The eye closed. "Don't think you're fooling me, coming here every day. It's not me you're wanting to see."

Kaitlan's face flushed. Which no doubt looked terrific on her mud-yellow cheek.

"Ah, don't give me that." Ed rose to stand by the bed. "I want to see you too." His fingers grazed her grandfather's hand. "How are you?"

"Spiffy."

"Well, good."

Her grandfather heaved a sigh. "Where's Margaret?"

"Home," Kaitlan said. "Cleaning the place up. Getting it ready for you. She'll be in to see you soon."

He grunted.

They fell silent. Her grandfather's eyes slipped shut once more, and Ed wandered back to his chair. He regarded Kaitlan with raised eyebrows-how are you?

She tilted her head.

Kaitlan's gaze pulled to her grandfather. His wizened jaw relaxed but his lips were closed, further hollowing his cheeks. His wild eyebrows needed tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.

Guilt and grat.i.tude panged her heart. Crazy old man. Willing to give his life for hers. She'd tried to express her overwhelming appreciation-more than once. "Thanks for what?" her grandfather retorted. "Coming up with a c.o.c.kamamie plan that near got us killed?"

"No, for-"

"Couldn't even remember one of my own stories. Not to mention misreading the entire crime. What a mind I got."

"But you did it for me. You purposely pushed Craig-for me me."

He'd batted a hand at Kaitlan. "Girl, you're talking nonsense."

Ed rubbed his forehead. "I went to Sam's funeral this afternoon." He spoke in low tones.

Kaitlan's eyes welled. Man, she was crying a lot lately. Yesterday she and Margaret had waded through reporters to attend Pete Lynch's memorial service. The private investigator had left behind an adult daughter and two grandchildren. "I'm so sorry about Sam."

"Yeah. Me too. We'd worked together for five years." Ed's gaze fixed beyond her. "Guy filmed to the end."

Including Craig pulling the trigger on the first bullet that hit him.

Kaitlan caught a tear on her knuckle. She wiped it on her jeans.

Ed's eyes lowered to hers and held. In them shone caring and kindness. His mouth curved in a sad smile.

Kaitlan looked away.

Ed was thirty, with a great job and TV looks. He was clearly interested in her, which was beyond belief-but he didn't know. And she didn't know how to tell him. She was pregnant with Craig Barlow's baby. A baby she loved. When Ed found that out, he'd stop coming around.

He cleared his throat. "Hear about Chief Barlow?"

"Hear what?"

"He's resigning. Well, taking early retirement."

"Oh. Wow." But Kaitlan wasn't that surprised. Under his leadership, investigations of the murders had been badly handled. And his children ...

He hadn't known, Russ Barlow was insisting. He'd had not the slightest suspicion of his own daughter. Despite how hard-nosed he'd been to Kaitlan, she could believe that. Who would have suspected Hallie?

But how ironic-the chief's worry that Kaitlan would be the one to ruin his son's life.

What a broken man Russ Barlow must now be.

The door swished open and Margaret entered. She smiled at Ed, no hint of surprise at his presence. "Whoo, it's warm in here."

Kaitlan gestured toward the bed with her chin. "He likes it that way."

Her grandfather kept his eyes closed. "When you getting me out of here, woman?"

"Tomorrow, D. You know that."

He sniffed. "I think you like me stuck in here. You're probably running around free as a breeze, painting the town red."

"You're right." She laughed. "That's what I do best." Margaret patted his arm. "How you doing?"

"Why does everybody keep asking me that?"

"Probably because you're lying in a hospital bed."

"Well, stop it."

"Okay." She rolled her eyes at Kaitlan.

Her grandfather scratched his cheek. "I got to get home; I got work to do."

"Oh? What work?"

"Writing, what else?"

"You been lying here thinking of a plot for Leland Hugh?"

He made a sound in his throat. "Something like that."

"That's great." Margaret's face lit. "That's really wonderful, D."

The King of Suspense gave her a look. "Don't sound so surprised, woman. It is what I do for a living."

CHAPTER sixty-nine

On a Sat.u.r.day afternoon Darell stood before the mullioned windows in his office, brooding at the Pacific Ocean. Was it only five weeks ago he'd been in this very spot, brewing with frustration over his fight to plot a book?

It seemed like eons.

Beyond the closed door he could hear Margaret calling Kaitlan. He could swear his a.s.sistant's voice sounded lighter, happier. How lonely she must have been in this house with only him for ... hardly comfort. More like hara.s.sment.

Darell pushed up his lower lip and sniffed.

Margaret called again. Fool woman. So much for quiet in the house. Didn't she know he was setting to work today?

Imagine what writing's going to be like with a baby around.

His lips relaxed, then hinted at a curve.

The computer called.

Darell glared at it. Leland Hugh sat in there as silent and enigmatic as ever. No thanks to Craig Barlow, who'd proved no help at all with Hugh's motives.

Now Hallie Barlow's journal-that was a different story.

In the hospital Darell had spent day and night trying to slough the mud from his brain and plot the ma.n.u.script he so wanted to finish. The one that would rejuvenate his career. Sure, it was great that sales of his back list were soaring-though for all the wrong reasons. People no longer had forgotten Darell Brooke. But he wanted to write now now. Give his fans something new.

Nothing worked.

As the sun dared rise three days ago, the King of Suspense finally gave up.

In that nascent light Darell had stared at his white bedroom ceiling and seen his life. Blank. Vain emptiness. Oh, he'd built a career, a worldwide reputation. His books were still selling. He'd made all the money he'd ever need. But he trampled over people to get it. Worse, he'd trampled over family.

In that moment of stillness, a profound knowledge pierced Darell as surely as an arrow: It's your fault that you've been alone. It's your fault that you've been alone.

Why hadn't he seen this before? How does one miss the ocean from the beach or stars in a clear night sky?

Perhaps he'd known all along and refused to see. And he'd thought himself so clever.

On the office door a knock sounded. Darell turned. "Come in."

Kaitlan timidly stuck her head inside. "I'm so sorry to bother you-"

"Kaitlan." He gazed at her with intensity. "You are never a bother." Surprise crisscrossed her face, followed by a slow smile that yanked at Darell's heart. "Okay."

Two weeks ago Kaitlan had returned to working at the beauty salon. She missed it, she said. And salacious-minded people were finally beginning to leave her alone.

She hung in the doorway, eyes roaming the office as if seeing it for the first time. Impatience gurgled inside Darell. "You wanted something?"

"Yeah. Just to tell you Margaret and I are going shopping."

Darell shrugged. "Fine." He surveyed her. "What about tonight? You seeing Ed?"

Her eyelids flickered. "Yeah. It's time I ... we need to talk."

That they did.

She took a deep breath. "You okay by yourself for a while?"

"Of course. I have writing to do."

Kaitlan grinned. "Good. That's so good. so good."

The computer pulled at Darell like a magnet. He'd been thinking this through since his epiphany-and now he was ready. More than ready. Antic.i.p.ation popped through his veins.

Darell raised his eyebrows. "Remember, you promised to help me."

"I know. I will."

"You sure you understand what it will mean? How thoroughly I'll have to interview you? Reliving difficult events is never easy."

Nor was baring one's soul.

"I know. But I'm ready."

He read the thought she would not express. She needed to do this, as he did.

"Good." He waved a hand at her. "Now get out of here. I have to get to work."

"Okay, bye!" The door closed.

Darell shuffled to his desk and sat down. The desktop page gleamed so empty. So frightening.

Writing would still be difficult, even if he didn't need to plot. He'd have to fight his wandering concentration constantly. But he would prevail.

Write a page a day-and you have a book in a year.

Darell took a deep breath and reached for the mouse.

"Help me on this one, G.o.d."

The prayer blurted out, surprising him. Quite the first in his writing career. But apropos. Necessary.

This book would be from his heart, with his own chapters in first person. It would be his penance. His coming clean. Not that it wasn't an amazing story. But to tell it with truth, every detail the way it really happened, required airing his own weaknesses and destructive pride. It meant admitting the lifelong dark pursuit that had cost him so much.

When all was said and done, his reputation as the formidable King of Suspense would be forever tarnished.

So be it.