Hide and Seek. Desiree Holt

he had a magnificent view of Arrowhead Bay and the harbor.

      His house was the next to last one on Seacliff Road, and in minutes the familiar gateposts came into view. She gave silent thanks that there were no reporters around. They must have taken Sheri literally. She pulled up in the driveway and shoved the car into park, then stared at the house for a long moment. Automatically she reached into the half-empty bag of red licorice bites on her console and popped a couple in her mouth.

      Sitting there now, chewing on the candy, she remembered the last time she’d seen him, a little more than a month ago. Their brief conversation played out in her head.

      “You’re leaving already?” He had looked up from his desk when she stopped in the doorway to the den.

      “You’re busy and I have work back in Tampa to take care of.”

      “I thought you brought your laptop with you.”

      “I did, but I think I’d be more comfortable at home.”

      For a fleeting moment, a pained expression crossed his face, one almost of sorrow.

      “We should spend more time together.”

      She’d nearly snorted at that. They’d always been so close, especially after her mother died, but he’d withdrawn from her.

      Still, he was her father and she loved him.

      Was it possible this was voluntary? Had her father chosen to disappear so completely? No. Too outrageous, she thought. He was the epitome of the corporate icon. A mover and shaker. Winner of awards. Profiled in magazines. Business school graduates used him as their aspirational model. What on earth could make a man like that choose to vanish as if he’d never existed?

      Even with his changes in personality and behavior, she could say this was 100 percent unlike him. What if he’d been grabbed by someone? But who? It could be a competitor, a disgruntled employee, someone on the bad end of a business deal. She knew very little about his business dealings. Would there be a ransom request? Would they contact her or his corporation? How would she get the money if the call came to her? How—

      No. Sheri hadn’t said anything about a kidnapping.

      Another thought stabbed at her, one that chilled her. Had someone killed him and dumped the body overboard? But who? And why?

      She would ask Sheri those questions as soon as she spoke to her again. Meanwhile, back to square one. If neither of those things turned out to be a reality, why had Graham Cole disappeared? What was going on with him?

      Stop!

      God, she was driving herself crazy.

      She felt an unexpected rush of tears and a tightening of her throat. Despite the state of their relationship, he was her father. She still loved him and his disappearance frightened her.

      Enough, missy. Get your ass into the house.

      But the moment she climbed out of her car, a sudden chill raced down her spine and an ominous feeling gripped her. She stood there, gathering herself. Could a house be menacing?

      Ridiculous. Stupid.

      She wasn’t the type of woman given to feelings like that. She was down to earth and practical. Some might even say hardheaded, she thought with a tiny smile.

      Okay. I’m here. I should go inside and see if I can find anything the police might have missed. Or that would give me some kind of clue as to what had happened, something that would mean something only to me.

      Go on. Don’t be a chicken.

      It was just bricks and stucco. What did she think was inside? A body? Not likely. The police had already searched the house. When she was sure she had herself under control, she hiked up the steps to the front door, for the moment leaving all her stuff in the car. As she slid the key for the front lock into place she wondered if it still worked. When the key turned and the lock clicked open, she breathed a sigh of relief.

      Automatically, she reached for the alarm panel in the front hall, then remembered Sheri said it wasn’t functioning. That a whole new one would need to be installed. How very weird. It was always on.

      At least the air-conditioning had been left on, a blessedly cool change from the furnace that was Florida heat in the summer. Jingling the key ring, she walked through the house, looking around, although she had no idea what she expected to find.

      The house was open and airy, with a wall of windows the length of one side that looked out to the lawn and beyond that to the bay itself. Her father had hired a decorator and given her free rein. The result was a tastefully decorated home that was open and welcoming.

      As she walked from room to room, the same eerie feeling that gripped her when she’d stood in front of the house swept over her again. As if something very bad happened here. The chill racing over her skin had nothing to do with the artificially cooled air. She sensed a presence of evil in the air, and kept looking over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to pop out of a closet.

      Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’ve been watching too much television.

      She wandered into his den, seeking any kind of clue. Framed photos of herself and her mother and the three of them sat on the credenza but the desk was uncharacteristically bare. There was nothing on it, not an open book, a stack of papers, nothing. No sign of any activity, yet this was the room where he spent much of his time. How strange. Except...

      Damn. Sheri was right. The computer was on his desk but the hard drive was gone. She checked all the drawers, although she was sure the police had already done this. No hard drive, internal or external, and no laptop. She’d forgotten to ask about that. Would he have taken all that with him? What did he plan to do with all his information if he’d decided to disappear? Could he run his business if no one knew where he was?

      Again that icy feeling raced over her skin, the kind you got when people told ghost stories in the dark. As if strangers had been here, and not the ones investigating Graham Cole’s disappearance. Could evil leave a sense of its presence?

      Evil? Really?

      Dramatic much, Devon?

      She just couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

      If only she’d forced the issue, made him talk to her. Fixed whatever barriers had been thrown up between them. Maybe she’d have a clue as to what was going on.

      For a moment she considered the B and B in town, but why spend money she didn’t have to? A house couldn’t harm you, right?

      A loud noise from the kitchen made her pulse leap and her heart thump. She grabbed a golf club leaning against the wall, tiptoed down the hall, and peered into the room. Nothing. No one. Should she step inside? What if someone was hiding in the alcove? With the alarm system not working anyone could come into the house.

      Then the noise repeated, and she blew out a breath when she realized what it was. The icemaker in the refrigerator was disgorging cubes into the container.

      Devon sat down at the breakfast bar, hands still shaking, and tried to steady herself. Maybe staying here wasn’t such a good idea at all. Was she crazy to think someone had left an imprint here and it wasn’t her father?

      There’s nothing here. Give your imagination a rest.

      The landline on the kitchen wall rang, startling her. Who would be calling? Most of her father’s calls had come in on his cell phone. Automatically she reached for it.

      “Hello?”

      Dead silence.

      She waited, then, “Hello? Is someone there?”

      Still silence. Why did the words dead silence come to mind? Then she heard it, the faint sound of someone breathing.

      “If someone is there, speak up, or else I’m hanging up this phone.”

      When there was still no answer, she replaced the receiver, irritated. And troubled. She wanted to believe