Part 15 (1/2)

That p.r.i.c.ks my attention. I flip the page.

”Is that so?” Sandi pretends interest as she refills the cups of Manny and some woman he's trying to impress, a brunette I don't recognize.

I take another swallow of my coffee, slide a glance in his direction and find him staring at me. Does he know? Can he guess? I tense, but hide it and manage a quick nod of acknowledgment, a friendly lifting of my chin, but his lips twist into a stoatlike sneer and he turns back to his breakfast partner, the unfamiliar brunette.

A blaze of embarra.s.sment crawls up the back of my neck. Snubbed by the reporter. It's all I can do to control myself, pretend that his brush-off doesn't offend me.

By the time Sandi brings me the oval platter, I'm in control again. ”Here ya go,” she says grinning. ”And I'll bring the pie when you're about done with this.”

”Thanks.”

”You're going to love that trout!” she predicts loudly as if she's trying to ply the fish on other customers.

She leaves and I dig in, but I barely taste the food. I'm too keyed up. As much as I've tried to calm down, the run-in with the old man up at Brady Long's place, Sandi's remarks about my cheek, and the cold shoulder from the reporter remind me that I have to be careful. Now more than ever.

Despite the fact that I left Brady Long bleeding to death and Regan Pescoli is now my captive, there's much to do. No time to sit back.

It's time, I decide, as Sandi, ever diligent, tops off my coffee, to ratchet things up a notch. Give old needle-nose something to write about.

The stars aren't in quite the right position, but I can't afford to wait.

I have to leave a message for the cops.

Soon.

Sandi deposits the slab of pie with its glob of melting ice cream. ”Here ya go,” she says before bouncing off to another table to refill a near-empty cup.

Yeah, I think, picking up my fork. Real soon.

Chapter Twelve.

Something was off.

Out of synch.

Santana was about to drive past the main house on his way to his cabin when he noticed that the lights in the den were blazing and the back door, the one connecting the house to the carport, was wide open. Clementine's red Volkswagen Rabbit wasn't parked in its usual spot, though Ross's beat-up 4x4 was tucked by the garage, six inches or more of snow piling over the roof and hood.

That, in and of itself, wasn't unusual.

She could have left early, taking advantage of the break in the weather that now seemed to be changing.

Had he seen her car this morning when he'd left?

He thought so.

Then it wasn't a big deal...

But the door...and the den lights on, smoke rising from the chimney. Uh-uh.

He pulled his truck up to the garage and parked, then cut through the carport to the door, which was open, the screen door banging in the wind.

Odd.

Through the back he saw footprints, two sets coming toward the carport, one leaving, though all were beginning to fill with snow. He squinted through the curtain of falling snow and spied the helicopter, resting on its pad, rotors, cabin, and tail boom all collecting a thick layer of icy white crystals.

So Brady Long was back.

Hubert's black-sheep son.

Good. He needed to talk to Brady, his boss, and explain that he'd need some time off. Despite Alvarez's warning, Santana wasn't about to sit idle while Regan was missing. No way. He'd go nuts, and regardless of Alvarez's opinion, Santana could help. He'd been a tracker and hunting guide before and after his stint with the army, and he did have an innate ability to tell when things weren't right. Like now.

Long's return didn't explain the open door or double set of footprints. Clementine's son, Ross, was a big kid, but the footprints were all wrong. Too many leaving, not enough returning. Unless someone came with Long on the chopper, then went back outside.

Your imagination working overtime, he told himself.

Nonetheless he'd always relied on his gut instincts, and he had to check things out. Find out that everything was all right. He'd start with the house first and then, if his imagination got the better of him, follow the footsteps before they disappeared with the snowfall.

At the door, he heard music. Loud. Guns N' Roses. Axl Rose's voice screaming over Slash's familiar guitar riff.

And the scent of cigar smoke filtered down the long hallway off the foyer.

Yeah. Brady Long was back.

He saw the newspapers on the table, some snacks left out for the boss man. Clementine's work. Always afraid of losing her job, she went above and beyond for Hubert's only son.

So she'd known he was returning, but she hadn't mentioned it to Santana.

When have you seen her in the last couple of days?

Following the scent of one of Brady's Havanas, Santana walked to the double doors of the den and took one step inside. In a heartbeat he spied Brady in his desk chair, facing the door. His eyes were round and blood was blossoming through his s.h.i.+rt. His mouth moved, but it seemed almost convulsive.

”Jesus!” Santana was through the door like a shot. ”Brady! Oh, h.e.l.l!” He reached the desk chair. ”Brady! s.h.i.+t! Brady! What the h.e.l.l happened?” Heart pounding, pulse racing, he yelled over the echoing music, ”Clementine! Ross!” But, of course, there was no one to answer him. ”d.a.m.n it!” With one hand he tried to staunch the flow of blood. With the other, he picked up the phone on the desk and punched out 911. The phone only rang once when he heard the dispatcher's voice. ”Nine-one-one, what is the nature of-”

”I've got a man with a...a wound to his chest. Nearly dead. Looks like a gunshot. We need an ambulance here immediately. Out at Hubert Long's estate.” Panicked, feeling the weak beat of Long's heart under his hand, Nate rattled off the address. All the while his eyes scanned the room for any sign of the attacker, or a handgun on the floor suggesting that Brady had tried to off himself. All he saw was the cigar slowly burning into the area rug-dropped to the floor, he supposed, during the attack-and a short gla.s.s of amber liquid, ice cubes half melted, still on the desk. ”I need an ambulance now!”

”Sir, what is your name?”

G.o.d, how could she be so calm?

”Nate Santana, I work for Brady Long and I walked into the house and found him in the den, bleeding to death, now get someone here ASAP!” He looked around for anything to help staunch the blood. This was taking too long. ”Should I get him to the hospital?”

”Do not move the victim! I'll connect you to an EMT and I've already dispatched a unit to your location. Stay on the phone.”

”But there's a chopper out back and-”

”Do not move the victim. Do you hear me? Help is on the way.”