Free Terror Mansion (Decorah Security Series, Book #12): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novella by REBECCA YORK

from the estate for a lot less than the appraised value”
    Kate shuddered. “Another clue that it could be him.”
    He scanned her work area. “It’s getting dark. Unfortunately there’s not much traffic down here in the evening. Are you almost done?”
    “Almost. Give me a few more minutes. She picked up the steel wool she’d been using and turned back to her work.
    He wanted to hurry her up, but he knew her craft was important to her. And now he was thinking that if they were going to be here for a while, he should use the time to tell Decorah about his recent research. He pulled out his phone, but instead of making a call, he set the phone in his lap and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a little light-headed. When he looked over at Kate, she was wavering on her chair.
    His mind had slowed down, but he was able to grasp one important fact. Something was affecting both of them.
    “We . . . have . . . to . . . get . . . out of . . . here,” he managed to say as he staggered toward her.
    “Too late,” a harsh voice said.
    Wyatt looked up to see someone standing in the doorway, but it was difficult to figure out what he was actually observing.
    He blinked as he focused on the face, trying to see through the stinging tears that now welled up in his eyes. The visage was completely distorted, as though a man had grown an animal snout. Then he got it. The guy was wearing a gas mask.
    The intruder laughed, a muffled sound.
    Wyatt could hardly move, but he let his arm slip over the side of the chair and drop the notebook he’d been holding. As it fell to the floor, he cursed himself. His notes had been designed to confuse anyone who saw them. Now he prayed that someone from Decorah Security would find them and figure out what the hell they meant.
    “You wanted to go to the murder house,” the intruder said in a conversational tone, addressing Kate.
    “You were listening to us?” Wyatt managed to ask.
    “Yeah. With a directional mike.”
    The man turned back to Kate. “As I was saying, you’re going to get your wish—but you might not like it so much.”

Chapter Eleven
    Wyatt was dreaming again. He wanted to claw himself awake, although he knew that what he was seeing was important. But finally the murderous images were too much. He jerked awake, his vision still blurred from . . .
    He let the question go as horror shot through him. What he remembered from the dream cut off his breath. It had been so real. Too real, and too filled with diabolical planned danger.
    He knew it was important to remember the details, but some of them were fuzzy, like when he’d first dreamed of Kate.
    Fear that something had happened to her clogged his throat. But she was with him, wedged beside him, her breathing even. The relief was short-lived when he realized they were lying on a thin mattress over the top of a hard, cold floor.
    He stayed very still, trying to figure out where they were. Then his last memories came rushing back to him like a tsunami wave. They’d been in her workshop down by the dock, and someone had come in wearing a gas mask. That was the last thing he remembered—before waking up in a small, dank cell.
    Beside him Kate stirred and moaned. Then her eyes snapped open, and she made a strangled sound.
    He closed his hand around her arm and moved his lips to her ear. In a barely audible whisper, he said, “Don’t say anything you don’t want Treeman to hear.”
    As she took in that information, he saw her struggling for calm.
    “He used some kind of knockout gas on us,” Wyatt said. “Did you see him at your workshop with a gas mask on?”
    “Yes,” she whispered.
    “At least I’m assuming it’s him.”
    She nodded against his shoulder, then murmured, “What is he going to do with us?”
    Wyatt knew pretty much what the bastard had planned. The knockout gas had put him to sleep—and allowed him to dream of the immediate future. Never before had he dreamed of something that was going to happen to