Dark Pursuit

At the crack of the book against hardwood floor, Kaitlan jumped. She jerked around to Margaret and saw the woman hunched over with hands to her head. What—?

Craig’s seething low voice yanked Kaitlan back to the monitor. Pete had zoomed out his camera to show both men, her grandfather’s face in profile.

“Say again, old man?”

Kaitlan’s breath hitched. “Somebody do something!”

Sam filmed on, Ed standing with his feet apart, arms folded. Pete’s hand hung above the console even as he pushed back his chair and slid to its edge, ready to rise.

“This can’t work.” Margaret blurted. “He read it in a book.”

What was she —

“… you were stupid enough to take pictures of the last one.”

Kaitlan’s fingers clapped to her mouth. Her grandfather had careened off course. Totally lost it.

She ogled his profile, seeing fury—and something else. Grim determination.

In that horrifying second, understanding steamrolled Kaitlan. The filming. He hadn’t lost it. He’d planned for this. If Craig wouldn’t cooperate, her grandfather’s accusations were designed to push him over the edge.

Had he known all along this is what it would take?

Craig shoved backward and jumped to his feet with a gun. “Call Kaitlan in here. Right now.”

“No!” Kaitlan and Margaret both cried. Kaitlan swung toward the door.

Pete heaved from his chair.

Ed jumped in Kaitlan’s path and caught her hard by the arm. “You can’t go out there.”

“Let me go!” She pounded him in the shoulder with a fist.

He wrapped his arms around her and hung on.

Pete lumbered around the folding table, right hand pulling up his baggy shirt. A gun poked from a holster around his waist. He grabbed it. “Stay here, everybody—and keep filming.” He opened the door and ran with muted long steps.

“Kaitlan!” On the monitor Craig bellowed her name toward the office door, eyes fixed on her grandfather. The old man hadn’t moved. “Get in here, or I’m shooting!”

“She’s not here,” her grandfather snarled.

“Kaitlan! I’ll give you ten seconds.”

“Go on, shoot me, you coward.”

His own murder, on tape—that’s what he wanted. To save her from Craig.

“Let me go.” Kaitlan struggled to break from Ed’s iron grasp.

He clung tighter.

She squirmed around to watch the monitor. Onscreen Craig’s head jerked as if he’d heard a noise. He sidestepped toward the office door, out of camera range.

Margaret surged closer to the table to see, cutting off Kaitlan’s view.

Crack. Crack.

Gunshots.

No!

Ed started at the sound. His hold on her momentarily loosened. Kaitlan shoved him away and ran.

“Craig!” She screamed his name as she barreled out the door, veering right. “Craig, I’m here!” Stumbling, she sprinted down the eternal hall, the office so far away, never, ever fast enough to save her stubborn grandfather.

sixty

Kaitlan screamed before Ed could stop her.

Who got shot—Pete or Craig?

Ed’s eyes cut from the monitor to Kaitlan’s fleeing back. As she hit the door and vanished, he took out after her.

She screeched her way down the hall. Ed chased, nerves pinging.

Everything within him wanted to yell for her to stop. But he didn’t dare. He would tackle Kaitlan, pull her into another room … If Craig was still alive he didn’t know Ed was here, another man to fight.

“Craig!” Kaitlan wailed.

They passed the living room on their right. Far ahead, across the entryway and in the opposite hall, heaped a body.

Pete.

At the edge of the entrance hall, Ed snagged Kaitlan’s shirt. He yanked hard, pulling her backwards. She stumbled and fell against his chest.

From the office—Craig’s voice. “Stay here, Brooke.”

Ed swerved toward the kitchen, dragging Kaitlan with him.

sixty-one

Heart bludgeoning his chest, Sam stood his ground, camera trained on the monitor. He’d been brought here to film, and veteran that he was, he’d film to the end.

Margaret flailed two steps and collapsed to her knees.

“Get up!” he hissed. “Shut the door and come work the remote control.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

“I have to help—”

“You can’t help out there. You want that man caught; this tape’s the key.”

Crying, Margaret pulled herself toward the door.

“Does it lock?”

“Yes, but they—”

“Lock it.”

“What if they need to come—”

“Lock it.”

Onscreen Sam couldn’t see Pete. Or Craig. But he’d heard Craig’s voice, commanding Darell to stay put.

Darell Brooke was pulling to his feet. In four steps he was off-camera. He’d headed not toward the door but across the office.

Was he calling 911?

Margaret floundered back to the table.

“Move the camera around, see if you can pick up Darell.”

She put a shaky hand to the console and pushed too far. The camera zoomed in on a blank wall. She gripped harder, panning slowly. To the right, Darell’s leg appeared, moving toward the doorway.

“Follow him.”

Margaret filmed him until he disappeared around the office threshold.

Her breath caught. She swiveled around toward the desk. “I’m calling 911.”

“He may have already done it.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

Sam heard her snatch up the phone and punch three numbers. Her voice trembled as she gave the address. “Hurry. I think someone’s already been shot.”

She banged down the receiver. “I have to open the gate.”

The gate. Sam had forgotten.

Nothing on the screen. The action had moved elsewhere.

He needed to get it on film.