Perhaps, his timing was off. Perhaps, another night would be better. Maybe someone else would do what he intended to do and all he would have to do is sit back and laugh. No, no. This was his justice. His wrongs to right. He couldn’t let anyone else do what he needed to do, even if someone else’s agenda played out in Victoria House that night as well.

  He moved past the door into the dim interior of what he presumed was the basement. Above him, the house stood quiet. One swift glance around the large space told him all he needed to know. The room was used for various illegal entertainments. Gambling and drinking. A speakeasy. Across the way sat a long bar with a mirrored wall behind it. An assortment of shiny glass bottles lined a shelf against the glass. He’d heard there was a club on the peninsula, and if he had thought about it long enough, he would have assumed Hamilton had control of it.

  Against his better judgment, he proceeded toward the stairs in the far corner of the room. The wood treads creaked as he ascended toward the first floor of the house. For a second—just a slim moment—he studied the fine woodwork of the stair banister. Hamilton had chosen only the best for his castle, even in his basement.

  The man had memorized the layout, although he’d never actually been in the house. He’d acquired his information from someone who hated Hamilton as much as he hated Hamilton’s wife. He almost laughed aloud. The old goat had named his brand new house for his brand new third wife. Victoria. The man had heard the house was beautiful. His informant had told him that Hamilton wanted the mansion to be as elegant and sophisticated as his new wife. The Baron of Hill County obviously didn’t know her very well. When the man was done with her, there would be nothing elegant or beautiful about the new Mrs. Hamilton.

  Once the man reached the top of the basement stairs and entered the kitchen, he stopped and stared. The space was huge, filled with the latest in modern equipment. Large lavish meals were prepared for Hamilton and his numerous guests. So much food wasted when there were people who needed jobs so they could feed their families. Unless a man worked for Hamilton, he had no means to support his wife and children.

  Another set of beautifully crafted stairs rose from the kitchen to the second floor. As he climbed, he sucked in oxygen rapidly. He’d already overexerted his weakened body. The consumption was eating him alive, from the inside out. It wouldn’t be long before he coughed up more blood. He should have stopped to rest, but didn’t have the time. Any moment, one of Hamilton’s guards might have found him sneaking around the house.

  His breath caught in his pained lungs. If the guards were patrolling the house, even in the middle of the night, why weren’t they making any noise? Certainly, there should be footsteps. Creaking and thudding and bumping. True, the upper floors were carpeted with the finest new materials, but three large men couldn’t keep from making some noise, even on padded flooring. No matter. He continued on his mission, the drive to execute so strong that he would only stop if someone stopped him permanently.

  When he reached the second floor hallway, he paused to catch another ragged, raspy breath. The black cloth clung heavy to his face. Sweat covered his skin and dripped down his backbone. He wanted to snatch the mask from his face so he could breathe, so he could wipe the moisture from his skin. Not yet. It wasn’t time yet to reveal his identity.

  Her door was at the end of the upstairs hallway. In another heartbeat, his hand was on the knob. Victoria was on the other side of the heavy wood door. Only a few more steps, a few more breaths, a few more heartbeats. He’d finally reached his goal. He pushed open the door. Padded across the bedroom floor. Drew back the canopy that sheltered her sleeping form. Raised the knife in the air above his head, pulled the mask from his face...and froze.

  Victoria’s eyes were open, unfocused, and unseeing. Her face set in a mask of terror. A scream should surely erupt from her mouth any second. Then his eyes shifted to the blood on her clothing, on her linens, splattered on the headboard of her bed. The line of seeping blood that she wore around her neck like a too tight choker.

  Too late. I’m too late. Instinct slammed every one of his senses. Run. Get away. His mind reeled. His feet should have been in motion, but instead he remained frozen in place. He reached out with his free hand to touch her. Even in death she had the power to immobilize and emasculate him.

  A sharp pain sliced across his throat. His fingers released the knife above his head. Before his mind could fully absorb his fate, he watched in horror as the red of his blood mingled with Victoria’s on the bedspread. Just a second of realization. A quick flash of knowing. Just enough time to sense the fatal error he had made.

  Then, his world went dark forever.

  Chapter Two

  Hill County, Arkansas

  April 2014

  Late Friday afternoon, Tori Downing pushed open the heavy wood door of the house she’d inherited from her grandmother and peeked into the front entry. Pearl Hamilton had bequeathed the property to her, and she had taken possession six years ago when her grandmother died, but until she left Little Rock, she’d never even considered moving into the derelict old house.

  The psychological aftereffects of one terrifying night she’d survived over a year ago had given her a very good reason to leave the career she’d built at the Arkansas State Crime Lab and apply to the Hill County Sheriff’s Department as a crime scene specialist. Sure, she wasn’t doing the same work in Fairview that she’d done in Little Rock, but at least it was a job and a way to exist away from everything that reminded her of that night.

  She stopped in the threshold of the old Hamilton family mansion and waited until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She’d never even seen the old house until a couple of weeks before she moved to Fairview, and even then, she hadn’t dared explore the interior. The exterior had been imposing enough. No doubt, the house would require a lot of work before it was inhabitable, and she needed to know just how much she was going to have to invest in time and capital to make that happen.

  For the past few weeks, she’d been living in a motel suite she’d rented by the week. The Ozarkan Residence Inn and Suites was only three miles from the Sheriff’s Department. Her commute to work would be longer once... No, if she moved into the
family mansion on the tip end of the longest peninsula on Lake Jefferson. It took twenty-five minutes to drive out to the lake from the office, as the manmade reservoir was outside of town, north of Fairview, almost to the state line.

  It seemed incredible to her that her family’s property had not been sold and swallowed up by the rampant development of the lakefront. Actually, her grandmother probably could have sold the place easily a hundred times over. There were only two parcels still undeveloped. Hers and the small patch across the inlet occupied by a mobile home. Condos from between three to six stories tall towered around the lake’s perimeter on either side of the trailer. What little land that wasn’t taken over by condominiums was relegated to restaurants and marinas.

  Tori didn’t really want to live in the old house, but she couldn’t stay in the motel much longer without inciting the suspicion that she didn’t intend to remain too much longer in Hill County. Sheriff Halsey had noted her temporary residence on more than one occasion.

  Truth told, the gruff old man scared the pee out of her. She needed the job, not just for her livelihood but also for her sanity, so she didn’t want to give Halsey any reason to let her go. The office was an elected position, but Halsey was career law enforcement rather than a career politician, so he probably wouldn’t hesitate to fire her on a whim if it suited him, especially not with retirement looming in his near future. He wasn’t running for re-election in November so he had nothing to loose by running the Department exactly as he pleased.

  There was no playing the game with Halsey. He didn’t appear to play games, and she was well aware how easy it would be for someone with his level of authority to ruin her career. Civil servant status or not. Working for the state only protected her job security to a certain extent. She’d learned that the hard way.