Sam turned from the monitor. “Stay here, I’ll do it. Lock the door behind me.”
sixty-two
Darell yanked open his desk drawer and extracted his gun. A Glock 17—possibly the same model Craig wielded. It was fully loaded. Darell had inspected it this morning when he moved it from his bedroom nightstand where he kept it.
He transferred his cane to his left hand and clutched the gun with his right.
Darell hurried from the office. Pete Lynch lay in the hallway.
Darell stopped and cranked his body into a stoop. He reached out his gnarled hand holding the Glock, hovered his knuckles in front of Pete’s nose.
No air.
With effort he straightened. He cast desperate looks around the body. No sign of Pete’s gun either. Craig had taken it. He was after Kaitlan.
Idiot girl had been screaming like a banshee. Where had she gone?
Darell turned around to peer at his bedroom door. What if Craig was hiding in there?
No. He’d have followed the sound of Kaitlan’s voice.
Darrel shuffled around and hurried up the hall.
Had Sam gotten everything on film? Craig, pulling a gun. It wasn’t a murder, but it should be enough.
With perfect clarity Darell saw Craig’s immediate plan. Wouldn’t Darell have his antagonist do the same, if he were writing the scene? Craig couldn’t just shoot them. First he had to squeeze names out of them—who else had they told?
How long before Craig discovered others in the house?
In the distance, somewhere off the entryway—a noise.
“Craig Barlow!” Darell thumped over the hardwood. “You want to kill somebody, here I am!”
sixty-three
On her knees in the kitchen, Kaitlan huddled with Ed behind the cooking island. Ed was crouched down, ready to spring. He’d grabbed a frying pan off the cook top, as if that would do any good.
Craig would be here in seconds. They wouldn’t get out of this alive.
She’d seen Pete’s body down near the office. If Ed hadn’t pulled her back, Craig would have already gotten to her. She hadn’t cared then. She’d only been driven to save her grandfather.
“He’s okay,” Ed had whispered, dragging her away.
If only they could get Pete’s gun.
Somewhere down the south wing, her grandfather yelled for Craig.
Ed stiffened. Kaitlan pressed against him.
A stifled yell. Something heavy crashed. The news camera?
Ed’s chin dropped, as if he guessed the same.
Deathly silence followed.
Kaitlan pressed a fist to her mouth, breath roughening her throat.
Footsteps entered the kitchen.
sixty-four
When the shots fired, Margaret knew. Sam hadn’t made it up the hall.
It should have been her. If he hadn’t gone in her place …
A sob caught in her throat. Was everyone else dead?
Through blurry eyes she checked the monitor. The office remained empty.
She flung toward the desk and grabbed the phone to call 911 again. How would the Sheriff’s Department get here with the gate locked?
No dial tone.
She punched the Talk button off, on, off, on.
Silence.
Margaret dropped the phone and did the only thing left to do. She prayed.
sixty-five
Craig approached the kitchen, muscles taut.
A gun in each hand, he’d run up the long hallway in seconds flat, the trained, fit policeman chasing his prey. He was the good guy, Kaitlan the bad. He had to view it that way.
He was in this now. No alternative but to see it through.
Passing the TV room he’d had the presence of mind to veer inside and stuff the gun from the man he’d just shot under the pillow of a couch. He didn’t need it; he had plenty ammunition himself. Not to mention backup if absolutely necessary.
On a table near the sofa where he’d hidden the man’s gun, Craig spotted a phone. He knocked it off the hook.
Then, calmly, he proceeded to find Kaitlan.
When she last screamed it had been from somewhere near the entryway. Then—poof. Gone. She couldn’t have made it to the stairs.
The entrance area spilled to a hall leading toward the back of the house. Through a wide door Craig glimpsed tiled floor, the edge of cabinets. Kaitlan could have gone without his seeing her.
He headed toward it.
Sudden motion to his left. He pivoted, gun pointed. A man was running up the long wing from the other side of the house. With a
Craig pulled the trigger three times. The man tumbled to the floor. His camera crashed and skidded.
Craig started for the equipment, thinking to find the film and rip it out. Four steps down the hall he turned back. He would take care of it later. First—Kaitlan.
The minute he’d hit the kitchen Craig heard Brooke calling his name from down toward the office.
He stepped onto the tile.
sixty-six
Kaitlan pressed her palms to her thighs, every muscle gathered to run. She could see Ed’s knuckles whiten around the handle of the frying pan.
“Kaitlan.” Craig’s voice sounded hard and cold. “I know you’re back here somewhere.”
She glanced at the short hall leading to the garage. He wouldn’t know if she had gone that way. He’d have to pass the cooking island to check.
