Chapter Three

No demon greeted her and no murderer slashed at her throat. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "I'm a thundering eejit. Why would an intruder hide in a bloomin' closet? Why would he hide at all? He's gone. He wouldn't stick around to be caught." Brona tried to convince herself, but it didn't explain what happened to Tara. "I need to find her. If the blood is hers, she's hurt or..." No, she wouldn't go there. Her sister was alive and needed her help. She turned toward the bed. Her gaze landed where the puddle of blood should be, only it wasn't there. Her breath solidified in her throat, choking her.

How could it be gone? She took a tentative step forward. Her whole body tensed and a cold sweat trickled down her back. What in the hell is going on? It was as if someone had mopped the floor while she had her back turned and removed the damning evidence.

Waves of grayness overtook her, threatening to make her pass out. She fought it, trying to tame the roaring in her ears. She stumbled to the bed and sat down, taking in deep gulps of air.

Clear as day, she had seen the blood. How could it be gone? She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She needed everything to make sense again. She'd heard Tara scream hysterically as she had entered the house. That was real—wasn't it? It couldn't have been her imagination.

She forced herself to leave the safety of the bed. She knelt down and felt the floorboards. They were smooth beneath her fingertips and dry as a bone. Obviously, there had never been any blood other than what her wild imagination had conjured up, but that still didn't explain why Tara was missing.

She flew to her feet and rushed to the door. "Tara," she called. The roar of absolute silence greeted her, which did nothing to ease the tension coiling in the pit of her stomach. Something was terribly wrong, but she couldn't place her finger on it. She wished Liam were here. It wasn't as if she couldn't take care of herself, but Liam was tall and strong. If an intruder lurked within their home, he'd have a better chance of subduing him. She stood five-foot-two and a hundred pounds.

Liam used to tease her. "Don't wander too close to the edge of the cliff, luv. If a strong wind picks up, it'll take you right over."

A thunderclap rattled the windows, causing her heart to leap. Then another flash of lightning before the lights flickered out, leaving her in total darkness. "Bloody brilliant!" Brona cursed under her breath. She hugged the wall and moved forward, feeling her way as she went. If she could just reach the desk a few feet in front of her, she'd have light. She kept batteries and the torch in the top drawer for such nights like this. She strained her eyes, opening them wider as if this would allow her to see through the inky blackness. She needed to keep her wits about her. She had to find Tara before it was too late.

She bumped into a cabinet, stubbing her toe. She hopped on one foot and bit her lower lip to stop herself from crying out. Finally, the pain subsided and she drew in a ragged breath. She fumbled with the drawer. It didn't want to open. She pulled on the handle again, rattling the drawer and hoping to dislodge whatever kept it shut. At last, she managed to pry it open. She reached inside, feeling for the torch.

Whispering sounds of voices caused her to pause and listen.

"Tara?"

The murmuring stopped cold.

Fear, like the quick hot touch of the devil, shot through her and the prickling hairs on the back of her neck rose.

If it was Tara, who else was with her? Maybe one of the voices hadn't been her sister's. Maybe there was more than one intruder and they were discussing their diabolical plans. Would someone really dare to make the hike up the cliffs in this storm? Brona imagined all kinds of horrible scenarios. Her imagination conjured up the worst and she convinced herself a stranger held her sister hostage in one of the rooms.