Dark Pursuit

The beam cruised nearer, trunks and branches and bushes bursting into light just twenty feet away. She imagined Craig holding the spotlight, jaw thrust forward, eyes like glaciers.

Ten feet.

Kaitlan squeezed her eyes shut.

Every fiber of her being listened to the Mustang, willing it not to stop. Seconds ticked by … an eternity. Still she heard the engine, steady. Steady.

She opened her eyes to darkness. Turned her head to look the other direction.

The beam skimmed on up the woods.

Kaitlan breathed.

She dropped her head back down, smelling the earth, one hand hooked onto a lumpy tree root. She gathered the energy to get up.

The spotlight disappeared, the rumbling engine now a distant low hum. Craig had driven around the curve.

Kaitlan hefted into a crouch and hung there, listening. Watching.

Nothing.

She rose to her feet and fought her way back toward the sidewalk.

At the edge of the forest she halted, neck craned to look up the street for headlights. The minute they appeared she’d have to dash out and flag down the driver. But what if it was Craig? Without the ability to see the car itself, she could only listen for the engine.

Kaitlan leaned forward, hands poised in the air, muscles gathered to spring.

What if Craig came back? He could decide to check the woods on the other side of the driveway.

And where was Margaret? She should have been here long ago —

Pale illumination spilled across the curve. Kaitlan cocked her head, straining to hear.

No sound of the Mustang’s revved engine.

The glow brightened and gelled into headlights. A car rounded the bend.

Kaitlan jumped into open grass and ran.

thirty-eight

Darell prowled the house, limbs quivering. He shuffled in and out of the office, his bedroom, then back up the long south hall to the kitchen. Down the north wing into the library. There he found himself staring at the couch where Kaitlan had sat. A pillow in the corner lay tilted, compressed by the weight of her back. He could almost feel her presence, as if her desperate spirit lingered, begging for help.

He shifted his feet, unnerved. If anything happened to Kaitlan, he would never forgive himself.

A plan to catch Craig. He had to come up with something tonight. Time had run out.

What a misstep to assume the body would be discovered quickly. He should have known that Craig would leave no evidence for Kaitlan to use against him.

But what to do without it?

The crush of the sofa pillow pulled at Darell. He stared at it.

Memories of Kaitlan’s childhood wafted into his head. Small and unsteady on her toddler feet, tugging at his pant leg. Older and asking if he’d play with her. What was that silly game? Something about climbing ladders. It had been her favorite. Darell had seen her playing it by herself, manning her own pawn and that of an imaginary opponent. Her mother, Sarah, never had time for such nonsense. Neither had Darell.

Sorrow hit him in the chest. Why had he been so busy? Would one game have hurt?

Kaitlan, a preteen, coming to visit, portable CD-player headphones plugging her ears. By then she had drawn away from him, from her mother, pretending to no longer care. The scene fuzzed in his mind. Darell vaguely remembered fighting with Sarah. A screaming match over … something. That was the last time he’d seen his daughter. Three years later she’d taken off for England, leaving fourteen-year-old Kaitlan with him to raise.

Regret graveled in Darell’s throat. If only he’d done it better.

He turned away from the sight of the pillow.

A plan. The tolling bell rang in his head. He needed a plan.

His gaze fell on his old hardback novel, lying on the desk by the phone. He frowned. Why would Margaret be reading that at a time like this?

He thumped over to the desk and picked up the book. The Neighbor. His lips bent downward. The Neighbor

. He wrote that? Couldn’t remember it at all. He glanced at the shelves of his first editions and spotted an empty space about nine novels over from the top left. This was his tenth book?

Darell turned it over and read the back-cover copy. Still no memory.

He cursed and slapped the book down on the desk. Turning away, he stomped to his leather armchair. So what? He didn’t need long-term memory right now. Just a clear head. And he had that. Just before Margaret left, hadn’t his brain been working?

Besides, he had remembered those scenes of Kaitlan.

Darell stacked both palms on his cane, focusing on the rich wooden floor. Think, now. Think.

Nothing came.

His thoughts shifted, meandering out the window into the foggy night. There they thickened, soaking in moisture. Clouding covered his brain …

Sometime later his muscles startled. He looked around. What had he been thinking?

Where was Kaitlan? What time was it?

Darell blinked at the clock, trying to determine when she and Margaret would return. But he couldn’t remember when Margaret had left.

Panic bubbled in him.