Dark Pursuit

“You are? Good for you. Writing that first novel is a difficult thing.” Her grandfather’s voice tinged with excitement. “Tell you what, Craig, in return for your help, if you’d like to bring a chapter or two I’d be happy to look at it when we’re done.”

Surely Craig’s head was swimming over his good fortune. For one minute at least he wouldn’t be thinking about finding her.

“I was thinking of seven o’clock.”

Kaitlan peeked around the corner. At his desk chair her grandfather hunched over, clutching the phone. The hard jut of his knuckles captured her eyes. So white. Not the hand of a confident man.

“I see. How much earlier?”

“Oh.” His voice wavered. “Three o’clock.”

Three? Craig would finish his shift at two. That gave him plenty of time to go home, change clothes. But that was way too early for them. What if they couldn’t get everything in place by then?

Her grandfather rubbed the phone hard with his thumb. His right hand rose and gripped a thatch of his hair as if to pull logical thought from his brain. Kaitlan could see him struggle to re figure, to get things back on track. Her eyes widened. Surely he wasn’t considering this.

Come on, come on, tell him it has to be later!

His head turned and she saw her grandfather in profile, unshaven jaw working. He looked so feeble, so old. For a terrifying moment his face went blank.

Kaitlan’s heart skidded to her toes. He couldn’t do this. He’d never pull it off with Craig, never. Craig was too smart.

Her grandfather took a deep breath and managed to recharge himself. “All right, if that’s your only time.”

No! She wanted to run into the room and wave her arms. Stop him.

“Three o’clock it is. Let me give you directions …”

Kaitlan’s eyelids sank shut. They’d never make it.

forty-nine

Darell set down the receiver and stared at it. His left fingers flexed, trying to loosen. Elation and fright and dread tumbled around in his gut. He was really going to do this. He would trap this killer—for Kaitlan.

And he’d get to read some of Craig’s manuscript!

Somewhere in the back of his brain a warning bell feebly chimed. Three o’clock. Darell checked the time. Less than four hours away.

Last night’s phone conversations popped to mind. Four hours.

What had he done?

Clothes rustled behind him. Darell jerked around. Kaitlan stood inside the door, hands to her mouth, face ashen.

“Three?” She looked about to throw up. “You’d better start making calls.”

Defensiveness chafed him. Darell growled in his throat. “You and Margaret, refusing to trust me.” He made a face. “Get out of here, I’ve got work to do—for you.”

Turning his back on her, he snatched up the phone.

fifty

Craig was coming—at three?

Margaret leaned both hands on the kitchen sink. Lord, help us.

Kaitlan hovered nearby, her forehead crisscrossed with lines. Desperation rolled off her in waves. “I don’t think he even realized what he did until he hung up.”

Margaret wrung out the sponge and threw it down. She should have stood her ground with D. and made him stop.

“Please tell me he can do this.” Kaitlan’s eyes glimmered. She touched her bruised cheek as if it were a mere token of what Craig would do to her if the plan failed.

Reality squeezed Margaret’s lungs. This had to work for Kaitlan’s sake. Not another lick of energy, not another second could be spent on worrying or last-minute changes. It was too late. D. would need all the help she could give to make it work.

Margaret placed her hands on Kaitlan’s shoulders, willing the fright from her voice. “Of course he can.” She pulled back and took a deep breath. “I’ll go see what I can do to help. You should get dressed.”

She bustled from the kitchen.

In the office D. was hanging up the phone. He turned at the sound of her footsteps. “Pete will be here within an hour.”

Margaret nodded, studying him. His eyes looked alert, back straight. Energy chugged from him like a warming engine. It wasn’t likely to last long, especially given his lack of a full night’s sleep. “Does he think he can set up by three?”

Defensiveness flitted across D.’s face. “Pete can. The computer tech he set me up with—name’s Martin Something-or-Other—wasn’t supposed to be available until mid afternoon. I told Pete to tell him I’d pay him triple.”

D.’s expression gave him away. He’d indeed forgotten the detail of the tech’s availability when he talked to Craig. Margaret refused to let her dismay show. Without proof of the hacking, where would they be? “And the reporter?”

“I’ve got to call him right now.” D.’s face slacked. He shuffled through papers on his desk. “Where is that number …”

“Right here.” Margaret pointed to a yellow sheet of paper he had shown her and Kaitlan last night. Ed Wasinsky, from Channel Seven.

“Yes, yes, I see it.” Darell waved her away.

The reporter—and cameraman he’d bring along—had no idea what they would be filming. Ed knew only that he’d been offered an “explosive exclusive” story, if he would trust Darell Brooke. If it weren’t for Darell’s reputation, Margaret had no doubt the station wouldn’t have released him and a cameraman to come.

But would they be available so many hours earlier than expected?

D. focused on the paper and started dialing. Margaret held her breath.

Within minutes D. was able to speak to Ed Wasinsky. He and his cameraman couldn’t leave San Francisco until around one-thirty. That would put them here at two. It was barely enough time to be briefed and get into place.

D. shot her a stubborn look. “They’ll get here. Stop worrying.”

“I just—”

The phone rang. He plucked up the receiver. Margaret could hear the gravelly voice on the other end. It was Pete, saying Martin Schloss would do his best to leave his house by noon.

D. hung up the phone triumphantly. “See? Everything’s falling into place.”

Maybe. If nothing went wrong. If there was no traffic … “Yes, D., it’ll be fine.”

Out of tasks, D. took a sharp breath and looked around, as if not knowing what to do next. His chest caved, and he sagged in his chair. His gaze wandered to the floor.

Margaret touched his arm. “You’ve got time now to shave and clean yourself up. Maybe rest a little.”

He blinked up at her. “Yeah. Okay.”

Not even an argument about resting. For once Margaret wished he’d snapped at her.

D. reached for his cane and struggled from the chair. “When Pete and the rest of them come they’ll be setting up in the library.”

Her eyes rounded. “D., no! It’s all the way on the other side of the house.”

“It’s the best choice. The upstairs floors squeak. And my bedroom’s too close. One noise from any of you in there could filter across the hall.”

“That’s not what you said last night! You made me think we’d be right next—”