Stonebrook Cottage. Carla Neggers

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СКАЧАТЬ to the conclusion it was her strange man in a disguise. “Did you ever talk to him?” Kara asked.

      Both kids shook their heads. “That would have been dumb,” Henry said.

      “Yeah,” Lillian said, “what if he dragged us into the woods and chopped our heads off?”

      Kara winced, but realized Lillian was serious. Bad things could happen if you talked to strange men. Why hadn’t it occurred to them that bad things could happen if you lit out on your own?

      But Kara stuck to the issue at hand. “Did this man ever approach you, ever try to talk to you?”

      “No.” Henry was remarkably calm. “He just watched us, usually from where no one else could see him. I asked one of my friends who he was, but the man disappeared—it’s like he knew I was checking him out.”

      Kara peered out at the parked car and wondered if the stress of the past weeks—the isolation they’d felt after Mike’s death and their mother becoming governor, coupled with the unfamiliarity of being on a Texas dude ranch—had pushed these two bright, imaginative kids over the edge. They had to be making this stuff up.

      “You didn’t tell your counselors about him?”

      “I wanted to,” Lillian said, “but Henry wouldn’t let me.”

      He pursed his lips, as if contemplating the logic of his decision. “I was scared to say anything. Then Mom told us to come here. I knew something was wrong.”

      “Lillian says your mother doesn’t know about this guy.”

      “We didn’t want to worry her. She was already worried enough.”

      Kara tried to follow his thinking, but he was twelve years old. “Okay—are you sure this is the same guy?”

      “Yes,” he and Lillian said simultaneously.

      They argued over everything—the rules of a card game, television shows, favorite rock groups, where to sit in a restaurant. Kara had put a stop to their bickering enough times to realize that agreeing, without hesitation, about the man outside had to mean something. She sighed, wishing she could be neutral and objective where Henry and Lillian Stockwell were concerned. If they could successfully manipulate anyone, it’d be her. She loved them unconditionally, and they knew it.

      Sam would want to know about the man in the black sedan.

      Both kids were back on their knees, spying out the window. The car’s headlights popped on, catching them by surprise. Lillian dived to the floor, sobbing and gulping for air, and Henry ducked down low and went stone-still, as if any movement might give away his position.

      Kara touched Lillian’s trembling shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. Trust me. ”

      She ran up the hall into the foyer, tore open her door and shot out onto the porch, catching the car as it moved up the street. It had a Texas tag, but she couldn’t make it out or tell if the car was a rental.

      She debated calling Sam. Her brother. 911. Never mind the damn letter—never mind Henry and Lillian’s irrational fear. This was her decision to make. She was the prevailing adult here.

      When she returned to her bedroom, her godchildren were hoisting their backpacks onto their shoulders, grim-faced, as if they knew exactly what Kara was considering doing and now they had to go find someone else to help them.

      She sighed. “What are you two doing?”

      “We’re getting out of here.” Henry spoke calmly, seriously. “He’ll come back. We don’t want him to find us—or you. We have no right to endanger you, Aunt Kara.”

      She ignored a sudden, overwhelming wave of nausea and forced herself to focus on the problem at hand. These kids were on the verge of spinning out of control. She had to do something, say something, that would settle them down.

      Sam would be back before long. Wouldn’t they feel safe with a Texas Ranger?

      Henry straightened, as if what they did next was entirely up to him. “Come on, Lil. Let’s get out of here. If Aunt Kara won’t come with us, we’ll just have to manage on our own. We can do it.”

      Lillian seemed less confident, but nodded.

      “Listen,” Kara said, “there’s someone I can call—”

      Henry shook his head, adamant. “No.” His face had turned a grayish white, and he started to shake uncontrollably, his self-control crumbling. He stiffened visibly, but the shaking didn’t ease. Tears rolled down his cheeks, shining in the light from the street. “Aunt Kara… please, you have to believe us. We’re in danger.”

      If they were in danger, there was no question she should call Sam, but she’d never get that far. The kids would bolt. They’d skipped out on the dude ranch and made it all the way to damn Austin on their own—they’d skip out on her, too.

      She still had to deal with the letter from Allyson. Did she believe Allyson had written it? Did it even matter at this point? It demonstrated what Henry and Lillian believed was at stake.

      And if they didn’t release her from attorney-client privilege, there wasn’t much she could tell Sam, anyway.

      “All right.” Kara tried to sound decisive, although her plan was still sketchy, in its early stages—and crazy, every bit of it. “You’re going to have to trust me and let me make some decisions. I’ll get you to Stonebrook Cottage and your mother, okay? I’ll do what she says in her letter.”

      They nodded, Henry brushing at the tears on his thin cheeks. Lillian was solemn, very pale.

      Kara hugged them both, squeezing hard, smelling the rancidness of their fear. The hell with everything. She had to get them safely to Stonebrook Cottage and their mother and stay one step ahead of anyone who might be after them—no matter the reason, good, bad, real or imagined.

      She couldn’t believe she was cutting out on Sam Temple, Texas Ranger.

      She smiled suddenly, and she noticed how reassured her godchildren looked now that she was taking charge—and they were getting their way. Well, what else could she do?

      “Let me throw a few things together,” she told them. “Then we’re out of here.”

       Five

       P ete Jericho regarded the stripped logs piled on the edge of the gravel pit with satisfaction. He’d always liked work he could see getting done. Finish one job, move on to the next. Hard, physical work suited him. He squinted up at the hazy August sky, the humidity on the rise, seeping in from the south. He had a lot of work to get done before the first killing frost. Maybe keeping himself busy would put in check his anger and frustration—his sense of loss since Allyson had stepped up to the governorship.

      Stupid to fall in love with her in the first place. He’d known it years ago, when he’d see her and Lawrence up at the Stockwell place, around town. She was a few years older than Pete, but that never mattered to him. After Lawrence died, Allyson was so overwhelmed and quiet, and Pete realized what he felt wasn’t just an infatuation. He was truly in love with her.

      But СКАЧАТЬ