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“With you? Why?” But she knew. Oh, God, with mind-numbing certainty she knew.
“Because, Claire, I’ve got your boy.”
Thirty-four
Kane drove like a madman. He tromped on the accelerator and took a corner too quickly. His tires squealed in protest and an oncoming car swerved, the driver blasting his horn before disappearing into the fog. Kane didn’t care. He had to get to Claire and find Sean. The minute he’d hung up from Claire, he’d started for the door and realized with chilling certainty why Claire had every right to fear for their son. Because of Weston Taggert.
Paige had admitted to being on the dock that night, of thinking she saw an enraged Kendall kill Harley for being with Claire, but it had been Tessa she’d seen and not knowing the truth, she’d held her tongue for sixteen years, protecting Kendall and doing her own quiet penance for not helping save Harley’s life by taking care of their father.
But Neal Taggert had provided the real clue. The only person to have gained from his brother’s death was Weston. That he hadn’t killed Harley was, in Kane’s opinion, just luck. The other two men who had been rumored to be his half brothers had met quick, untimely ends. Kane didn’t know why Paige, the only other Taggert progeny had been saved, but it probably had something to do with Neal’s will.
He nearly missed the lane for the Holland estate, but managed to make the corner, the beams of his headlights cutting through the mist and splashing against the mossy trunks of giant Douglas fir trees. If Weston truly had killed off all of his father’s sons, wouldn’t he also want to get rid of their sons, Neal’s grandsons? Jack and Hunter had died without fathering children. So had Harley, but Weston might not think so. If he’d seen Sean and done the math, wouldn’t he assume that Claire’s child had been sired by Harley?
Don’t even think it, he told himself, the kid is mad, that’s all, and he took off to cool off. He’s safe somewhere. Probably already home with Claire.
Barely visible through the mist and trees, the lights of the old lodge glowed warmly. Kane rounded a final corner and stepped on the brakes. He cut the engine, pocketed his keys and was halfway up the steps when the door opened and Samantha wearing a black dress, stood, backlit by the houselights. “Mom—? Oh.”
“Isn’t your mom here?” Kane asked.
“I don’t know. She was.” The girl was obviously worried. “I was upstairs getting dressed for Grandpa’s party and Mom and I had kind of a fight and she went downstairs, I thought. But she’s not here.”
“Her car’s parked in front of the garage.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Are there any other vehicles missing?”
Samantha was shaking her head. “I don’t think so.” She bit her lip. Looked troubled. “She was worried about Sean and I think someone came here. I saw a car drive in and then leave.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. I was getting dressed and the radio was on and, and . . . now she’s gone!” The girl was getting worked up, biting her lip, looking as if she was about to cry.
Kane placed an arm around her shoulders. “Listen, I’ll find your mom,” he said. “Can you call someone to come be with you—no, better yet let’s find someone you can stay with.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because it might take me a while to find her. You don’t have any idea where she is? Or who she was with?”
“No. We were supposed to go to the party.”
“What about the car . . . you saw the car?”
Samantha shook her head, then stopped. “It wasn’t a car,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she concentrated. Her lower lip trembled. “I think it was a truck.”
“A big truck?”
“A . . . a pickup.”
“What color?”
“Black . . . or real dark.”
“Did you see anyone inside?”
