Chapter Eight

The path they traveled at first was winding and distorted, a natural formation of rock as old as the geological shift of landmasses.

They didn’t travel far, though it felt like they moved forever. At one point, Ben Pratt stopped, gripping Carly’s arm tightly, looking back.

He threw his penlight over the distance they had walked, but apparently, he saw nothing. He started to pull Carly forward again.

She thought that they had come to a dead end because she saw a rise of what appeared to be ragged gray stone before her, but a shift to the left showed her that there was an L-shape in the earth’s tunnel, but that L-shape led to a door.

Still holding her tightly, Pratt pushed on the door.

They were back in Clayton Moore’s Georgian manor.

And she was in the basement—not the way she had intended to find it, but they were finally there.

And Luke was right behind her. They were doing what they had set out to do—finding everything that they needed to find.

In a room beyond a room, she imagined. Through another door—one that looked like part of the wood paneling in the regular basement, she determined, seeing the paneled section across from where they stood—there would be your typical, normal facilities, like a water heater, a washer and dryer, storage.

But here...

There were shelves filled with a strange assortment of tools, surgeons’ knives and scalpels, pliers, sharpened sticks, an acetylene torch...

Those are vats filled with acid, she thought.

Acid that accounted for the various skeletons kept on shelves there, some articulated, some just in piles of bones.

And there were four tables or gurneys of steel with leather straps with which to bind a person...

Where a woman lay. Silent, eyes closed, spots of blood upon the clothing she wore, here and there, where one or more of the “tools” had been used upon her.

“Ah, my lovely lassie, welcome to our true guest welcome area! Choose a table!” Ben Pratt told her.

“No.”

“I can cut you before you lie down, if you choose,” he warned her, smiling. “It’s better when you’re lying down. You just bleed. If I cut you while you’re standing, you could fall and break a bone. That would really hurt.”

“No, I really don’t think so,” Carly told him.

It had gone far enough; they had found what they’d hoped, except that...

It appeared they were too late.

Mary Nelson had been a beautiful young woman, a brunette with a sweeping length of dark hair that fell around the whiteness of her face.

“Down!” he ordered.

“No, no, I really don’t think so. Luke?”

He’d been standing right behind the door and stepped in, his Glock aimed directly at Ben Pratt’s head.

The ghost of Hamish of Inverness came in behind him, rushing over to stand by Mary Nelson, his distress and sorrow apparent as he set a ghostly hand upon her forehead.

“Get your hands off her, Pratt,” Luke said.

Ben Pratt stared back at Luke with incredulous anger. “I should have known!” he raged.

“Let her go!” Luke snapped again.

Pratt did. In that second, the manager of Gordon House obviously decided to play it a different way.

“I had to!” he cried out, dropping Carly’s arm. “I had to! Clayton was going to kill me if I didn’t play his game, if I didn’t help him with this...this thing of his. He wanted to be the one who excelled above all others, and he knows where my family lives, and you don’t understand. I had no choice!”

“That’s not true at all. There’s always a choice, I’m afraid,” Carly told him.

“No, whatever I said—” Pratt began to protest.

“I’m afraid you’re cooked, my friend,” Carly said. “I wasn’t calling Luke—I knew he was right behind us. I set my phone to record everything you said.”

“I had to, I had to say those things. I had to get started on torturing you or else he would kill me, and he taught me that scaring a person first was the beginning and—”

“Maybe there could be some clemency for you if you were to be a witness for the prosecution,” Luke said.

“I’ll tell you about him, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, anything that I know, I swear, I was forced into this, I was—”

“You bloody ass!” they suddenly heard.

They knew where the lift landed now; the door to the regular basement had opened, and Clayton Moore himself was standing there, brandishing a gun and staring at Ben Pratt with a fury that seemed to have turned his entire body red, if the color of his face was any indicator.

“I don’t know whether to shoot you or them first!” he raged, staring at Pratt.

“They were on to us!” Pratt cried desperately. Two guns were aimed at him then. Clayton Moore’s and Luke’s.

“Wait! Clayton, think about it! We don’t know who or what they think they are, but they have no power here. They’re Americans!” He stared at Carly. “Bitch, your lover boy can’t save you, you have no power whatsoever, he has no power—”

“I do have a gun,” Luke reminded him.

“And so do I,” Carly said. With Clayton Moore now brandishing his weapon at them all, it seemed time to produce her Glock.

“But I will kill one of you before I go down!” Moore vowed. “You have no power—”

“Ah, here you all are!”

They were joined by another living soul as Brendan Campbell burst through the door to the torture room, his own weapon aimed at Moore.

“They have no power, eh, my man?” he taunted. “Other than that the two of them are great shots and, wait, I do have the authority to arrest you both. Though if one of them was to shoot your bloody arses first, it would be totally understandable.”

Despite Campbell’s words, Carly knew Clayton Moore had meant what he had said; he might go down, but he didn’t intend to go down alone.

She fired, close enough to catch his right shoulder, and though he screamed and tried to keep his hand on his weapon to pull the trigger, he could not.

His gun fell from his grip.

Campbell was staring at the man; he didn’t see that the spirit of Hamish of Inverness managed to use whatever ghostly strength he had to kick the gun toward Luke.

Luke stooped to retrieve it before Ben Pratt could.

As Hamish straightened, he cried out to them.

“She’s breathing! The lass is breathing! We need help, now!”

“I need help now! Brutality, I will sue you to the ends of the earth!” Moore screamed.

“Watch them!” Campbell ordered as he pulled out his phone. It was best that he called it in; he was the local authority and help would respond immediately, Carly knew.

She glanced at Luke, who nodded, keeping his gun trained on Clayton Moore while also having an eye on Ben Pratt.

She rushed over to the table where Mary Nelson lay bound and began to work on removing the leather straps. They were tied tightly and she had to swing around to grab one of the scalpels from a shelf and begin to cut furiously at the leather that held the woman to the table.

They heard sirens almost immediately. Carly knew that law enforcement—and emergency services—had been alerted to be ready at his signal.

Even as Campbell cuffed the two men, Moore was still screaming about brutality while Pratt was still screaming he had been forced to do what he had done. He wasn’t a killer, not a killer himself.

Campbell left the two of them watching over Mary Nelson and the cuffed killers so he could head up and bring other police and medical personnel down to the hidden torture chamber in the basement.

Carly assured herself that Mary Nelson was breathing and she was. But when she searched for a pulse, she found that while the woman had one, it was weak.

Over her days in captivity, she had probably had little or no water—just enough for them to keep her alive to continue the torture—and she had lost a great deal of blood.

Hamish was at her side. It appeared the ghost was weeping.

“There is hope!” Carly assured him, just before help reached them. She stepped back instantly for medical personnel to begin work on Mary Nelson.

Finally, Mary was taken away; Campbell was giving directions to everyone.

At last he came back to Carly and Luke and studied them appreciatively. “My friends, I cannot tell you the depths of our appreciation. We have laws, of course, against illegal search and seizure—”

“Again,” Luke reminded him, shrugging. “As in America.”

Campbell nodded. “Aye, thankfully, the colonies learned something from the motherland!” He managed a smile that faded quickly as he looked around. “Mary Nelson has a chance. As for those who are here...”

He swept out an arm, indicating the skeletons and random bones that lay on the shelves.

“As for those here, it will take some time for our forensic and medical departments to put the pieces together. Ah! Bad choice of words,” he said, shaking his head in dismay. “But they will be taken to a national facility back in Edinburgh. If you would be so kind—”

“We’ll get our things and be at your disposal as you wish,” Luke assured him. “But—”

“Herr Grunewald is fine. I saw to him.”

“You’re sure? He was in his room—” Carly began.

“I’m sure. I handled the situation in a very simple way. I knocked on his door for a quick chat. After I had spoken to him, I checked on Mr. Moore and knew, of course, when he hurried to the lift to reach the basement that I needed to follow. Also, I have asked our emergency teams to check on him and see that he is taken elsewhere, wherever he might choose to go. But since he was so concerned about Miss Nelson, I believe he’ll want to be near the hospital.”

“Let’s pray she has a chance,” Carly murmured.

“She does,” Campbell assured her.

“We’ll head up to get our things and start back for Edinburgh,” Luke told him.

“Aye and thank you. And fear not—we’ll have you assisting with questioning, though it seems they are both determined to speak against the other.” He hesitated. “I almost believe your Clayton Moore might wish your shot had been into his heart. Moore is so obsessed with this...this horrid H. H. Holmes Society!”

“Perhaps,” Carly murmured. “Though I must say, I’m grateful you are authorized to carry that weapon, sir—and that in our situation, we were granted the authority as well.”

He nodded. “I prefer anything other, but under these circumstances...well, we are all alive. And Herr Grunewald is alive and well, and the horror here has been stopped. We’ll move onward.”

“Right,” Luke murmured. “Carly?”

“I’ll take my leave,” Hamish told them.

The chamber was busy; Carly looked at him and said, “Luke, perhaps we get to the car and pause a minute.”

Hamish managed to smile. “Aye, then, I’ll see you at the car!”

She nodded, and they went through the door to the regular basement and saw the lift was there and the door was opened and ready.

They took the lift to the second floor and saw that Herr Grunewald was in the hallway with a local policeman at his side.

He excused himself and came over to them, reaching out to take their hands and thank them profusely.

“They’d have poisoned me! I thought them the kindest men possible. My property is left in their hands should I die. My first act on the morrow will be a call to see that my papers are straightened out. I will be near dear Mary, and I will use my resources because now I know... Well, I believe I know what is real and what is not. I cannot tell you how grateful I am!”

“Herr Grunewald, we are equally grateful, and we’re praying for Mary,” Carly assured him.

“Indeed, sir,” Luke agreed.

The policeman cleared his throat. “Herr Grunewald. We need to get you—”

“I am ready, good sir. I just...”

“Of course,” the policeman said, nodding at Luke and Carly.

He politely led Grunewald down the hall, and Carly and Luke went into their room to retrieve their things.

She paused, zipped her small suitcase and looked at Luke. “This was...very, very bad. But we’re still not at the bottom of it all!”

“Carly, they’ve been studying all the footage from the café and beyond, both here and in the US. And now we have all the computers from this place. There will be a way to stop what’s going on,” Luke said.

She shook her head. “The original H. H. Holmes practiced his scams and murders for years,” she said. “They don’t even know when he began.”

“The original Holmes, while a monster, was also a brilliant man. Top of his class all the time when he was a child, and a graduate from medical college when so many people dropped out. Granted, he learned all about dissecting the human body there, grave robbery and the manipulation of providing a corpse when need be for an insurance scam. But he was smart—if he hadn’t had his psychotic tendencies, if he’d directed his brilliance and energy in a different direction, he might have been a great man.”

“I will not admire a long-dead serial killer!” Carly protested.

Luke shook his head. “Of course not. The point I’m making is that whoever is running this website is more like Holmes. Clever, cunning and probably a psychopath, but not all psychopaths turn into murderers. Holmes might have gone in a different direction, but that’s not the point. Clayton Moore is charming and clever, but far from brilliant—in my estimation, at least. He was a true copycat. He had the property and the ability to create a Holmes-style ‘castle,’ but he never graduated from medical school and his methods became sloppy at the end. We will discover that Herr Grunewald’s drink was poisoned when the lab finishes with the vial—he should never have been so careless with others around.”

“Maybe Ben Pratt was responsible for the mistakes,” Carly said. “Maybe he was Clayton Moore’s Pitezel, a man to be useful while needed, and then done away with when the situation demanded. Pitezel was even in on the insurance scam that he believed Holmes was perpetuating. They headed to Philadelphia, where the insurance company was located, and they were supposed to pretend that Pitezel died accidentally while substituting another body so that his wife could claim the insurance, and then they could all split it. Of course, that’s not what Holmes had intended at all. But he had long befriended Pitezel and his family before murdering the man for his insurance scams—and then murdering three of his children as well.”

“Well, then, lucky for Pratt he’ll spend the rest of his days in prison,” he said.

“Still, it’s so frustrating! This is the fourth Society situation you’ve come upon and the second for me, and it’s so frustrating. Whoever is creating this website over and over again is truly a monster—getting others to lead a life of torture and murder—and probably not caring in the least when one or more of his Society members is arrested. He’ll keep at it and we’ll keep putting bandages on the situation while he gets away.”

“But they didn’t have the forensic science then that we do now. We’ve also got some of the best computer technicians in the world working on all this.” Luke grinned. “We’re not alone.”

She nodded, aware that his words were true—they were in the field. But others had been working with all the footage from the café while they had been at Clayton Moore’s Georgian manor house. And others were even with them out in the field.

“Campbell did make a timely entry tonight,” Carly said. “Both suspects are still alive, and we may still learn something from them.”

“We may, so there you go,” he said. “Come on. I want to give Hamish my most sincere thanks.”

Hamish was waiting by the car, and Carly hurried to him, forgetting for a minute that she might be seen by one of the many professionals now busy in Gordon House.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” she told him, reminding herself she couldn’t really hug a spirit. “Thanks to you, we had the best possible outcome—”

Hamish shook his head. “Thank you. War is one tragic and horrid thing—the murder of complete innocents is abomination. But to be honest, I don’t think of meself as a bloodthirsty man, but I’d have loved to see the two of them shot to pieces or chopped to bits, sent straight to the hell where such men deserve to be!”

“Hamish, we are law enforcement, not judges or juries,” Carly reminded him quietly. “And perhaps, for such men, rotting in prison while alive may be a greater punishment than death.”

“I understand,” Hamish said. “And I thank you, and I will watch over Mary.”

“We’ll be praying for her,” Luke said.

“I heard one of the medical men speaking. Her pulse was already growing stronger. There is hope for her, though for so many others...”

“Hamish of Inverness, you have been wonderful, and maybe one day there will be a way to let Mary know how grateful we were for your help. Now, sir, we need to get to Edinburgh.”

“Aye. I will be here, should ye need me.”

“Thank you!” Carly said again.

Hamish nodded gravely, stepped back and watched as they got in their car and drove away.

They hadn’t driven far when Luke’s phone buzzed. He glanced at her while keeping one hand solidly on the wheel as he pulled his phone out.

“Campbell,” he told her. “We need to report in to fill out paperwork, then take the night—though it will be morning by then—and let our prisoners be processed. He has spoken with Jackson—they both say we get to rest and let them stew. Also, they’ve been working together from across the pond and are narrowing down information on facial recognition and timelines to possibly have a suspect again for our dark-web guru. Naturally, you are the one who saw the man, if only briefly, so they’ll want us studying what they’ve discovered.”

She turned to him. “There may really be a suspect?”

“Getting there.”

Carly leaned back. “I may sleep on the way to Edinburgh.”

“Go for it,” he said.

She closed her eyes. She opened them.

“I may not sleep,” she said wearily. “Too much adrenaline, I suppose, after what happened. You, Hamish, Campbell...it all fell into place!”

“I believe you would have been fine with or without us.”

She smiled over at him. “Thanks. Maybe—I’d have shot Ben Pratt if I’d been forced to without blinking, especially after seeing Mary Nelson bleeding on that table. But then Clayton Moore arrived and, though I am a good shot, that might have gone either way!”

He smiled over at her. “That’s what I keep telling you,” he reminded her. “We’re not alone.”

She leaned back. “Okay, I’ll just close my eyes.” It was remarkable that, despite the fact she didn’t believe she could possibly sleep, it was still...okay. She was almost resting. There was a comfort and security about knowing Luke was awake and aware, and that he was a man who could almost sense any danger coming their way.

Comfort, security and...

Other than the fact they were after heinous killers, it had been fun playing that they were a loving couple who still might argue like cats and dogs. And acting like she might have been open to a scam if approached by a solicitous and charming other man!

Not good. They were partners.

But in the Krewe, partners often became so much more. Maybe it was simply that they didn’t have to hide the strange talent that would make most others think them crazy, or...

Then again...

Okay, so Luke was simply hot,and she’d be a liar if she were to deny that touching him had ever been anything other than their mission.

What if he had only been playing a part? In her mind, even calling him a jerk had been something that might have been real. Playing the argumentative couple had been almost surreal, playing so naturally in tandem as they had.

Easy, easy and, yes, evocative, to be with him.

But maybe he was just immersed in his role. They had both worked undercover before; they were both good at their jobs.

And maybe that was it and nothing more.

She was startled into opening her eyes as the car came to a halt.

“You’re smiling!” Luke said.

“I am, must have dozed—”

“And enjoyed a pleasant dream at last?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We’re here.”

“Paperwork.”

“Paperwork.”

Campbell hadn’t arrived yet, but they were led to his office to await him and were given tea and applauded grimly by the staff who greeted them.

Campbell arrived shortly after, and they went through all the necessary items and finished the paperwork within the next few hours.

“By the way, that was an excellent act, sir,” Carly told him when they were done, and she and Luke were free to leave for the few hours that remained of the night.

Campbell smiled at them. “Ah, old and stodgy I look to you now, eh? I spent my youth climbing the ladder to arrive where I stand today. I’ve done enough undercover in my past. Oh! The lab report came in. And thanks to your due diligence—”

“Our due diligence. You were there when we needed you, sir,” Luke corrected.

“They were going to poison Grunewald. Something called aconite was found in the vial you gave us, and it’s very difficult to detect unless one is specifically looking. The idea, of course, was that he would die of a heart attack, one seen as a natural death, and then Clayton Moore could scoop up his holdings. It seems that Holmes murdered for murder. But his ‘safe’ where victims could be suffocated was also found, and while hundreds of names of those who had disappeared in Chicago came in, very few had anything to do with money. Of course, not all were victims. So, it appears the members of the H. H. Holmes Society may kill for both profit and pleasure. I believe we are getting close. Now we must figure out a way to stop this completely and forever. But that’s for tomorrow. Please, we have you at one of my favorite places just off the Royal Mile, a great two-bedroom suite with a full kitchen.”

“Thank you,” Luke told him, accepting the card with the address from Campbell.

“In truth, I wish I’d been the one to think of it!” Campbell said. “Special Agent Angela Hawkins made the arrangements, and I heartily agreed. By afternoon, if you are ready, we’ll see to it that you’re able to interrogate the men.”

“Separately, please,” Luke said.

“Our intent as well,” Campbell assured them.

They left the station and traveled to their new accommodations.

The hotel was beautiful and literally right off the Royal Mile. Marble and wood highlighted the entry, a restaurant faced an expanse of lawn before the Mile; when they headed up, their suite was far more than accommodating. Both bedrooms offered private showers, and the kitchen and lounge areas were expansive and shared a view of the city that was spectacular, with the rise of Arthur’s Seat in the distance. Bits and pieces of Holyrood Park and the palace were also visible.

“Wow. Angela is...damned fantastic,” Luke said.

“She is.”

“You look perplexed,” Luke told her.

“I guess it’s the calm before the storm and I know that...”

“Yeah. Sleep.”

“Maybe I did sleep in the car.”

“For at least fifty miles,” he assured her. He walked over to her, gently taking her by the shoulders.

“We wouldn’t be human if we weren’t touched by what we’re dealing with, with what we’re seeing. But we can’t serve the people adequately if we don’t shake it off sometimes.”

She smiled at him and laughed softly. “Funny, I was afraid that since you were the one to walk into the first murder castle on this case, you were taking everything too much to heart. I’m okay, really. I swear it. Sleep, right? We’re going to get to sleep.”

He nodded, drew his knuckles down her cheek and said, “Yeah.” It almost sounded as if he had said the word regretfully.

As if he were wishing for more. And the gesture was so sweetly intimate, indicating a closeness between them, strong and shared and...

Or she was putting something into his tone just because she wanted it to be there.

“We’ll get to speak with Moore and Pratt when we wake up,” he reminded her.

“Think we’ll get anything from them?” she asked, hoping her voice was cool and casual.

“If they know anything, we’ll get it. And if they don’t—we’ve had amazing techs and others going through hours and hours of surveillance footage. We’ll get something.”

She nodded and stepped away at last. “Yes, sleep and, oh, wow! Shower. After the creepy tunnel, the blood, the bones...”

She flashed him a smile and hurried into the bedroom she’d chosen. Without thinking, she began to shed her clothing haphazardly, only pausing briefly to see that her Glock and its small holster were carefully placed on the nightstand by the plush queen-size bed.

With clothing strewn everywhere, she headed into the shower. She was delighted to discover the place had amazing water pressure, and the water itself quickly ran deliciously hot.

She heard the knock on the door to her bedroom and Luke’s voice as he excitedly called her name. Grabbing a towel, she let the water run and raced out, calling “Come in!” as she neared the door.

He opened it.

Wearing a towel, too.

“Oh, ah, yeah, sorry, and me... Anyway, got a text from Jackson. The hospital apparently let the big guys know at the same time—Mary Nelson is going to make it. She’s already come to and received a ton of blood, has a strong pulse...”

He stopped speaking awkwardly.

“You took your phone in the shower?” she asked him.

“It was on the sink.”

“Oh.”

They stood there for a minute, staring at one another. Then Carly found she was smiling and chastising herself.

She took chances.

Being in law enforcement, she took chances—calculated carefully, of course—but chances. With her life.

And here and now, when it came to her heart and soul, she was suddenly the worst coward known to man.

But she wasn’t going to continue to be.

“Okay, well, that’s great information. Wonderful! And you’re here in a towel and I’m here in a towel. We’re obviously both rid of bone dust and blood and all kinds of stuff you really don’t want to share and...”

“Sex is a truly viable alternative to sleeping to shake off some ill effects of such a day,” he pointed out.

“You think?”

“I do. And you?”

“It could work. How good are you?” she teased.

“Ah, well, that’s in the eye of the beholder, right?”

“Beholder?” Her eyebrow rose.

“Well, you know...”

Life was filled with chances. And there weren’t always second chances to follow a bungled first.

“Okay, maybe. I mean, it was an absolutely horrific day, so it can’t be worse!”

He grinned at that. “Yeah, and you know guys—we’re into anything that moves.”

“So, it could be okay.”

Maybe they really were in tune with one another. They dropped the towels simultaneously, and Carly moved flush against his naked body.

Hmm...

And maybe he was right. Guys would go after anything...

But it was good. Good to feel his incredible warmth, a heat that emanated from him and seemed to fill her. She willed herself to stop thinking.

To just feel. To take in the incredible moment, to breathe...

His lips touched upon hers, featherlight at first. Then his mouth formed over hers completely. His kiss became deep and intimate, and she felt his hands...

He knew how to move them, he knew how to kiss, touch, caress...

Drawing away, he smiled and swept her up into his arms.

“This is okay, right?”

“Seems okay so far,” she assured him.

“I mean, you know, sweeping you up.”

“Well, you know, I was going to sweep you up, but, I mean, you are kind of heavy, so I guess this is okay.”

She fell back upon the bed with him coming over her. She was still smiling as he demanded while grinning, “Are you calling me fat?”

“No, no, just, uh, big.”

“That’s fat.”

“Muscled, is that better? Everyone knows muscle weighs more than fat! And tall, of course. There’s just a lot of you.”

He preened as his mouth touched down on hers.

The horror of the day was gone in seconds as she felt an urgency almost overwhelm her, the sweetness of sensation slip into her and rule every conscious thought.

Touch, brush, kiss, caress, sweet and natural intimacy, and somehow not just sex, but...

Making love, intimate, locking together, sweeping to new heights...

And then lying together in an aftermath every bit as sweet.

“Was I okay?” he teased, his whisper falling against her cheek.

And she grinned.

“You’ll do in a pinch,” she murmured.

And they laughed together and made love again. It really was perfect...

Because afterward, she fell into a deep, deep sleep, one she had desperately needed.