Dark Pursuit

So he sometimes had moody moments. Kaitlan of all people should understand. Craig’s mother had walked away from the family when he was eight and his sister was six. Craig’s life had fallen apart. His father almost had a nervous breakdown. Even now Craig harbored a lot of bitterness. Kaitlan had seen it burning in his eyes when he told her the story. A burning so like her own.

But his odd phone call. The hard, suspicious tone in his voice. He’d never talked to her like that. And Craig had a key to her place.

Plus he knew about the fabric.

Most of all, his pen on her floor.

“Were you at my apartment today?”

“No.”

Kaitlan eased her car even with the gate’s electric keypad and put the Corolla in park. What was the code?

The numbers wouldn’t come. Too many years had passed.

Didn’t matter, he’d probably changed it by now anyway—to keep her out.

She gazed at the gate. Beyond it the driveway climbed and curled through rolling green until it disappeared. Far up on the hill sat her grandfather’s mansion, looking huge and haunted, just the way he wanted it. White with black shutters, a dark roof. Porches and gables that loomed mysterious and chilling, like Darell Brooke himself. A rambling north and south wing, each of their hallways over forty feet long.

Her grandfather was hard-nosed and selfish. His career, never his family, was his first love. Before Kaitlan was born he’d driven his longsuffering wife, Gretchen, to leave him. Three years after the divorce she died from a brain tumor. Their daughter, Kaitlan’s mom, had soaked up Darell Brooke’s selfishness like a sponge. At eighteen Sarah Brooke had changed her last name to Sering, distancing herself from her father. Her own single parenting of Kaitlan was cold and full of resentment. Kaitlan’s rebellious early teen years gave Sarah the excuse she wanted to cut ties. When Kaitlan was fourteen her mother moved to England, leaving her to live with her grandfather.

What a disaster that turned out to be.

Kaitlan rolled down her window and focused on the intercom button. She couldn’t bring herself to push it.

He would never let her in. Six years ago he’d kicked her out of his life, and when Darell Brooke made a decree, he meant it. And she had to admit she’d deserved it. Since then she hadn’t contacted him, not even after his accident. Kaitlan had wanted to. She’d been worried about him. And she needed a family. So many times she’d picked up the phone only to lose courage. Truth was, she couldn’t bear to hear his voice full of hatred and condemnation.

Kaitlan ran her fingers through her hair. She didn’t even know what shape her grandfather was in. After two years the broken bones should be healed. But she’d heard all that publicity about how he’d lost his huge contract because he couldn’t write. What if he wasn’t any better?

She should just turn around and call the police.

Yeah, try to explain to Chief Barlow why a dead body was in her apartment—and she’d fled the scene. She’d never gotten the feeling he liked her all that much in the first place. He was too protective of Craig.

What if she was arrested? How was she supposed to prove she’d had nothing to do with this? The only other plausible person was Craig. And who’d believe that?

She could go to prison for years.

Kaitlan leaned her head on the steering wheel. She couldn’t imagine going back to jail. It was a horrible place. Six months behind bars on a drug charge had been enough for her entire lifetime.

What about the baby? The thought pierced her soul. She’d have to give up her daughter. (Certainly it was a girl.)

No. Never. Her daughter would have a family.

Kaitlan bit her lip and gazed at the intercom button. She could just run. Go back to L.A. and hide out. The old friends were no doubt there—those who were still alive.

She might as well crawl into a black cave and die.

Her stomach flip-flopped. If anything had been in it, she’d have thrown up again.

She reached her arm out the window. This was the best choice. For her, for her baby.

Kaitlan punched the button.

seven

Margaret had just finished topping the chicken casserole with herbed bread crumbs when the gate bell sounded.

She stilled. Who was down there? The gardener? He came yesterday. A delivery? She hadn’t ordered anything.

Quickly she rinsed her hands, drying them on a paper towel as she hurried to the gate intercom in the large front hall. She pushed down a silver button. Once she let go, for half a minute the visitor’s response would be automatically picked up.

“Yes?”

Margaret heard vague noises of the outdoors. The distant zing of car tires against the highway. A bird chirping.

“Oh. Hi.” Cautious relief tinged a female voice, as if a dreaded encounter had been postponed. “This is Kaitlan. I need—I’m here to see my grandfather.”

Kaitlan?

Oh. My.

Margaret’s chest prickled with heat. She so disliked confrontation. And if she let Kaitlan in, there would surely be one. D. would have a fit.