Sandra Brown: Low Pressure

“Which is another reason why I don’t want to leave you. I hate letting you out of my sight with Strickland still at large.”

“There’s a police car parked outside the gate.”

“I’m glad of that. If the detectives hadn’t suggested it, I would have.” He looked up at the sky through the windshield. “It also looks like rain. Maybe I should wait out here while you go inside—”

“You’ll do no such thing. You braved the police station for me all day today. I appreciated your presence, especially knowing the discomfort it cost you to be there. The least I can do is brave a rain shower.”

Their parting kiss left them wanting to get their separate obligations done with so they’d be back together sooner. She waved him off, went up the steps and into the house. No one was about on the lower floor, which was surprising since she’d notified Steven that she was on her way.

She called out to him and Olivia, but it was the housekeeper Helena who appeared, coming from the direction of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Ms. Price. I was just about to leave for the day and didn’t hear you come in.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Mrs. Lyston is upstairs in her room. She asked not to be disturbed for a while.”

“And my brother?”

“He left.”

“He went out?”

“No, he and Mr. Stroud are flying back to Atlanta.”

“I thought they weren’t due to leave until tomorrow.”

“He told me they’d had a sudden change of plans.”

Sudden was an understatement. Steven must have left shortly after their telephone conversation.

Seeing Bellamy’s disappointment, the housekeeper said, “He left a note for you on the desk in Mr. Lyston’s study.”

A note. That was all she warranted? He couldn’t have delayed his departure long enough for them to say a proper good-bye?

“Do you need me for anything before I go?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you, Helena.”

“I’ll say good night then.”

Bellamy went directly into the study. The built-in bookshelves were filled with memorabilia that chronicled her father’s life, from a black-and-white photograph of him with his parents on the day of his christening to a picture taken of him just last year playing golf at Pebble Beach with the president of the United States.

But for all its comfortable clutter, the study seemed empty without him. She and her dad had enjoyed long talks in this room. It put a lump in her throat just to walk into it. Usually it represented warmth and security. Today, it was gloomy and oppressive, its dimness unrelieved by the open drapes. Outside, the sky had grown increasingly overcast.

She switched on the desk lamp as she sat down in her father’s chair. The squeak of the leather was familiar and, again, she was almost overwhelmed by a wave of homesickness for him. She was made even sadder by the envelope with her name written on it lying on the desk.

She broke the seal and read Steven’s brief note.

Dear Bellamy,

Had the circumstances of our lives been different, maybe I would have been the brother you wished for and I wished to be. As it is, I’m doomed to disappoint and hurt you. I apologize again for Dowd. Honorable intentions, but a bad idea. I wanted to protect you, because I do love you. But if you have any love in your heart for me, for both our sakes, please let this good-bye be final.

Steven

The message pierced her heart, making her hurt as much for him as for herself. She held the note against her lips and fought back tears. They were heartfelt, but to cry was futile. She couldn’t undo the past that had left such deep scars on her stepbrother’s soul.

Her eyes strayed to the framed photograph on the corner of her father’s desk. She wondered if Steven had noticed it when he left the note. If so, he’d probably found it as disturbing as she did.

Once, she had asked her dad why he kept this particular photograph where he would see it every day. He’d told her that it was the last picture taken of Susan, and he wanted to remember her as she looked in it: smiling and happy, alive and vibrant.

It had been taken that Memorial Day before they left for the state park. They were all decked out in their red, white, and blue clothing, which Olivia had mandated they wear for the occasion. They’d assembled on the front steps of the house, and when they were posed, their housekeeper at the time had snapped the picture.

It was similar to the Christmas family portrait only in that it revealed so much about their individual personalities. Steven look sulky. Susan was radiant. Bellamy appeared self-conscious. Olivia and Howard, standing arm in arm, smiling, looked like the embodiment of the American dream, like tragedy couldn’t touch them.

A low rumble of thunder caused Bellamy to turn her head and glance nervously out the window. Rain was spattering the panes. She rubbed her chilled arms and got up to pull the drapes. A masochistic bent forced her to look up at the sky.

The clouds were malevolent looking and greenish in color.

She closed her eyes for several seconds, and when she opened them again, saw that the clouds weren’t green at all. They were gray. Scuttling. Moisture-laden rain clouds. Nothing more.

Nothing resembling the apocalyptic sky on that afternoon eighteen years ago.

She turned back to the desk and picked up the framed family photograph, holding it directly beneath the lamp-shade to maximize the light, tilting it this way and that so she could look at it from different angles.

What was she looking for , exactly?

She didn’t know. But something was eluding her. Something important and troubling. What was it? What was she missing? Why did it seem essential that she find it?

A bolt of lightning struck close by, followed by a sharp crack of thunder.

Bellamy dropped the picture frame. The glass inside it shattered.

Dent entered the Starbucks near the capitol building where the state senator had suggested they meet. Most everyone in the place was pecking away on a laptop or talking on a cell phone, except for the two men who were waiting for Dent. Gall had dressed for the occasion, trading his greasy coveralls for a clean pair. He was nervously gnawing on a cigar.

The man who stood up with him as Dent approached their table was sixtyish and balding. He wore a plaid shirt with pearl snap buttons. It was tucked into a pair of pressed and creased Wranglers held up by a wide, tooled leather belt with a silver buckle the size of a saucer. His broad, sunburned face was open and friendly, and the hand that clasped Dent’s as Gall made the introductions was as tough as boot leather.

He pumped Dent’s hand a couple of times. “Dent, thanks for coming. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Have a seat.” He motioned Dent into the chair across the small table from him.

Just then a clap of thunder rattled the windows. Dent looked out and saw that it had begun to sprinkle. When he came back around to the two men, he said, “I can’t stay long.”

His rudeness caused Gall to glower, but the senator smiled genially. “Then I’ll make my pitch quick. Gall has already laid out your terms to me, and, frankly, I don’t think they’re fair.” He paused, then laughed. “I can do you better.”

Dent listened as the senator proposed a sweet deal, which only a damn fool would walk away from. But most of his attention was on what was happening outside. The wind was buffeting the sycamore trees planted at intervals along the sidewalk. The sprinkles had turned into a heavy rain. Lightning and thunder had grown more frequent and violent.

Bellamy would be afraid.

“Dent?”

He realized the senator had stopped speaking, and that whatever he’d last said necessitated a response of some kind, because both he and Gall were looking at him expectantly.