Dark Pursuit

by Collins, Brandilyn

  Ed blinked at her, then her grandfather, as if the whole lot of them was crazy. “How do you know Pelsky’s dead?”

  “Because I found her,” Kaitlan blurted. Her voice sounded shaky, off-tune. She crossed her arms and pulled in her shoulders. Ed gawked at her, and for some reason that made her mad. “She was on my bed, in my apartment. Craig is—was—my boyfriend. He killed her, he buried her body where it won’t be found, and now he’s trying to keep me quiet, and because I ran from him, now he’s trying to kill me too. And he doesn’t know Darrel Brooke is my grandfather, so he has no idea this meeting’s about him. There. That enough for you, Mr. Reporter?”

  Silence. Ed’s shocked expression mirrored Sam’s. Ed pulled out of it first, the experienced calm of a reporter in crisis smoothing his brow. Sympathy pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Craig’s the one who hit you?”

  Kaitlan’s defensiveness dwindled away. She nodded.

  The gate bell sounded.

  Everyone froze.

  “That can’t be him!” Margaret burst. “It’s only two-thirty.”

  “It has to be him.” Kaitlan’s grandfather paled, as if reality suddenly hit. He pushed himself into motion. “I have to answer it.”

  He shuffled up the north wing hall as fast as he could go, Kaitlan and everyone else chuffing behind him. In the entryway, her grandfather hesitated, visibly pulling himself together. The rest of them crowded around, muscles tense, eyes riveted to the intercom.

  He pushed the button. “Hello?”

  Kaitlan fisted her hands to her mouth.

  “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.r />
  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.”

  “Glad you found them.” Kaitlan’s grandfather placed his palms on the table.

  Pete sat down in his folding chair and reached for the gear shift on his console. Watching the monitor beside him, he nudged the control forward and slightly to the left. Craig’s body edged into a close-up.

  “So let’s have a look.” Kaitlan’s grandfather’s voice, offscreen.

  Kaitlan and Margaret locked eyes.

  “Okay.” Craig opened the case. “Only now I’m really nervous. My writing’s probably horrible.”

  “You have to start somewhere.”

  Craig slid the pages across the table until they disappeared from the screen.

  A pause.

  “Your first chapter’s in the detective’s point of view?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence.

  Craig watched. His lip began to curl.

  Ice melted down Kaitlan’s back. “Look at him.”

  She pictured her grandfather’s head down, focused on the manuscript. Unaware of the transformation taking place.

  Pages rustled.

  Pete zoomed in even closer on Craig’s face. Kaitlan saw the hard, cold look in his eyes. The smugness. The same killer expression he’d used to terrorize her last night.

  Margaret sucked in a breath.

  Abruptly Craig’s smirk vanished. Chased by a small, pleasant smile. The drastic change chilled Kaitlan to the bone.

  “Your detective is—”

  “Mr. Brooke, you didn’t really bring me here just to see my manuscript, did you?”

  “Well, no, I have questions to ask you.”

  “Then why don’t we get to them?” That pleasant look hung on, but Craig’s tone edged.

  Kaitlan’s muscles turned to wood. He knows something’s up.

  Her grandfather hesitated. “What, are you pushed for time?”

  Craig leaned forward, his smile gone and eyes narrowed. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Mr. Brooke? Why did you really bring me here?”

  fifty-seven

  Margaret swiveled to Kaitlan, feeling sick. “This isn’t right.”

  “Shh.” Pete flung up a hand, eyes riveted to the monitor. “If something goes wrong, I’ve got a gun.”

  Surprise flicked across Kaitlan’s face. She looked at Margaret and swallowed hard.

  So what, Margaret thought, we’re too far away to help! She swung away, a hand thrust to her scalp. Why hadn’t she stopped this?

  Her focus landed on the bookcase of Darell’s first editions. Ratcheted up to the top shelf.

  Over the Waters. The cruise-ship story, with the protagonist’s plans to catch the killer gone so awry. The warning was right there this morning, if only she’d made Darell listen —

  Life After Death. The next novel in line. The title leapt out at her.

  Margaret stared at it.

  Vaguely, she registered Darell’s voice on the monitor.

  Life After Death. The title screamed.

  Dreamlike, Margaret drifted to the bookcase, already knowing. Ancient memory bubbled like lava, her nerves singeing hot, so hot. Her arm reached up to the top shelf, to the book she would have read next if she hadn’t stopped too soon, if she hadn’t been so terribly, utterly stupid …

  She slid out Life After Death.

  Craig’s and Darell’s voices were arguing. They barely registered.

  Sam, Pete, somebody in the room uttered a curse.

  Margaret opened the hardback book. She skimmed the first page. The second.

  Darell’s story of years ago—the homicidal ER doctor, the hospital on a far-flung island.

  In Margaret’s mind, the lava-memories boiled higher and plunged over a cliff.

  “Ah!” Kaitlan cried.

  On the third page Margaret found it. The fabric. Black silk with green stripes. The cloth the doctor used to strangle his victims.

  The novel slipped from Margaret’s fingers and slammed to the floor.

  fifty-eight

  Darell stared at Craig Barlow. What was happening here? And how dare the kid talk to him like that?

  He tossed down the manuscript papers. “What makes you think I have another reason?”

  “’Cause I don’t buy the one you gave me.”

  “That so?”

  Craig lasered him with his eyes.

  Okay, if this was the way he wanted it. “You sound guilty to me, boy.”

  “Guilty? About what?”

  “About stealing from my work, that’s what.”

  Craig’s face scrunched. “Huh?”

  “That’s right. You hacked into my computer. Don’t think I don’t know.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Not half as crazy as you. I had a computer tech out here. He found your little spy program and traced it straight to you.”

  Craig sneered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I was going to handle this more delicately, till you flew off the handle. Just admit it and promise not to do it again, and I won’t go to the police.”

  “I am the police.”

  “How about the Sheriff’s Department? This house is in their jurisdiction. Or the state police. I have some good friends there.”

  “You can’t have half the friends in the state police that my father does.”

  A rank sense of injustice scissored through Darell’s head. Its blades shredded the last of the script he’d hoped to use.

  All right then—Plan B. He was ready.

  “This is about you, Craig, not your father. About how I’m going to prove what you’ve done.”

  “That I’m stealing your work?” Craig laughed derisively. “What’s to steal? The way I hear it, you can’t even write any more.”

  Darell slammed a palm against the table. “Do I look like somebody who can’t plot a suspense? Who doesn’t know how to figure out things? I can tie your hacking to the murders!”

  Craig stilled. His blue eyes burned white hot. Slowly he leaned forward, a snake positioning to strike. “Say again, old man?”

  “You want to see what this ‘old man’ can do?” Darell spat. “I’ll connect you to the black and green fabric. The cloth you used to strangle three women. Yes, three. You were stupid enough to take pictures of the last one.”

  Craig shoved back and jumped to his feet. His chair bounced against the wall and clattered to its side. “I knew this was a setup.” He slid a hand into his jacket and pulled out a gun. “Call Kaitlan in here. Right now.”

  fifty-nine

  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.

&nb
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