Dark Pursuit

“Hi, it’s Craig Barlow.” A car engine rumbled in the background—too quiet for his Mustang. “Sorry I’m early. And I thought I’d be late.” He gave a nervous laugh. “At the last minute I had to put my car in the shop and borrow my sister’s SUV.”

SUV?

Her grandfather motioned for everyone to remain quiet. “That’s all right, Craig. I’m opening the gate for you. You can park in front of the house.”

“Thank you.”

There was nothing wrong with his car last night …

The distant clank of the gate filtered through the intercom. Sam started to move and Margaret caught his arm. “Wait,” she mouthed.

The engine surged as Craig drove through the gate.

Seconds later the intercom fell silent.

“Go, all of you!” Kaitlan’s grandfather snapped. “Into the library! And don’t come out no matter what. Remember, he thinks we’re alone.”

Margaret shot him a final desperate look. “I could send him away, tell him you’re sick.”

“Go!”

She hung there, uncertain. Then she turned and trotted for the hall. Pete and Sam followed.

“Come on, Kaitlan.” Ed grabbed her elbow.

“No, wait!” She yanked her arm away and swung back to her grandfather. “Something’s not right. Why would he have such a big car?”

Her grandfather swiped a hand in the air. “Get out of here!”

“But I don’t believe him.”

“Go, Kaitlan, before he drives up and hears you!”

“Listen to me—”

“Get out of here!” Her grandfather thwacked his cane against the floor. “Ed, take her!”

“No—”

“Come on, there’s no time.” Ed clamped a hand around her shoulder and pulled her toward the hall.

Kaitlan’s head twisted back for one last look at her grandfather before the corner of the hallway shut him from sight.

fifty-five

A heady business, meeting a murderous antagonist face to face.

Fascination trickled through Darell’s fear.

Craig Barlow stood on his doorstep, clad in a brown sport jacket over jeans. He carried a soft-sided black leather portfolio case, presumably with his manuscript chapters inside. If you didn’t know him for what he was, you’d think him a good-looking kid. Perfect face for a killer. Women would never guess.

“Come in, come in.” Darell stood back, ushering him into the web, the spider to the fly.

Craig stepped inside. His gaze cruised the entryway as if cataloguing details. “This is just such an honor, Mr. Brooke. Thanks again for inviting me.”

Darell surveyed him. A keen confidence overrode his air of faux humility, although no doubt he didn’t think it showed. It was in the tilt of his head, the firmness of his mouth. Most telling were his eyes. In their glacial blue Darell saw the depths of the man’s calculation. They were eyes that could look straight at you, sheening with sincerity while he lied.

Leland Hugh.

“Thank you for coming.” Darell led him down the hall.

Like an old fluorescent light, Darell’s brain hummed as he rounded the corner into his office. Weariness pulled at him even as adrenaline coursed through his veins. So many details to remember. So much he had to get right.

“Please.” Darell indicated the chair upon which the hidden camera was fixed. “Sit.”

“Thank you.” Craig put his black case on the table and settled in the offered chair. Resting his forearms, he laced his hands, torso bent forward, body language exuding the picture of eagerness to help.

Taking his time, Darell positioned himself, resting his cane on the floor.

“So.” Craig smiled, and the grooves in his jaw deepened. Such model good looks wouldn’t keep long in jail. “What research questions did you want to ask me?”

“Let’s talk about you first. Tell me about your writing.”

“Oh. Well, I started about a year ago. Have maybe half a book done.”

“What’s it about?”

He looked chagrined. “It’s a suspense novel. A detective investigating a string of homicides.”

“Really.” Darell raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s right up my alley.”

“Yeah.” Craig reached for his portfolio and unzipped it. He stuck his hand inside. “I brought some chapters, like you asked.” As he pulled out pages, he glanced at the top one. Immediately dismay creased his face. “Oh, no.” He slapped down the papers and leaned over to shuffle through the stack.

He looked up at Darell, embarrassed. “I stuck the wrong ones in here.”

“That’s all right. I’ll look at whatever you’ve got.”

“No, no, I—these are an older draft. I had everything in my own car and then had to transfer over when I borrowed my sister’s. What I want is probably on the passenger seat. Mind if I go get them?”

Darell started to push back from the table. “Not at all.”

“No, just sit.” Craig was already on his feet. “I’ll just let myself out and come right back.”

“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.”