The Presence by Heather Graham Page A

about these disappearances and murders than you should. They do keep occurring when you’re actually in residence.” He raised a hand instantly. “And that doesn’t mean a damned thing. I’m your friend and I know you. I’m just telling you what someone else might think.”
    â€œBloody hell!” Bruce cursed, his tone hard. Jonathan’s suggestion was an outrage, and he was both startled and angry.
    â€œSorry, Bruce, I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just that you’re getting obsessive. I understand, of course. But you’re not what you were, Bruce. Time has gone on. Just because you struck it lucky once in Edinburgh doesn’t make you an expert.”
    Bruce prayed for patience. “I’m not claiming to be an ex pert. But murdered women being discovered in Tillingham Forest does bother, seriously. And it should bother the hell out of you.”
    â€œI know my business, Bruce.”
    â€œI’m not suggesting that you don’t.”
    â€œHow can I stop a madman from kidnapping women in other cities? If you haven’t noticed, we’ve miles of dark roads around here, not to mention that whole companies of fightin’ men used to use that forest as a refuge! And again, this girl has just been reported as missing. She’s an Irish lass, might have just taken the ferry home.”
    Bruce rose. “If she isn’t found in a few days’ time, I’ll arrange for a party myself to search the forest.”
    â€œBruce, mind that MacNiall temper of yours, please, for the love of God!” Jonathan said. “I told you, we’ve taken a look in the forest. We’ll go back and search with greater effort if she isn’t found in the next few days.”
    â€œGood.” Bruce rose and started for the door.
    â€œHey!” Jonathan called after him.
    â€œAye?” Bruce said, pausing.
    â€œDid you close down your haunted castle tour for this evening?” Jonathan asked.
    â€œActually, no. I’m joining it,” Bruce said.
    â€œYou’re joining it?” Jonathan said, astonished. “You’ve never acted in your life!”
    â€œWell, that’s not really true, is it? We all act every day of our lives, don’t we?” Bruce asked him lightly.
    â€œAch! Go figure!” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “It’s the blonde.”
    â€œIt’s the fact that they are in a rather sorry predicament,” Bruce said. “And they did do a damn good job repairing a few of the walls. See you on Monday.”
    He exited the office, leaving the newspaper on Jonathan’s desk. He knew what the front page carried—a picture.
    She was young, with wide eyes and long, soft brown hair. She had originally hailed from Belfast, Northern Ireland. Apparently, she’d intended to head for London. But she’d never made it that far, discovering drugs and prostitution somewhere along the way instead. She’d gotten as far as Edinburgh, and been officially reported as missing when a haphazard group of “friends” realized that they hadn’t seen her in several days.
    News could die quickly, unless it was really sensational. The missing persons report on the first girl had run in the local papers and then been forgotten. Until Bruce had discovered her body in the forest while out riding, facedown, decomposed to a macabre degree.
    He’d missed the notice about the second disappearance. But there had been no missing the fact of where the body had been found—Tillingham Forest. Eban had found the second victim there, months later.
    Prostitutes. Drug addicts. The lost and the lonely. They’d needed help, not strangulation.
    He sat in his car for a minute, staring out the wind-shield. He was parked right in the center of town, where a fountain sat in the middle of a roundabout. Atop the fountain was the proud statue of a Cavalier. There was no plaque stating his name, or the