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In the decades that had passed, who’s to say someone hadn’t found the scrolls, moved them to another location and kept the secret to themselves?
A gnawing pit formed in his stomach. What if someone had found them and thought they were trash?
No, the scrolls were supposedly rolled up in small tubes. Nine different tubes for the nine works. They were somewhere, and Braden wasn’t going to leave this house until he’d searched every inch of it.
He thought of the built-in bookcases in the living room he’d spotted earlier when he’d ran his phone light over the room. He’d tried to be casual about it, no reason to raise a red flag with Zara, because, as of right now, she was totally unsuspecting and completely worried about being alone with him.
Since she’d walked into his office for the job, he knew he wanted her in his bed. No reason he couldn’t enjoy a little recreational activity and search at the same time. Besides, getting Zara to open up to him may be the angle they’d needed all along, even if Ryker just wanted to break in and be done with it.
No way in hell was Ryker getting close to Zara. He was mysterious at best, terrifying at worst. And women loved that mysterious side. He had no intention of Zara being one of those women. Zara was all Braden’s...for now.
Braden knew full well what Ryker did for the family. Ever since Ryker had come to be friends with Braden and Mac in grade school, their father had taken Ryker in as another son. By the time they were out of high school, Ryker was just another member of the family. The Black Sheep was too benign a term when referring to the man who did all the dirty work.
Braden stared across to Zara and realized she was looking right back at him. This was ridiculous. They were adults acting like horny teens trying to get a mental feel for what the other one was thinking.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he told her. “Do you need your bed back?”
The image of Zara in her bed wasn’t new. He didn’t need to say the words aloud to conjure up a vivid image. He’d already had her in bed several times in his mind.
“I can’t sleep.”
He knew a cure for insomnia.
“It’s too quiet,” she continued. “I usually sleep with a fan because I can’t handle the silence at night.”
Interesting. Braden bent his elbow and rested his head on his palm. “Are you afraid to stay here alone?”
“Not really. It’s just my old place was so much smaller, and this house has always had that creepy factor, you know? It’s old, it creaks and groans. Then there’s the rumor it’s haunted.” She laughed. “I guess when I’m alone with my thoughts, I let my imagination run wild.”
“It’s not unusual for these old homes to have some ghost story. They’re either based off some truth people believe, or they make for a good resale value for those seeking adventure.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not up for an adventure and I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Braden found he liked hearing her talk. He liked how soft her voice was, how it carried through the darkness and hit him straight with a shot of arousal. So he wanted to keep her talking.
“Since we both can’t sleep, why don’t you tell me the ghost story?”
He saw her lick her lips as she clutched the blanket near her chest. Thanks to the dim lighting, Braden found her even more alluring. Sleep wasn’t even a priority.
“It’s silly, actually. Apparently there was a young couple in love, and supposedly the man went off to the army and never returned. There are stories he died in the war, stories he fell in love with another. Who knows? She went on to marry, but the rumor is you can still hear her crying.”
Braden knew that story all too well. Considering this house had been in his family at the time Zara was referring to. And the woman was his great-great...several greats, grandmother. He’d always heard the story that the man who went to the army was actually her husband and he’d been killed. She’d remarried, had children but, supposedly, never got over her first love. A tragic story, a romantic one for those who were into that sort of thing...and his Irish family most definitely was.
“But, if I ever hear a woman crying in this house, it will take me one giant leap to get out of here,” Zara went on with a light laugh. “An intruder I can handle. A ghost, not so much. At least a real person I can shoot.”
The more she talked, the more Braden found he didn’t like her in this big house alone. But, if she had a firearm, at least she could defend herself.
