Played

by Barbara Freethy

  "I need a drink," he repeated.

  Will walked down the length of the bar and gave him a hard look. "It won't do you no good, Duncan. I called Kate, and she's on her way."

  "Why the hell did you call her?"

  "Because you need a ride. You've been in here all day."

  "I can get myself home." Duncan tried to stand up, but the room spun around, so he sat back down and held on to the edge of the bar for dear life.

  "Sure you can," Will said dryly. "Just sit there. Don't try to leave."

  "I'll do what I want," Duncan snapped. "I've been around the world upside down and backward. I won the goddamn Winston Around-the-World-Challenge. No one thought we could do it. But we did, me and my girls." He paused and let out a weary... "We were the best, Will. The very best. My girls got heart, just like their old man. They don't quit. I don't quit. McKennas don't quit."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know."

  And he did know because he'd heard it all before Will was only a few years younger than Duncan, but he'd been tending bar for more than twenty' years. Duncan couldn't understand how a man could be happy staying in one place for so long. Twenty years ago, Will had had hair on his head, a flat stomach, and girls lining up three-deep to flirt with him. Now he was bald, soft in the middle, and married to a librarian. Hell of a life he'd made for himself.

  Will walked away to serve another customer at the end of the bar. Duncan turned his head and saw a woman sitting at a nearby table. As she moved, her hair caught the light, and he lost his breath at the glorious, fiery shade of red. Eleanor, he thought impossibly. His beloved Nora had hair the same color, and deep blue eyes that a man could drown in. He'd gone overboard the first time he'd seen her standing on the docks in a summer dress that showed off her long legs. His gut twisted in pain at the memory. Eleven years she'd been gone, but he still missed her. His heart felt as heavy as a stone. He wanted a drink. He wanted oblivion. He wanted... so many things.

  "Dad?"

  He tried to focus, but he couldn't see clearly. It's the alcohol, he told himself, but when he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, it came away wet.

  "Are you all right?" Kate asked with concern on her face.

  Kate had the look of Nora in her eyes, but her hair was blond, her skin a golden brown and free of the beautiful freckles that had kissed Nora's nose. Kate's face was stronger, too, her jaw as stubborn as his own. There were other differences as well. Nora's love had never wavered. But Kate's...

  "The boats are coming, Katie girl. There's a wind brewing. You know what that means? You know where we should be?"

  "Not today," Kate replied.

  "You never want to sail anymore. I don't know why." He shook his head, trying to concentrate, but his head felt thick, his brain slow. "What happened to us, Katie?"

  "Let's go home."

  Home? Where was home? He'd had to sell the Moon Dancer. It had almost broken his heart, selling his beloved boat. Now he lived in a small old sailboat. He'd wanted to call the boat Nora, but he couldn't quite bring himself to paint his wife's name on the side. Nora wouldn't have been proud of this boat or of him. Kate wasn't proud of him, either.

  "I'm sorry, Katie. You know how sorry I am?"

  "You're always sorry when you drink." Kate put out her hand to him. "Let's go home."

  "I can't go now. I'm telling Will here about our big race."

  "He's heard it before. I'm sorry, Will," Kate said.

  "It's no problem," Will replied.

  "What are you apologizing for?" Duncan demanded. "I ain't done nothing. And I'm your father. You don't apologize for me." He got to his feet, wanting to remind her that he was bigger and stronger and older than her, but the sudden motion caused him to sway unsteadily. Before he knew it, Kate had a hand on his arm. He wanted to shrug her away. In fact, he would do just that as soon as he caught his breath, got his bearings.

  "Need some help?" a man asked.

  Before Duncan could answer, Kate said, "What are you doing here?"

  "I was thirsty."

  "Can't blame a man for being thirsty, Katie girl," Duncan said, feeling more weary by the second. "I gotta sit down."

  The man grabbed Duncan's other arm as he started to slip out of Kate's grasp.

  "Your car?" he asked.

  "I don't want to go home," Duncan complained. "I want another drink."

  The alcohol is going to kill you, Dad," Kate told him as she and the man managed to walk him out of the bar and into the parking lot.

  "Better the alcohol than the loneliness," Duncan murmured. Kate pushed him into the front seat of her car. His eyes closed and he drifted away. He was finally able to sleep.

  Kate saw her father slump sideways in his seat. For a moment she felt a surge of panic that he wasn't just sleeping, that something was happening to him, that he was sick or -- no, she couldn't think the word, much less say it. Her father was strong as an ox. He wasn't even that old, barely sixty. He was just drunk. A terrible, lousy drunk. A terrible, lousy father for that matter. Why was she worried about losing him when it was so apparent that she'd lost him a long time ago?

  "You'll need help getting him out of the car," Tyler said, interrupting her thoughts.

  She'd almost forgotten he was standing there. "You've gotten yourself quite a headline, haven't you? 'Victorious sailor turns into worthless drunk.'"

  "Is that how you think of your father?"

  "No, but it's probably what you'll say."

  "How do you know what I'll say?"

  "I've been interviewed before, had my words twisted."

  "Is that where your resistance comes from?" he asked with a thoughtful expression on his face. "I'm not interested in embarrassing you, Miss McKenna. I just want an interesting story. Fame, success, adventure -- those are things that change people's lives forever. Most people never experience even one of those, much less all three, the way you did."

  Kate didn't know what to say. She needed time to think, to figure out the best way to handle this man Maybe if she told him just enough, he would go away. But what would be enough? Would he start digging? And if he did, what would he find?

  "I need to take care of my father," she said. "Maybe tomorrow, if you want to stop by the bookstore, we can talk."

  "Why the change of heart?" He sent her a skeptical look.

  "You don't look like someone who gives up."

  "That's true." Tyler tipped his head toward the car. "Will your father be all right? I could follow you home, help you get him into the house."

  "No, thank you."

  "Where is home, anyway? I don't think you said."

  "I don't think I did." Kate got into her car and shut the door. "I don't know what to do about that man, " she muttered, glancing over at her father. Duncan's response was a very unhelpful snort. She'd have to take care of Tyler Jamison herself.

  Tyler stared down the road long after Kate's taillights had disappeared. What had seemed so simple had suddenly taken on new and disturbing dimensions. The first was Kate herself. She wasn't what he'd expected. For some reason, he'd thought tomboy, tough girl, overachiever, but she hadn't looked all that tough in a pair of black capri pants and a clingy T-shirt that matched her light blue eyes. Her blond hair had fallen loosely around her shoulders, and she'd moved with a feminine grace, spoken with a soft voice. She had a great smile, too, he thought, the kind that invited you to come in and stay awhile, the same way her friendly little bookstore invited customers to stop in and browse. Not that she'd been all that friendly when she'd discovered he was a reporter. Despite her casual manner, he'd sensed a wall going up between them with every question that he asked.

  Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a magazine cover from eight years ago. Three blond, sunburned girls stood on the deck of a sailboat, holding an enormous silver trophy in their hands, their proud, beaming father in the background. The McKennas had conquered the world's toughest oceans. But were there secrets behind those smiles?
Was there another story of their trip, one that hadn't been printed? Tyler suspected the answer to both questions was yes.

  In fact, if one looked closely at the picture, only Duncan looked really happy. The girls appeared shell-shocked. It was the only word he could think of to describe their expressions. Maybe he was reading more than was there. He'd spent most of his life living by the facts and only the facts, but this story was different. This story was personal.

  Kate McKenna hadn't wanted to talk to him. As she said, it was an old story, so why the resistance? She was hiding something. A drunken father? Not the biggest secret in the world. There had to be something more. Tyler had a hunch he knew what that something was.

  He folded the magazine cover, slipped it into his pocket, and took out his cell phone. He punched in a familiar number, then waited.

  "Jamison residence." Shelly Thompson, Mark's private nurse, answered the phone in her no-nonsense voice.

  "Shelly. It's Tyler. How's Mark doing today?"

  "Not good. He tried to stand, but his legs couldn't support his weight. He's very depressed."

  Tyler let out a sigh filled with frustration, helplessness, and anger, emotions that swamped him every time he thought about his younger brother who had once been such an accomplished athlete. "Can I talk to him?"

  "He's asleep. Do you want me to wake him?"

  "No. But when he gets up, tell him I found the McKenna sisters." Tyler ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. The McKenna sisters might be good at keeping secrets, but he was even better at uncovering them.

  Buy SUMMER SECRETS

  SILENT RUN

  Sanders Brothers - Book One

  Excerpt @ Barbara Freethy Copyright 2011

  All Rights Reserved

  Prologue

  Large raindrops streamed against her windshield as she sped along the dark, narrow highway north of Los Angeles. She’d been traveling for over an hour along the wild and beautiful Pacific coastline. She’d passed the busy beach cities of Venice and Santa Monica, the celebrity-studded hills of Malibu and Santa Barbara. Thank God it was a big state. She could start over again, find a safe place to stay, but she had to get there first.

  The pair of headlights in her rearview mirror drew closer with each passing mile. Her nerves began to tighten, and goose bumps rose along her arms and the back of her neck. She’d been running too long not to recognize danger. But where had the car come from? She’d been so sure that no one had followed her out of LA. After sixty miles of constantly checking her rearview mirror she’d begun to relax, but now the fear came rushing back.

  It was too dark to see the car behind her, but there was something about the speed with which it was approaching that made her nervous. She pressed her foot down harder on the gas, clinging to the wheel as gale-force winds blowing in off the ocean rocketed through the car, making the driving even more treacherous.

  A few miles later the road veered inland. She looked for a place to exit. Finally she saw a sign for an upcoming turnoff heading into the Santa Ynez Mountains. Maybe with a few twists and turns she could lose the car on her tail, and if her imagination were simply playing tricks on her, the car behind her would just continue down the road.

  The exit came up fast. She took the turn on two wheels. Five minutes later the pair of headlights was once again directly behind her. There was no mistake: He was coming after her.

  She had to get away from him. Adrenaline raced through her bloodstream, giving her courage and strength. She was so tired of running for her life, but she couldn’t quit now. She’d probably made a huge mistake leaving the main highway. There was no traffic on this two-lane road. If he caught her now there would be no one to come to her rescue.

  The gap between their cars lessened. He was so close she could see the silhouette of a man in her rearview mirror. He was bearing down on her.

  She took the next turn too sharply, her tires sliding on the slick, wet pavement.

  Sudden lights coming from the opposite direction blinded her. She hit the brakes hard. The car skidded out of control. She flew across the road, crashed through a wooden barrier, and hurtled down a steep embankment. Rocks splintered the windshield as she threw up her hands in protest and prayer.

  When the impact finally came it was crushing, the pain intense. It was too much. All she wanted to do was to sink into oblivion. It was over. She was finished.

  But some voice deep inside her screamed at her to stay awake, because if she wasn’t dead yet, she soon would be.

  Chapter One

  The blackness in her mind began to lessen. There was a light behind her eyelids that beckoned and called to her. She was afraid to answer that call, terrified to open her eyes. Maybe it was the white light people talked about, the one to follow when you were dead. But she wasn’t dead, was she?

  It was just a nightmare, she told herself. She was dreaming; she’d wake up in a minute. But something was wrong. Her bed didn’t feel right. The mattress was hard beneath her back. There were odd bells going off in her head. She smelled antiseptic and chlorine bleach. A siren wailed in the distance. Someone was talking to her, a man.

  Her stomach clenched with inexplicable fear as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, and she blinked rapidly, the scene before her confusing.

  She wasn’t home in her bedroom, as she’d expected. A man in a long white coat stood next to the bed. He appeared to be in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, and a serious expression. He held a clipboard in one hand. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and a pair of glasses rested on his long, narrow nose. Next to him stood a short, plump brunette dressed in blue scrubs, offering a compassionate, encouraging smile that seemed to match the name on her name tag, Rosie.

  What was going on? Where was she?

  “You’re awake,” the doctor said, a brisk note in his voice, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “That’s good. We were getting concerned about you. You’ve been unconscious for hours."

  Unconscious? She gazed down the length of her body, suddenly aware of the thin blue gown, the hospital identification band on her wrist, the IV strapped to her left arm. And pain -- there was pain... in her head, her right wrist, and her knees. Her right cheek throbbed. She raised a hand to her temple and was surprised to encounter a bandage. What on earth had happened to her?

  “You were in an automobile accident last night,” the doctor told her. “You have some injuries, but you’re going to be all right. You’re at St. Mary’s Hospital just outside of Los Olivos in Santa Barbara County. I’m Dr. Carmichael. Do you understand what I’m saying?"

  She shook her head, his brisk words jumbling up in her brain, making little to no sense. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

  “You’re not dreaming, but you do have a head injury. It’s not unusual to be confused,” the doctor replied. He offered her a small, practiced smile that was edged with impatience. “Now, do you feel up to a few questions? Why don’t we start with your name?"

  She opened her mouth to reply, thinking that was an easy question, until nothing came to mind. Her brain was blank. What was her name? She had to have one. Everyone did. What on earth was wrong with her? She gave a helpless shake of her head. “I’m... I’m not sure,” she murmured, shocked by the realization.

  The doctor frowned, his gaze narrowing on her face. “You don’t remember your name? What about your address, or where you’re from?"

  She bit down on her bottom lip, straining to think of the right answers. Numbers danced in her head, but no streets, no cities, no states. A wave of terror rushed through her. She had to be dreaming -- lost in a nightmare. She wanted to run, to scream, to wake herself up, but she couldn’t do any of those things.

  “You don’t know, do you?” the nurse interjected.

  “I... I should know. Why don’t I know? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember my name, where I’m from? What’s going on?” Her voice rose with each desperate question.

&
nbsp; “Your brain suffered a traumatic injury,” Dr. Carmichael explained. “It may take some time for you to feel completely back to normal. It’s probably nothing to worry about. You just need to rest, let the swelling go down."

  His words were meant to be reassuring, but anxiety ran like fire through her veins. She struggled to remember something about herself. Glancing down at her hands, she saw the light pink, somewhat chipped polish on her fingernails and wondered how it could be that her own fingers didn’t look familiar to her. She wore no rings, no jewelry, not even a watch. Her skin was pale, her arms thin. But she had no idea what her face looked like.

  “A mirror,” she said abruptly. “Could someone get me a mirror?"

  Dr. Carmichael and Rosie exchanged a brief glance, and then he nodded to the nurse, who quickly left the room. “You need to try to stay calm,” he said as he jotted something down on his clipboard. “Getting upset won’t do you any good."

  “I don’t know my name. I don’t know what I look like.” Hysteria bubbled in her throat, and panic made her want to jump out of bed and run... but to where, she had no idea. She tried to breathe through the rush of adrenaline. If this were a nightmare, eventually she’d wake up. If it wasn’t... well, then she’d have to figure out what to do next. In the meantime she had to calm down. She had to think.

  The doctor said she’d had an accident. Like the car crash in her dream? Was it possible that had been real and not a dream?

  Glancing toward the clock, she saw that it was seven thirty. At least she knew how to read the time. “Is it night or morning?” Her gaze traveled to the window, but the heavy blue curtain was drawn, making it impossible for her to see outside.

  “It’s morning,” the doctor replied. “You were brought in around nine o’clock last night."

  Almost ten hours ago. So much time had passed. “Do you know what happened to me?"

  “I’m afraid I don’t know the details, but from what I understand, you were in a serious car accident."