Hidden Agenda. Christy Barritt
She flicked the switch to the on position. The light waned, blinked, flickered, but finally shone brightly.
Thank goodness. At least that was working in her favor.
As soon as the thought entered her mind, the flashlight went black, the room along with it. A draft must have whispered extinction orders across the candle that burned on the table beside her chair. Two lights in two seconds—it was a double whammy of darkness.
Bailey hit the flashlight against her palm. Tapped the top of the light. Shook the batteries back and forth.
The sweet beacon of illumination wouldn’t come back on.
Perfect. She frowned.
She was going to have to check out the sound, whether she wanted to or not. She couldn’t simply stay in her old bedroom, huddled on the big, comfy chair until the storm passed. For more than one reason. Buckets of rain could be flooding into the house. The bay could have climbed the shores, reaching the porch, in which case she’d need to evacuate. For all she knew, this whole island could be in danger of washing away. The place seemed like little more than a sandbar anyway. Or what if lightning struck nearby, started a fire even? There were so many things that could go wrong, so many reasons not to stay in her room hiding.
Her throat constricted as she stepped into the dark hallway that snaked through the east wing of the estate. She thought her eyes would have adjusted to the darkness by now, but not even a hint of light reached the interior of the house, especially not right here.
In broad daylight, the place was spooky. On a stormy night, it was terrifying.
She first thought about going downstairs. But the idea caused hazy fear to engulf her, making her feel light-headed and unsteady. She changed course and hurried in the opposite direction, away from the massive staircase that led to the front door and instead toward the door at the end of the hallway.
She passed one closed door. Two. Three.
Each one made her tense, made worst-case scenarios flash through her mind like a broken reel from a horror flick. Images of people hiding. Madmen lurking. Danger awaiting.
Her walk turned into a run. She reached the end of the hallway, her destination. Her hands trembled on the doorknob, but finally she managed to twist it.
The moment she threw open the door, purple light flashed from the alcove upstairs. Her heart raced.
Lightning. Just lightning.
No figures lurked in the shadows.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been reading that mystery novel earlier. The story had put too many spooky ideas into her head.
Before she could second-guess herself, her fingers gripped the iron handles of the spiral staircase that twisted upward to the widow’s walk. Bailey would have a bird’s-eye view from there of anything going on outside. Floods. Fires. Downed trees.
She rushed up the steps at a dizzying pace until she reached the enclosed landing up top. The stretch was narrow with windows on each side. There was only one bench and a lonely spider plant. She usually liked to come up here alone, especially when she needed to think. Right now, it would serve as a lookout.
Still clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she took her first step.
The only time she could catch a glimpse of anything in the darkness was when lightning lit the sky. The first strike showed her the Chesapeake Bay. Angry waves roiled there, charging forward before beating against the sandy beaches of the island. The second strike showed her several massive tree branches that now littered the yard.
Where had that crash come from earlier? Had a window broken from the gale-force gusts outside? Had a tree fallen onto the garage? Blown the pier away?
Speaking of which, maybe being up here wasn’t the best idea. Not with this storm raging. All she needed was for the wind to make a projectile of one of those live oak trees lining the walk leading to the front door. She’d be a goner, and it would be her own doing.
Thunder shook the cool, water-dimpled windowpanes. As Bailey stood there, the glass rattled as the deep sound rumbled and rumbled some more. The growl reached all the way to her bones.
When lightning flashed again, something beside the house caught her eye. Her heart leaped into her throat with enough force to jostle her entire body.
Was that...a man?
She stepped closer to the glass and wiped away some of the fog there. She couldn’t have seen that correctly. Her eyes were playing tricks on her.
She blinked, waiting and holding her breath to get a glimpse of the back of the house again.
The next time the sky lit, Bailey saw him. A man stood at the back door, his fists pounding against the wood. She didn’t have to hear the knocks to know they were forceful, almost angry.
He was trying to get inside, she realized.
Desperate to get inside, for that matter.
The only reason someone would want to get in here was to start trouble. Mr. Carter had said some cryptic things in his final days. He’d spoken of someone coming here and destroying people. He’d urged Bailey to protect his things.
She’d thought Mr. Carter had been delusional. But what if there was more to his words? What if in his last moments he’d finally spoken the truth? Though a pleasant and friendly man, he’d been so private, so selective in what he shared.
With the force of a bolt of electricity, Bailey realized that she had to get down from here before the man at the back door saw her.
Just as she took a step back, the man lifted his head.
Looked right at her.
Even with the distance between them, Bailey felt the anger in the man’s gaze.
A black cloak fell outside again, and the man disappeared.
The next instance, the sky filled with light again.
Just in time for her to see the stranger kick the door open.
Bailey had to hide, she realized. Now. It was only a matter of time before the intruder found her.
* * *
Ed Carter saw the figure on the widow’s walk. For a moment—and just a moment—he thought he’d seen a ghost. Not that he believed in ghosts. But the woman had looked so eerie, especially with the blanket around her shoulders and the sullen look on her face.
Then he realized an intruder was lurking in the house.
In his dad’s house.
Could she be the same person who’d killed his father? That was his best guess. Maybe she’d stuck around, using some kind of alias as she tried to stake claim to his father’s fortune. Money made people do crazy things, like declaring to be long-lost relatives. For all he knew, his father had gotten remarried—to the wrong woman. As crazy as that sounded, it was the best-case scenario.
The worst-case scenario was that his father had brought classified information here. Information that people wanted. The wrong people wanted and would do anything to get their hands on.
Ed intended to put an end to all of this. Now.
Ed knew the truth. Despite his father’s congestive heart failure, he had not died of natural causes, and Ed would prove it.
He forgot about formalities and about trying to preserve his dad’s house. All thoughts of coming home and paying respects to his dad, of both mourning and celebrating his dad’s life, disappeared.
With expert training, he kicked the door. Wood splintered from the hinges, revealing the inside of the house. His years in the CIA had taught him a few things.
More than he would have liked sometimes.
He stared at the blackness oozing from the interior. It was thick, almost as though the darkness was a material thing.
He