Dark Pursuit

“No, I’ll—”

“Please. I don’t want to put you out.”

Before Darell could pick up his cane, Craig whisked up the papers, stuffed them into his portfolio, and hurried from the room.

fifty-six

In the library, Kaitlan gasped. “He’s going to look through the house!”

On Pete’s monitor, her grandfather was cranking his torso around, trying to peer out the office window. Opposite him, Craig’s empty chair mocked.

Kaitlan flung a horrified look at Pete. “What if he comes in here?”

Sam swung his camera toward her. She turned away.

“Shh,” Pete hissed. “Just wait.” He sprang from his chair at the folding table and stepped toward the door. His right hand hovered at his waist.

Hunched over, muscles about to crack, Kaitlan strained with all her might to listen. In the frozen silence she could hear Margaret breathing.

Sam’s camera panned to Ed.

The faint metallic click of an opened door latch spun to Kaitlan’s ears. Craig had gone outside.

Pete’s forefinger came up—hear that?

Kaitlan locked eyes with Ed. He nodded grim reassurance. If the reporter hadn’t believed them to this point, her fear had clearly rubbed off on him. He stood some six feet away, spine ramrod straight, fingers clasped to the back of a folding chair.

An interminable minute later the front door slammed.

“He’s back.” Kaitlan’s eyes darted to the monitor. Pete returned to watch the screen. His hand remained at his waist.

Sam refocused his camera to the monitor—and the empty chair.

Craig reappeared onscreen.

He tossed down the black case and seated himself, puffing a little. “Sorry about that.” Over the microphone his voice sounded a little tinny and distant but clear enough. “They were on the front seat.”

“Glad you found them.” Kaitlan’s grandfather placed his palms on the table.

Pete sat down in his folding chair and reached for the gear shift on his console. Watching the monitor beside him, he nudged the control forward and slightly to the left. Craig’s body edged into a close-up.

“So let’s have a look.” Kaitlan’s grandfather’s voice, offscreen.

Kaitlan and Margaret locked eyes.

“Okay.” Craig opened the case. “Only now I’m really nervous. My writing’s probably horrible.”

“You have to start somewhere.”

Craig slid the pages across the table until they disappeared from the screen.

A pause.

“Your first chapter’s in the detective’s point of view?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Craig watched. His lip began to curl.

Ice melted down Kaitlan’s back. “Look at him.”

She pictured her grandfather’s head down, focused on the manuscript. Unaware of the transformation taking place.

Pages rustled.

Pete zoomed in even closer on Craig’s face. Kaitlan saw the hard, cold look in his eyes. The smugness. The same killer expression he’d used to terrorize her last night.

Margaret sucked in a breath.

Abruptly Craig’s smirk vanished. Chased by a small, pleasant smile. The drastic change chilled Kaitlan to the bone.

“Your detective is—”

“Mr. Brooke, you didn’t really bring me here just to see my manuscript, did you?”

“Well, no, I have questions to ask you.”

“Then why don’t we get to them?” That pleasant look hung on, but Craig’s tone edged.

Kaitlan’s muscles turned to wood. He knows something’s up.

Her grandfather hesitated. “What, are you pushed for time?”

Craig leaned forward, his smile gone and eyes narrowed. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Mr. Brooke? Why did you really bring me here?”

fifty-seven

Margaret swiveled to Kaitlan, feeling sick. “This isn’t right.”

“Shh.” Pete flung up a hand, eyes riveted to the monitor. “If something goes wrong, I’ve got a gun.”

Surprise flicked across Kaitlan’s face. She looked at Margaret and swallowed hard.

So what, Margaret thought, we’re too far away to help! She swung away, a hand thrust to her scalp. Why hadn’t she stopped this?

Her focus landed on the bookcase of Darell’s first editions. Ratcheted up to the top shelf.

Over the Waters. The cruise-ship story, with the protagonist’s plans to catch the killer gone so awry. The warning was right there this morning, if only she’d made Darell listen —

Life After Death. The next novel in line. The title leapt out at her.

Margaret stared at it.

Vaguely, she registered Darell’s voice on the monitor.

Life After Death. The title screamed.

Dreamlike, Margaret drifted to the bookcase, already knowing. Ancient memory bubbled like lava, her nerves singeing hot, so hot. Her arm reached up to the top shelf, to the book she would have read next if she hadn’t stopped too soon, if she hadn’t been so terribly, utterly stupid …

She slid out Life After Death.

Craig’s and Darell’s voices were arguing. They barely registered.

Sam, Pete, somebody in the room uttered a curse.

Margaret opened the hardback book. She skimmed the first page. The second.

Darell’s story of years ago—the homicidal ER doctor, the hospital on a far-flung island.

In Margaret’s mind, the lava-memories boiled higher and plunged over a cliff.

“Ah!” Kaitlan cried.