Читать книгу Silent Warning - Kathleen Long - Страница 10

Kelly Weir shifted her Jetta into Park, staring up through the windshield at the gray bungalow. Cool, autumn air whipped through the sunroof, surrounding her with the smell of salt air and sunshine. She snapped off the volume on the radio then cut the car’s ignition.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Rachel’s brother, Jim, had called, yet here she was in Summer Shores, North Carolina. Her agreement to help the family by packing up Rachel’s things had been a knee-jerk reaction, the news of Rachel’s death having rocked her to the core.

Scrutinizing the weathered lines of the small house, she blew out a slow breath and tamped down the sadness lurking at the back of her brain. How long had it been since she and Rachel had spoken? More than a year?

Kelly climbed from the car, popped the trunk and threw her backpack over her shoulder. Time to get this over with. She grabbed two other bags and headed for the stairs, the distressed wood creaking beneath her as she climbed toward a screened-in porch.

She dropped one of her bags onto the painted decking, shifting to reach the key she’d shoved in her pocket. Her elbow brushed against the front door and it cracked open. Kelly’s pulse quickened. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, pushing the door open wide to glance inside.

The floors and furniture gleamed, an orange scent heavy in the air. Jim had mentioned there might be housecleaners here when she arrived. Judging by the appearance of the place, she’d just missed them, and they’d obviously forgotten to lock up.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped inside, lowering her bags to the floor. She tossed her backpack onto a faded teal sofa and crossed to the kitchen window to let in some additional fresh air.

She’d no sooner slid up the old wooden sash than a noise sounded from another part of the house. Kelly stopped short, anxiety whispering through her.

Her imagination. It had been a long day and her mind must be playing tricks on her. She gazed out the window, trying to focus on the scent of brine hanging on the ocean breeze.

Thump.

A chill rippled down her spine. Darn it. She wasn’t that tired.

She steadied herself, trying to think rationally. The sun was out. People didn’t rob houses in broad daylight, did they? It was probably a neighbor doing something…neighborly. Surely everyone knew of Rachel’s death by now. Maybe someone had stopped by to help pack her things.

Better still, maybe a window was loose, or a door or something. This was Summer Shores, North Carolina after all. Small town. Friendly. Safe. There were a multitude of possibilities for why the house was making a—

Thump.

Her nervous gaze landed on a spiral staircase that dropped to the lower level just past the main section of the living room. Whatever—or whoever—was making the noise was downstairs.

The small hairs at the nape of Kelly’s neck pricked to attention.

Eyeing a pair of pewter candlesticks, she tiptoed across the floor to grasp one, the metal cold and heavy in her now-shaking hand.

Thump.

She started, white-knuckling the candlestick and holding it high. “Who’s there?” She forced out her voice, strong and loud. Not bad for being completely rattled. Not bad at all.

Keeping the candlestick between herself and the stairs, she fumbled in her backpack for her cell phone, pulling it free and pressing the Power button.

She moved toward the front door, planning to get out before anyone could answer.

The noise from below had stopped. Probably a stray animal or something completely harmless, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She backed toward the door, trying to punch 911 on the tiny keypad. Darn these things.

“Whoever you are,” she yelled. “I’m calling the police.”

“I assure you I’m harmless,” a man’s voice answered.

The deep timbre sent awareness and fear washing through Kelly. She stumbled and the candlestick fell from her grasp, clattering loudly against the wood floor.

A dark-haired man appeared at the top of the steps, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.” His midnight-blue gaze moved from Kelly to the candlestick to Kelly again. One dark brow arched. “Were you planning to use that on me?”

Kelly picked up the heavy metal object, pointing it at him. Her heart jackhammered in her chest. “Who are you?”

“I’m a…was…a friend of Rachel’s.” His expression softened, but the furrow between his brows remained. Deep lines etched into his forehead, leaving no doubt he was a man on a mission. “She had something of mine and I thought I’d pick it up before you got here.”

Kelly blinked, her head spinning from the surge of adrenaline racing through her. The man took a step forward and her breath caught. His well-worn denim shirt stretched taut across broad shoulders, his stance conveying nothing but sureness and pure male virility. Her heart slapped so loudly against her ribs, she had no doubt he could hear her fright.

She glanced at the cell phone in her hand. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? I should call the police.”

“The name’s Dan Steele.” He continued toward her, close-cropped chestnut-brown hair framing his rugged, thirtysomething face. “They know me.”

“Oh. This is a frequent activity of yours?” Kelly backed onto the porch and punched the last digit into the phone. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I’m telling the truth. Here.” Steele dangled a small silver object toward her. “She’d given me a key.”

Kelly suddenly felt like an idiot. She knew nothing about Rachel’s recent life. This guy might have been her lover for all she knew.

She concentrated on calming her whirling mind. “How did you know her?”

“Friend,” he repeated.

“And what did you need?”

He hesitated, reawakening her suspicions. “Something.”

“Something?” She frowned. “How do I know you’re not a fast-talking burglar?”

“With a key?” He shook his head, his expression incredulous.

“You never know.” Kelly set the candlestick on the floor and held out her open palm, nodding toward the key. “I’ll take that. I’d rather not have you stopping back unexpectedly. Nothing personal.”

One dark brow arched again as Steele pressed the key into her hand, his touch lingering a moment too long. Heat built at the spot where their skin met, searing her palm. The man’s intense stare never left hers, and Kelly fought the urge to look away. She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

“Just what is it you’re missing?” she asked as she closed her fingers around his key then pocketed it, still gripping the cell phone tightly in her other hand.

“You know, you look a bit like her around the—”

“I know.” Kelly pinned him with a glare, frustration edging out her fear. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m leaving now.” He brushed past her and pushed the screen door open.

“I have half a mind to check out your story,” she called after him as he headed toward the steps.

He stopped short, turning to face her, his smile not quite reaching his deep blue eyes. “This didn’t go well. I’ll stop back later.”

Kelly focused on drawing deep slow breaths as she watched him cross the drive. The air seemed to still, as if the man owned the space around him and the ground beneath his confident stride. He turned toward the beach without looking back. Much to her dismay, a purely female response tangled with the anger and fear battling within her. The man oozed vitality—raw, male and intriguing.

She shivered with awareness.

He no doubt had known Rachel. Kelly’s friend had been beautiful, and never had trouble turning a male head. Dan Steele apparently had not been immune to her charms.

When he was fully out of sight, Kelly dropped her cell phone into her bag and headed for the kitchen. She plucked the receiver from the wall phone, dialing the keypad—911.

Hers might not be a true emergency, but if Steele planned to follow through on his promise to return, she intended to find out exactly who he was.

DAN STOOD AND STARED at the ocean. The woman had unnerved him. There weren’t many things in his life capable of eliciting that response. Not anymore.

He should have headed out the side door instead of checking the third bedroom. There’d been nothing there. He’d managed only to wedge his arm behind a bookcase reaching for a blank sheet of paper. As if Rachel would be that careless with anything important.

Rubbing a hand across his eyes, he headed up the beach toward his house, the woman’s face filling his mind. At first it had been like looking at a ghost, but once her fiery spirit flashed through her mesmerizing deep brown gaze, he knew she was no Rachel. Rachel had always put on a good show, but behind her reporter’s notebook, she was nothing more than a pretty bundle of nerves.

The friend had hidden her fear and surprise admirably. Beauty and backbone. Imagine. A longing stirred deep within him—evidence he wasn’t completely dead inside after all. No matter. He needed to find Rachel’s notes, not worry about her friend.

His interest in Rachel’s work had been personal. During his tenure in pharmaceutical marketing, his pet project had been one drug in particular. Oxygesic. Its development had been a godsend for those suffering from chronic pain and cancer. Then people began to die from its misuse.

People like Diane. His baby sister.

The familiar ache squeezed his heart, but he shoved it away, digging deep for the determination that had carried him this far.

Now that Rachel’s notes had apparently gone missing, Dan was even more convinced her death was no accident. She’d been the only person to listen to his theories. His gut told him she’d uncovered something someone hadn’t wanted her to find. The frantic message she’d left for him the day she disappeared confirmed as much.

And now she was dead.

He cast a glance toward the ocean, watching the September swells crash against the deserted beach, swirling against each other before they slid back out to sea. Riptide. Opposing currents. The story of his life.

His cell phone chirped to life, yanking him from his thoughts. “Yes.”

“Who the hell do you think you are now? The damned welcoming committee?” Detective Jake Arnold’s voice barked in his ear. Dan winced, the annoyance palpable in his old friend’s tone. “Meet me at your house. Ten minutes.”

The phone clicked dead.

Great. As if he needed any more complications today.

KELLY REPLACED the receiver and headed for the lower level of the house. Her call to the sheriff’s office had gotten her nowhere other than having to listen to Dan Steele’s upstanding citizen résumé. Apparently he’d settled here a few years ago, returning to his roots after a successful career up North.

She hadn’t been able to glean much more in the way of detail, but the tone of the woman she’d spoken to had made it clear he was one of Summer Shores’ favorite sons. What did Kelly expect? Small towns protected their own.

A light glowed from a spare bedroom as she rounded the bottom of the steps. Nothing seemed out of place as she peered inside, but then, she’d never set eyes on the house before today. Kelly opened each drawer and ran her hand over both shelves in the closet. Nothing. She sank onto the edge of the bed.

What had he been looking for?

Exhaustion washed over her, the earlier adrenaline fading from her system. She fingered the corner of a letter she’d tucked into her sweatshirt pocket as the numbing reality of Rachel’s death uncoiled from the pit of her stomach.

How many other letters and phone calls from Rachel had she ignored over the past year? Dozens? Yet, this one had been different. In it, Rachel had begged for forgiveness. Begged. But Kelly had ignored her plea, clinging instead to the grudge she’d carried instead of making amends. Now Rachel was dead. Drowned in the ocean she’d loved.

An inexplicable sense of dread sent a shudder down Kelly’s spine. Hoping she’d find some coffee to help erase the chill, she headed back toward the stairs, looking up just as she rounded the bottom step.

Her heart slammed into her ribs.

A large, gray tomcat loomed at the top of the steps, two yellow eyes lazily winking down at her.

“Who are you?” She was beginning to think that was the question of the day. Did everybody have a key?

The cat rose to his paws and stretched, leaning into the side of her leg as she passed.

“Edgar,” a female voice called from outside.

Kelly squinted at the cat, which still studied her curiously. “Edgar?” He rubbed against her calf, stretched then kicked out his back feet as he headed toward the door.

Opening the door to step onto the porch, Kelly let the cat saunter ahead. An elderly woman toting a large bakery box looked up from the bushes along the driveway.

“Are you looking for your cat?” Kelly asked.

The woman’s gaze narrowed as she spotted Edgar sitting at the screen door. “Oh, that bum. Was he bothering you?”

“Not at all.”

“You the friend from up North?” The woman walked to the bottom of the steps, the bakery box nestled in the crook of her arm, a lit cigarette dangling from the opposite hand. She paused to take a drag.

“Kelly Weir.”

“I’m Helen Carroll.” She waved the glowing butt over her shoulder. “Live across the street. Heard you were coming and thought you could use a welcome.” She waved the cigarette toward the cat. “Guess he thought the same thing.”

“No problem. Would you like to come up?”

“Thanks.” Helen dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the toe of a red high-top sneaker. A Surf Naked sweatshirt topped a pair of faded, black jeans. Wild spikes of snow-white hair framed her tanned, weathered face. She climbed the wooden steps with the nimbleness of a teenager, balancing the box in one arm and skimming the railing with the other. Her eyes remained lowered, focused on the steps. “I brought you some cinnamon buns. Figured you could use something sweet after your drive.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a small town. We try to be neighborly.”

“So I’ve heard,” Kelly muttered under her breath.

As she reached the top of the steps, the woman raised her pale gaze to look at Kelly. “I’ll be darned.” Her features fell slack. “You look just like her.”

“Everyone always thought we were sisters.”

Helen slowly shook her head, staring intently at Kelly’s features.

“You’re the one who found her, aren’t you?” Sadness flickered through Kelly as she spoke the words.

Helen sighed, handing her the pastry box. “I’d like to forget that day. Haven’t walked on the beach since.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Actually—” Kelly took the box, doing her best to focus on the printed logo rather than the regret building inside her “—we hadn’t spoken in a long time.”

“She told me.” Helen ran a hand through the front of her hair, a kind smile spreading across her face. “We’d talk sometimes.”

“Did you know her well?”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t think anybody knew her well. She was always out looking for a story.”

Kelly warmed, remembering Rachel’s tenacity. “Her specialty.”

“Hadn’t seen her in a while. Figured she had a hot one cooking.” A shadow passed across Helen’s face. She glanced down at her feet then up at Kelly, her lips parting as if she were about to speak. After a moment, she shook her head, apparently dismissing whatever it had been that had crossed her mind.

She turned back toward the steps. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do to get settled in, and I’m missing my shows. Holler if you need anything. I’m across the way in the little gray shack.”

“Thanks.” Kelly held the door as Helen stepped outside. “Want a sticky bun for the road?”

The slender woman shook her head as she descended the steps and started across the driveway.

“Do you know a man named Dan Steele?” Kelly blurted out the question before the woman was out of earshot.

Helen stopped short and turned, her eyes wide. “You meet him?”

“He was downstairs when I got here. Did he know Rachel?”

“That he did.” Helen thought for a moment, then grinned. “Got a nice caboose, that one.”

Kelly stood, stunned, watching the woman and her cat cross the street. A nice caboose?

The man’s handsome features flashed through her mind, and she fought back her quickening pulse. Doing her best to ignore the attraction thrumming through her veins, she pulled open the screen door and slipped into the house. She had work to do.

DETECTIVE JAKE ARNOLD steepled his fingers and leaned across Dan’s kitchen table. “Want to tell me what you were doing in Rachel’s house?”

“I forgot some socks.” Dan shot an impatient glare at his friend. He didn’t have time for a full inquisition. The sooner he could send Jake on his way, the better.

“Right.” Jake’s blond brows snapped together. “So why didn’t you tell our newest visitor that? Might have saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Dan shrugged, not answering.

Jake leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I’ll tell you why. You refuse to accept Rachel died accidentally, isn’t that right?”

Dan remained silent, doing his best to keep his face emotionless.

Jake nodded toward the glass sliders and the roaring ocean outside. “Hell of a riptide out there this time of year. People swim alone. Sometimes they drown.” He pursed his lips, stood and took a step toward Dan. “Forget Rachel Braxton and leave this friend of hers alone.”

Dan straightened, growing annoyed at Jake’s condescending attitude. He plucked a photograph from the stone mantel. “Her investigation had to do with Diane.” He thrust the frame toward Jake.

Jake narrowed his gaze, his jaw stiffening. He took the frame, touching a finger to the image beneath the glass. “I loved your sister.” He met Dan’s stare, the edge gone from his blue eyes. “But she did something stupid and she died. It was an accident.”

Frustration and anger eased through Dan. “She’d never use drugs. You know that.”

“What about a drug her own brother helped bring to market?” Jake leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Maybe she wouldn’t think twice.” He set the framed picture back on the mantel, turning for the front door. “Stay away from the whole Rachel Braxton thing.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

“The subject’s closed.” Jake yanked open the door, casting a warning glance in Dan’s direction. “I may be your friend, but I won’t hesitate to toss you in jail if you break into that house again.”

The door slammed closed behind him.

Dan crossed to the sliding glass door, stopping to stare out at the churning ocean. Rachel had found some proof of illegal activity involving Oxygesic, and whatever she’d found would lead him to the truth behind his sister’s death. He knew it in his gut.

But where were her notes? They had to be somewhere in that house—somewhere he hadn’t thought of before her friend had interrupted.

Jake could toss out all the threats he wanted. Dan had every intention of getting back inside Rachel’s house.

KELLY CARRIED the box of sticky buns into the kitchen and pushed it to the back of the counter. She found a half-empty tin of coffee in the freezer, started the coffeemaker then decided to check the rest of the house.

A narrow hallway led to two bedrooms and a bath. French doors opened from the larger room to the back deck. Beyond the faded gray railing, the water of the sound sparkled.

Inside, a spotless mahogany desk took up a third of the room; a printer and fax sitting next to a gleaming desktop computer. Rachel’s pride and joy. Her writing.

At least the equipment would make managing Kelly’s clients easier while she was here. After all, she didn’t have to be in Philadelphia to meet graphic design deadlines.

A photograph on the nightstand caught her attention as she turned back toward the kitchen. In it, she and Rachel smiled brightly, kneeling on top of Jockey’s Ridge. Beach week in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Rachel’s blond hair blew around her face to mingle with strands of Kelly’s auburn waves. Brilliant periwinkle and fuchsia ribbons of sky framed their suntanned faces, the sun only partially visible behind the huge sand dune. Identical wide-spaced brown eyes sparkled in both faces.

Frick and Frack. They’d been inseparable since first grade. Kelly’s parents had been more concerned about their tee times at the country club than they’d been about their daughter. Her friendship with Rachel had been her one true source of solace.

She had thought they’d be friends forever, until Rachel had used a bogus scandal involving Kelly as fodder for a front-page story. Kelly touched her fingertips to the glass covering the photo. Smooth. Cold. Lifeless.

A long while later, after she’d unpacked and settled in, she lay in Rachel’s bed staring into the darkness. Dan Steele’s rugged features popped into her mind uninvited. She shoved the image away, ignoring the curiosity simmering in her belly. There was no sense in thinking about the handsome stranger or whatever he’d been looking for.

Tomorrow she’d pack up Rachel’s things and be gone. The friendship she and Rachel had once shared was lost forever. As much as she longed for closure, she’d never find it at the bottom of a packing box.

THE BEDSPREAD rose and fell with each breath the woman took. A sliver of pale moonlight shimmered through the door, lighting her face.

She looked so much like Rachel he felt a chill. He’d heard the murmuring around town and had wanted to see for himself. Not that he cared. Not really. As long as she packed up Rachel’s things and left, he didn’t care if she was the dead woman’s spitting image.

He pulled a hard candy from his pocket, peeling the wrapper as quietly as he could. He slipped the morsel between his lips, grimacing. Grape. He was growing tired of grape.

He watched the woman for a few more minutes before he turned and walked down the hall, stopping in the kitchen to throw out the wrapper, not caring if she noticed.

He only cared that this one didn’t cause trouble. Not now.

He balled his hands into fists. If she did stick her nose where it didn’t belong, she’d end up just like her little friend.

Very wet. And very dead.