Dark Pursuit Part 3

If he didn't meet her on his porch with a shotgun. he didn't meet her on his porch with a shotgun.

OBSESSION

CHAPTER five

She died so easily.

Sure she fought. And I had a time getting her where I wanted. But when it comes right down to choking the life out of them, I've learned something. The line between death and life-that final breath-is painfully thin.

Frightening, this reality.

As before, the days leading up to it were intense. I was going about my business, then wham. Days ago the fabric called to me once more. It called with a need-no, a yearning. yearning. Reached deep down in the pit of me, rattling my chains. Reached deep down in the pit of me, rattling my chains.

This time I knew it would be different. And I couldn't ignore it for long.

The call never comes at a good time. As if the fabric cares I have enough worries already. Family, friends, job. It seems to feed on these things, my daily challenges a sugar-water IV into its vein.

The yearning wouldn't die. I wanted to break something.

Where did this thing inside me come from?

The killers in movies are too self-a.s.sured. Too well informed. They all seem to understand the "why."

I understand nothing.

Logistical concerns terrify me. All the forensic details. DNA and fingerprints. A certain rare leaf stuck in my shoe. Victim's hair on my s.h.i.+rt. These things can convict you. Send you to jail for life. Or death.

I should know.

In the past few days the yearning became unbearable. I would explode if I did not let it out.

When I was a kid I caught the end of my finger in a collapsible chair. It hurt so bad I thought I was going out of my mind. My mom finally took me to the doctor. He punctured a hole in my fingernail. Instantly all the pressure from the swelling was released. It was amazing. The pain went away so fast. I could function. I could breathe.

And that, you see, is what killing is like. A heart-swelling, mind-blowing relief relief. I can breathe again.

Usually.

But not this time.

CHAPTER six

Kaitlan exited Freeway 280 onto Highway 92 west. She drove over the reservoir and wound up into the mountains. At Highway 35 she turned left and within a half-mile came to her grandfather's long private driveway. Guarding it was the heavy black gate she knew so well-a symbol of what her grandfather had become. Removed from the world. Not needing anybody.

During the drive she'd tried to convince herself Craig knew nothing about the murder.

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 pa.s.sed.

Didn't matter, he'd probably changed it by now anyway-to keep her her out. 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 b.u.t.ton. 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 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. 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 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 horrible place. Six months behind bars on a drug charge had been enough for her entire lifetime. 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 b.u.t.ton. 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 b.u.t.ton.

CHAPTER seven

Margaret had just finished topping the chicken ca.s.serole 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 b.u.t.ton. 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. My.

Margaret's chest p.r.i.c.kled with heat. She so disliked confrontation. And if she let Kaitlan in, there would surely be one. D. would have a fit.

She listened for sound from the man. Was he in his office?

Her finger pushed the b.u.t.ton. "Kaitlan. What a surprise."

A nonresponse, but it bought her a few seconds. G.o.d, what should I do G.o.d, what should I do? The estranged granddaughter had finally come. She and D. might have a yelling match, but maybe after they calmed down they could begin to reconnect ...

Talk about wishful thinking. The girl was a drug addict.

"Please." The voice caught. "Is this Margaret? Please let me in. I have have to see him." to see him."

Protectiveness rose in Margaret. D. was as stubborn and irascible as a man could be, but he'd lived through so much. After Gretchen divorced him, he'd never been the same. Her death dealt another crus.h.i.+ng blow, one that pummeled guilt so deeply into D. that he couldn't look at it, couldn't live with it. His only defense had been anger.

Margaret had prayed for his heart to be softened.

"What do you need, Kaitlan? Perhaps I can help you?"

A half sob filtered through the intercom. "No, you can't. Please, Margaret."

"Do you need money? Is that it?"

"I don't need money! I don't do drugs anymore, if that's what you're thinking. I've been clean for two years. Margaret, I have no family. I want to make things right. I can't do do that if you won't let me in." that if you won't let me in."

From down the hall, Margaret heard the distinctive sound of D.'s cane approaching.

Indecision froze her. Was this finally his chance to heal the rift with Kaitlan? What a change that could make in D.'s depressing life. Or was it a ruse on Kaitlan's part, merely to manipulate drug money out of him? Steal from him again?

"Who is that?" D. barked, his expression dark. The tension in his shoulders, that edge in his voice signaled his suspicions-and that he'd better be wrong. "What's going on?"

Margaret turned toward him, her finger sliding to the "gate open" b.u.t.ton, almost of its own accord. She pushed in and held. Through the intercom, she heard the clank of the heavy gate responding.

With a deep breath Margaret prepared herself for the wrath of the King of Suspense. "It's your granddaughter."

CHAPTER eight

Kaitlan could hear him roaring before the front door opened. She stood weak-ankled on her grandfather's porch, clutching her resolve as tightly as the purse in her hands.

Her grandfather's shouts and curses blasted through the thick wood. "What did you let her in for? I'm not seeing her, understand? You can just send her right back to the streets where she belongs!"

A hard thump against the floor. "Never mind; I'll tell her myself!" Footsteps and more thumping-just beyond the door. Kaitlan could feel his presence mere feet away.

She steeled herself.

A memory rushed at Kaitlan-herself at ten, peeking into her grandfather's office. He'd been hunched over his keyboard, typing like mad and muttering to himself. She just wanted to talk to him. She knew he was famous. People said so. They said it almost breathlessly, like they couldn't believe she was related to him. Kaitlan was so proud of him. It took a long time for her to get her courage up. Finally she whispered, "Grandfather?" He jerked up straight like somebody jammed a rod through his spine. He swung around, thick brows mashed together in a fierce frown. "Don't bother me, can't you see I'm bother me, can't you see I'm working? working?" He shooed her away with a hard swipe of his hand. Kaitlan had melted back, eyes burning. She never tried that again.

On the porch Kaitlan heard the click of a handle. The front door flung open.

Darell Brooke glared at her, his wild gray brows knitted, gnarled hands on a cane. His cheeks were wizened and hollowed. And his shoulders-not straight and proud like she remembered. Now they hunched like an old man's.

Kaitlan felt shock flit across her face. This couldn't be her grandfather.