Читать книгу Vendetta - Meredith Fletcher - Страница 13

Gracelyn Ranch

Outside Phoenix, Arizona

Now

David stared at the picture in his sister’s Athena Academy yearbook. His younger sister Allison lived in Washington, D.C., these days, but she kept most of her personal things at the family home.

Besides, knowing Allison, she probably had another yearbook with her. She had two copies of everything. She was the most thoroughly organized person David had ever seen. She currently worked for the National Security Agency in a job so secret she never talked to anyone about it.

Allison had been best friends with Lorraine “Rainy” Miller. But that relationship had been troubled. Even though Allison wouldn’t have admitted it then—and might not even admit it now—she’d been somewhat jealous of Rainy’s successes at the academy. Allison’s own student group, the Graces, had constantly vied with Rainy’s team, the Cassandras, for top honors but had often come out second-best.

The competition had been fierce, and it had also been good for both groups. But the competitive edge had never truly gone away.

Later, when circumstances required Rainy to live with Allison at the Gracelyn home for a while, David had fallen in love with Rainy like he’d never fallen for a woman before.

But that didn’t work out, did it? David chided himself. And you’ve certainly got more to do than spend your morning moping over old yearbooks and wondering what might have been.

Still, he stared at the picture of Rainy and the group of girls she’d mentored through the academy. All of them were there: Kayla Ryan, Tory Patton, Alexandra Forsythe, Josephine Lockworth, Samantha St. John, Darcy Steele and Rainy at their center.

The picture had been taken somewhere in the hinterlands of the White Tank Mountains where the academy was located. The Cassandras had to have been on a team-based excursion. All of them wore climbing gear.

David thought he could remember the story. Allison had told him one version of it, and Rainy had given him another.

In the picture, Rainy was young. She had to have been seventeen, maybe eighteen. She’d only gotten more beautiful and more defined as she’d gotten older.

For a while, David and Rainy had been close. Then something happened. He still hadn’t been sure what. But while he’d been away at college, Rainy had grown distrustful of him. Then she’d left the Gracelyn home.

The next time he’d heard about her had been when she’d enrolled at Harvard as he was graduating. They’d just never connected again. Then she’d gotten married.

Now she was dead.

Silently David cursed Winter Archer’s presence at the house for bringing up all the old memories and pain. He cursed Christine Evans as well, but he was equally certain that Christine was right. The answers to the puzzle of Rainy’s death, the genetically mutated children and the kidnappings lay in his mother’s past.

He just didn’t know how he was going to handle Winter Archer’s investigation without going crazy thinking about what could have been.

Winter walked through the big, silent house to David’s office. During the last three days, they’d seen each other very little. She had the distinct impression that had been because David wanted it that way.

If she hadn’t reached an impasse in her research, or if the story about the woman who had murdered Colonel Thomas Marker hadn’t been so compelling, Winter knew she wouldn’t have sought David out now.

The sooner you get out of here, the better off you’re going to be. You need to be back home in L.A. working on another book. You’re at your best when you’re working.

If it hadn’t been for Christine—and now her own curiosity— Winter knew she’d have been gone in a heartbeat. But Christine was involved, and she couldn’t walk away from that story without knowing the rest of it.

News about Marker’s murder had gradually subsided. In the end, it had disappeared. There were only a couple of footnotes that let her know Marker’s body had been shipped back to distant family members.

Of course, given what had happened in 1968 at about the same time, losing sight of one unexplained murder wasn’t a big thing. The assassination that had taken place at around the same time had shaken the world.

David’s study door was open. Winter crossed to it and lifted a hand to rap against the door frame. The sight of him sitting so grim and silent at the desk gave her pause. He was a beautiful man. He sat with his shirtsleeves rolled nearly to his elbows and his tie at half-mast. He had one hand against his head with his fingers threaded through his hair.

There was something wounded and innocent in his posture. All those feelings she’d felt back when she was a girl echoed within her.

You’re still crushing after all these years? Winter couldn’t believe it. Get over it. You don’t have time for this. And if he wasn’t interested back then, he’s definitely not going to be interested now.

Then she saw he was staring at a book lying open on his desk. As she watched, he carefully thumbed through pages filled with pictures.

A photo album? Winter wasn’t sure. But the possibility made her feel badly. Her presence there, in the house where he’d known his mother, had to have made that absence even sharper and more empty. Oh, Christine, you can’t have known what you were going to trigger.

Winter knocked.

David looked up immediately. Guilt made his movements jerky as he closed the book and slid it to one side.

“Yes?” he said.

“I need more information.”

David leaned back in the chair. “You have everything.”

Slightly irritated that he didn’t ask her in, Winter crossed the threshold and entered the room anyway. She wasn’t a vampire. Withholding an invitation wasn’t going to keep her out.

“I have most of everything,” she said. “I’ve noticed an obvious discrepancy but have been too tactful to mention it.” She folded her arms over her breasts, then noticed she was in a defensive posture and grew angry with herself. David Gracelyn wasn’t going to make her feel threatened.

He held her gaze for a moment. “What do you think you’re missing?”

“Your mother journaled extensively. Some of her work is used in Athena Academy curriculum. I’ve read it. A few of her books, mainly collections of essays and speeches, are in the library. In all of those books, she referred to journal entries—sometimes even printing them in their entirety—that dealt with those writings.”

David didn’t say anything.

“Therefore, I submit that those journals she referenced have to exist somewhere,” Winter said.

Clasping his hands before him, elbows on the desk, David settled his chin on his thumbs. “My mother’s personal writings are—well, they’re personal.”

“I’ll keep them that way. No matter what they are, I need to take a look at them. Some of them.”

Frowning, David leaned back in his chair and crossed his own arms. Then he noticed the unconscious behavior and gripped the chair arms.

“You’ve found something,” he said.

Winter hated revealing anything before she was certain of its validity. Unfortunately she was certain David was resolved not to let her have anything unless he knew what she was looking for.

“Possibly,” she answered.

“What?”

For a moment Winter considered holding her ground and refusing to answer. She knew that David would fight, though, and she didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides that, she was eager to know if she truly had something or if she was following a false lead.

“Did your mother ever tell you how she met your father?” Winter countered.

“During the course of their work.”

“She never mentioned any mitigating circumstances?”

“Were there any?”

Winter drew a breath. She hated when interviewees tried playing cagey with their answers. Things usually got much harder than they had to be. “Yes.”

“What?”

Taking out her iPAQ/phone, Winter checked the time. It was 12:43 p.m. “Have you had lunch?”

David frowned again.

Even his frowns are sexy. Winter gave herself a mental shake. Do not get derailed. Focus on getting the journals.

“What difference would my having lunch make?” David asked.

“If you hadn’t eaten, I thought I could tell you the story over lunch.”

“I’ve got too much to do to leave here.” David gestured at the desk.

“Surely this big house has a kitchen. If you don’t know the way, maybe we could ask Gary.” Winter resented the sarcasm at once, but it was far too late. The genie was out of the bottle. She scrambled for something to say that would take the sting out of her words.

David pushed up from the desk. “I know the way to the kitchen. But you’re going to have to produce a strong argument to get at my mother’s journals.” He strode through the door without a backward glance.

Curbing a response, Winter silently watched him walk away. The khaki pants fit him well, and it was obvious he kept himself in great shape. After a moment, she followed.

“You know how to cook?”

David resented the question. He pulled his head out of the massive refrigerator and glared at Winter. She sat demurely at the island and looked as if the question was more casual curiosity than a thinly veiled insult.

“Yes, I know how to cook. My mother taught me. So did my father.” David took a deep breath as he looked around the spacious kitchen. “This is one of the places where I miss her most. When she was at home, she often spent part of the day in here. On good days, Allison and I got to prepare a meal with her.”

Winter had the decency to look contrite. “I apologize. I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, and you didn’t. But you did intend to be crass, and you were.”

Winter looked as though she were going to say something, then thought better of it. She broke their gaze and looked down at her P.D.A.

And you’re not exactly the charming host, either, are you? David could hear his mother remonstrating him over his manners.

Marion Gracelyn had always believed the kitchen was a safe haven for everyone. He’d seen her entertain belligerent dinner guests over steaming pots and pans. Most of the time she’d managed to reach some accord right there in the kitchen.

“Look,” he said finally, “maybe we’re both getting on each other’s nerves a little.”

“You think?”

The reply was smart-ass, but David sensed there was no malice attached. “Yeah. So what are you in the mood for?”

Her hesitation surprised him. As he recalled, Winter Archer had always had an answer for everything.

“Surprise me,” she replied finally.

“I missed breakfast this morning, too. Maybe we could have a really late brunch.”

“All right.”

“While I cook, maybe you could talk.”

By the time Winter finished reiterating what she’d learned about Colonel Thomas Marker’s murder and the strange woman who had briefly taken Marion Hart prisoner in the county jail, David had prepared blueberry waffles from scratch, omelets, spicy diced potatoes and onions and bacon and link sausage. He’d even prepared the link sausages by boiling them in water in a covered frying pan instead of frying them.

“Not exactly what my nutritionist would have recommended,” Winter commented as she finally surrendered and pushed her plate away.

“Maybe next time you could cook,” David growled.

For a moment Winter was so lost in the idea of a next time and the possibility of cooking breakfast she forgot to be slightly insulted. That had been the intention, though.

“I can cook,” Winter replied.

David glowered at her doubtfully.

“I didn’t mean that as an insult. I enjoyed breakfast. It was good.”

Slightly mollified, David nodded. He finished the last bite of blueberry waffle and pushed his plate away.

Without a word, Winter got up and started clearing the dishes.

“What are you doing?” David asked.

“You cooked. The least I can do is clean up the mess.” Winter opened the taps at the sink and looked around for dishwashing liquid.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t want to leave it. Gary probably has enough to do.” Winter looked under the sink.

“There’s a dishwasher.”

“There aren’t that many dishes.” After finding the dishwashing liquid under the sink, Winter squeezed some into the sink and turned the water on.

“Are you always this pigheaded?” David growled. His chair scraped as he got up.