“You listen to me, son, and you listen good.” Lloyd Kenyon spoke with a calm authority that reverberated with an underlying sympathy. “No one murdered your father. Once you’ve had a chance to cool down and think about it you’ll accept the facts. It was a tragic accident.”
“Bullshit. Dad was a good driver and he knew that road. He didn’t go off Avalon Point by accident. One of you forced him over the edge.”
Alexa felt suddenly light-headed. A strange, unfamiliar panic left her fighting for breath. Trask was threatening Lloyd. He was not only a much younger man, he was even bigger than Lloyd, who still had plenty of bulk and muscle left over from the days when he had run construction crews.
Her anxiety for Lloyd’s safety took her by surprise. Until tonight she would have sworn that she had no strong, personal attachment to him. She and her mother had moved in with him eighteen months ago following her parents’ divorce. She had been careful to keep a cool distance between herself and this very large, unexciting, rock-steady businessman Vivien had married; careful to make sure Lloyd understood that he could never take the place of the charismatic hero who had been her real father.
It had been a year since Crawford Chambers had been killed by a sniper’s bullet. He had been halfway around the world at the time, photographing the latest in the long list of small, brutal civil wars that had made him a legend in journalism circles.
Crawford had been everything that Lloyd was not, a rakish, dashing, larger-than-life figure who lived life on the edge.
Her father would have been able to deal with Trask, Alexa thought. But staid, steady, unflappable Lloyd probably didn’t stand a chance.
Trask’s accusations were nothing but crazy talk, Alexa thought. Lloyd would never harm anyone.
She had to get to the phone.
The nearest extension was at the foot of the stairs. With an enormous effort of will, she fought through the temporary paralysis. She went silently, cautiously, down the stairs.
“It was raining that night.” Lloyd’s voice was calm, infused with reason. “This is what we call our monsoon season. Downpours are common. That stretch of the road is treacherous. Every-one around here knows that. I’ve always said that portion of Cliff Drive should be closed during a storm.”
“The rain had passed by the time Dad got into the car,” Trask said. “I checked with the cops.”
“The roads were still wet. Even the best driver can make a mistake.”
“This was no mistake,” Trask said. “I know all about the partnership between the three of you. And I know about the offer from that hotel chain. Dad was murdered because someone wanted him out of the way.”
Alexa realized he believed every word he said. She knew that he was wrong, at least about Lloyd. But Trask was clearly convinced that his father had been murdered.
She sensed her mother’s presence on the steps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Vivien’s fine-boned, ascetic face was taut with anxiety as she listened to the two men quarrel.
“You think I was involved in some kind of bizarre conspiracy to kill your father?” Lloyd’s voice rose in disbelief. “That’s outrageous.”
“I looked through some of Dad’s papers this afternoon. I heard about the quarrel at the country club the night he died. It didn’t take me long to put it together.”
“Business partners sometimes disagree. It’s a fact of life, son.”
“That argument was more than a disagreement. I talked to the bartender at the club. He said the three of you nearly came to blows.”
“Guthrie gets a little hot-headed when he drinks,” Lloyd admitted. “But I restrained him. There was no physical stuff.”
“Maybe not then. But you and Guthrie knew that Dad would never agree to sell the Avalon Mansion property to that chain. So one of you found a way to get rid of him.”
“Damn it, I’ve had enough.” Lloyd’s voice hardened. “I’m trying to be patient. I know you’ve had a hellish few days and I know you’ve got a lot of responsibility to shoulder. But you’re going too far here.”
“Believe me, Kenyon, I haven’t even started.”
“You’re going to have to get your priorities straight, Trask. You’ve got your brother to think about. He’s only seventeen and you’re all the family that boy has left in the world.”
“Thanks to you or Guthrie.”
“That’s a damn lie. When you come to your senses and calm down, you’ll see that. Meanwhile, you’d better start thinking about the future. You’ve got your work cut out.”
“Don’t talk to me about my work, you sonofabitch.”
“Someone better talk to you about it. You’re going to have to get through the fallout from your father’s bankruptcy and take care of your brother at the same time. That’s a man-sized job. You need to get focused and stay that way. You can’t afford to waste your energy chasing a wild conspiracy fantasy.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what I have to do, Kenyon. I’ll take care of Nathan and I’ll take care of myself. But one day I’ll find out what really happened at Avalon Point the night Dad died.”
Alexa reached the bottom of the stairs. Neither man noticed her. They were intent only on each other. Lloyd had his back to her as he confronted Trask.
This was the first time she had seen John Laird Trask in person. She knew from what Lloyd had said that his family came from Seattle. It was Harry Trask’s plan to restore the old Avalon Mansion and turn it into a destination resort that had brought him to Arizona on a frequent and regular basis during the past year. His two sons had remained in Seattle.
Alexa paid little attention to Lloyd’s business affairs even though he managed the inheritance she had received from her grandmother. As a result, she knew almost nothing about Harry Trask and even less about his sons.
But after tonight she knew that she would never forget John Laird Trask.
From where she stood she could see him looming in the hall, taking up far too much space. The warm glow of the overhead fixture did nothing to soften the sinister angles of his face and jaw. She could feel the energy waves of his fury.
She was only a step away from the phone now. She took a deep breath, stretched out her hand and picked up the receiver.
“If you don’t go away right now, Mr. Trask, I’m going to call the police,” she said with a fierceness that startled her as much as it did everyone else.
Both men swung around to stare at her, but it was Trask’s relentless green-gold gaze that riveted her. For an instant she could not move. Her hand clenched around the phone.
“It’s all right, Alexa.” Lloyd’s face gentled as he looked at her standing there with the phone clutched in her hand. “Everything is under control. Trask is leaving now. Isn’t that right, Trask?”
Trask continued to watch Alexa for another second or two, as if assessing both her and her threat. Abruptly he turned away, dismissing her with a cold disdain that sent another chill through her.
“Yeah, I’m going now, Kenyon,” he said. “But one day I’ll come back for the truth. And when I do, someone will pay. Count on it.”
Without another word, he walked out into the night.
Twelve Years Later
She saw the Jeep first. A layer of desert grit dulled the dark green paint, evidence of a long drive. The vehicle was parked on the side of the road above Avalon Point. The sight of it brought her to a halt on the path.
It was not unusual to see a tourist stopped here at the Point. The sun was about to set and the view of the stark, red-rock landscape with its towers and canyons was magnificent at this time of day.
Alexa glanced around, searching for the Jeep’s driver.
It took her a moment to find him. He stood deep in the long shadow cast by a stone outcropping.
The first thing that struck her was that he was on the wrong side of the waist-high metal rail that had been erected a few years ago to protect sightseers. Alarm shot through her. He was much too close to the edge of the Point
.
He seemed oblivious to the vibrant beauty of the spectacular terrain set afire by the dying light. As Alexa watched he gazed broodingly down into the brush-choked canyon. There was a dark intensity about him, as though he was engaged in reading omens and portents.
Sometimes an overly ambitious amateur photographer took one too many risks in an attempt to get the perfect sunset shot.
“Excuse me,” she said loudly. “That guardrail is there for a good reason. It’s dangerous to stand on the wrong side.”
The man in the shadows turned unhurriedly to look at her.
Her first thought was that he could have stepped straight out of a Tamara de Lempicka painting.
The artist who had become known as the quintessential Art Deco portraitist would have loved him, Alexa thought. De Lempicka had excelled at creating a dark, sinister, edgy energy around her subjects. She had been able to endow them with a highly charged sensuality and an icy, enigmatic aura.
But in this man’s case, Alexa thought, de Lempicka would not have had to invent the ominous illusion. The painter’s only task would have been to capture the unsettling reality of it.
The jolt of recognition hit Alexa with such force she froze in mid-step.
Trask.
Twelve years older, harder, more dangerous, but unmistakably Trask. He looked even bigger than he had the last time she saw him. Lean and broad-shouldered, he still took up a lot of space. It was a wonder light did not bend to get around him.
He contemplated her for a moment.
“Thanks for the warning,” he said.
He made no move to get back behind the guardrail. It figured, Alexa thought. This man was accustomed to standing on the edge of cliffs. She could tell that just by looking at him.
She realized she was holding her breath, waiting for him to recognize her. But he gave no indication that he remembered her from that long-ago scene in Lloyd’s hall. She told herself she should be enormously relieved.
She released the breath she had been holding.
A gust of wind broke the peculiar little trance that had gripped her. She managed to keep her polite-to-the-tourist smile firmly fixed in place.
“You really should move back to the right side of that railing.” She was horrified by the slightly breathless quality she heard in her own words. Get a grip, Alexa. “Didn’t you see the sign?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
His voice was low and resonant. The voice of a man who did not have to speak loudly in order to get the attention of others. The voice of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
She had pushed her luck far enough. Time to make her exit before he recalled her face. No sense taking chances. She searched for a suitable exit line.
“Are you lost? Can I give you directions?” she asked.
He looked amused. “I know where I am.”
“Well, in that case,” she said briskly, “I’ll be on my way. It’s getting late.”
He watched the breeze tangle her hair. “Can I give you a lift?”
“What? No.” Startled, she took a hasty step back, although he had made no move toward her. “I mean, thanks, but I live near here. I use this path for exercise.” Lord, now she was babbling.
His brows rose. “It’s all right. I’m not a serial killer.”
She kept smiling. “Yeah, sure, that’s what they all say.”
“I take it you’re the type who doesn’t take lifts from strangers?”
“No intelligent person accepts rides from strangers in this day and age.”
“Maybe I’d better introduce myself. My name is Trask. My company owns the new resort here in Avalon.”
Stay cool, Alexa. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Trask.”
“Just Trask.”
“Yes, well, best of luck with the new resort.” She retreated another step. “Everyone in town is very excited about it.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
She did not trust the cool amusement she saw in his eyes. She dropped her own polite smile.
“Welcome to Avalon, Trask.”
She turned quickly and walked swiftly away from him.
“Better hurry,” he said much too softly behind her. “I hear that night falls fast in the desert. It’ll be dark soon.”
She resisted the sudden urge to break into a run. With grim determination she kept moving, listening intently for the sound of the Jeep’s engine.
She finally heard it come to life with a low, throaty growl. She did not look back but neither did she take a deep breath until the sound receded into the distance.
Then and only then did she allow herself to quicken her step.
Adrenaline rushed through her, creating a tingling in her hands and feet. She was both hot and cold. It was the sort of feeling one got after having had a very close call.
The other shoe had finally dropped. Trask was back in Avalon.
JAYNE ANN KRENTZ’s acclaimed New York Times bestsellers include Smoke in Mirrors, Lost and Found, Soft Focus, Eye of the Beholder, Flash, and Grand Passion. She writes contemporary romantic suspense novels under her own name, futuristic novels as Jayne Castle (also available from Pocket Books), and historical romance novels under the pseudonym Amanda Quick. She lives in Seattle.
Jayne Ann Krentz, Flash
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