LITMIR.BIZ

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

       Chapter One

       K eely Gilhooley found the address she was looking for and pulled her conservative sedan up to the curb in front of the house.

      The circa 1940s modest red-brick two-story was trimmed in white and surrounded by a covered porch that was bordered halfway up by brick.

      Keely couldn’t tell from the street if anyone was home, but since she hadn’t found any other addresses for the renowned freelance wildlife photographer who owned the place, she didn’t know where else to connect with him on a Monday afternoon.

      She turned off the engine and checked the computer printout on the passenger seat.

      Eighteen thirty-four—that was the number on the paper, that was the number on the house. The home of Devon Tarlington.

      Keely sighed, resigned to what she had to do but not liking it. How could anyone like being put in an uncomfortably awkward position against her will?

      She was used to locating people—that was her job. She and her sister Hillary ran Where Are They Now?, an organization that specialized in tracing people, mostly via the Internet. But once they’d done that, they turned the information over to their client and it was up to the client to contact or confront the person. This was the first time Keely had had both to find someone and face him. And with news she certainly didn’t want to deliver.

      But there was no other choice. She and Hillary had been left holding the bag—in a manner of speaking. And then Keely had lost the coin toss with Hillary that determined which of them had to meet Devon Tarlington. So it was up to her.

      “Ready or not, here I come,” she announced, getting out of the car and heading up the walk.

      On the way she kept an eye on the enormous picture window to the right of the front door. But still she couldn’t tell if, on the other side of it, someone was watching her approach.

      There were five cement steps to take her onto the porch and as she trudged up them she was wondering what kind of reception she would have if Devon Tarlington was home. She was wondering what kind of person he was. Would he be some big, hulking, scary guy who might not separate the message from the messenger? Who might blow up at her?

      The porch didn’t have any furniture on it. No warm wicker. No slatted chair swinging from chains. No flowerpots. Not even a welcome mat to give her hope that he might be a friendly sort. It was October in Colorado and those things could all have been put away for the winter, she reasoned. Plus, on the positive side, there wasn’t a huge, grizzly-toothed dog or an Approach At Your Own Risk sign, either.

      But still she was wary.

      As she went up to the front door she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the oval of beveled glass that filled the center of the top half of the oak panel. She took a quick assessment of her appearance, trying to see if she could give herself a don’t-even-think-about-messing-with-me air to protect herself in case Devon Tarlington didn’t take kindly to what he was about to find out.

      Her long, curly red hair had been even more riotous than usual this morning so she’d had to pull it into a scrunchie at her crown. That seemed like a mistake now. How tough was a scrunchie, after all?

      She had on jeans and a red turtleneck, and that was okay. No frills or fluff. No nonsense. But she had applied a little mascara and blusher, so she practiced narrowing her green eyes to look intimidating if the need arose.

Скачать книгу