Haunting Rachel
Kay Hooper
More praise for Kay Hooper
HAUNTING RACHEL
“A stirring and evocative thriller.”
—Palo Alto Daily News
“The pace flies, the suspense never lets up. It’s great reading.”
—The Advocate, Baton Rouge
“An intriguing book with plenty of strange twists that will please the reader.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“It passed the ‘stay up late to finish it in one night test.’”
—The Denver Post
FINDING LAURA
“You always know you are in for an outstanding read when you pick up a Kay Hooper novel, but in FINDING LAURA, she has created something really special! Simply superb!”
—Romantic Times (gold medal review)
“Hooper keeps the intrigue pleasurably complicated, with gothic touches of suspense and a satisfying resolution.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A first-class reading experience.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Ms. Hooper throws in one surprise after another…. Spellbinding.”
—Rendezvous
AFTER CAROLINE
“Harrowing good fun. Readers will shiver and shudder.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Kay Hooper comes through with thrills, chills, and plenty of romance, this time with an energetic murder mystery with a clever twist. The suspense is sustained admirably right up to the very end.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Peopled with interesting characters and intricately plotted, the novel is both a compelling mystery and a satisfying romance.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“Kay Hooper has crafted another solid story to keep readers enthralled until the last page is turned.”
—Booklist
“Joanna Flynn is appealingly plucky and true to her mission as she probes the mystery that was Caroline.”
—Variety
AMANDA
“Amanda seethes and sizzles. A fast-paced, atmospheric tale that vibrates with tension, passion, and mystery. Readers will devour it.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz
“Kay Hooper’s dialogue rings true; her characters are more three-dimensional than those usually found in this genre. You may think you’ve guessed the outcome, unraveled all the lies. Then again, you could be as mistaken as I was.”
—The Atlanta Journal and Constitution
‘Will delight fans of Phyllis Whitney and Victoria Holt.
—Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine
“Kay Hooper knows how to serve up a latter-day gothic that will hold readers in its brooding grip.”
—Publishers Weekly
“I lapped it right up. There aren’t enough good books in this genre, so this stands out!”
—Booknews from The Poisoned Pen
“Kay Hooper has given you a darn good ride, and there are far too few of those these days.”
—Dayton Daily News
Bantam Books by Kay Hooper
ALWAYS A THIEF
ONCE A THIEF
WHISPER OF EVIL
TOUCHING EVIL
OUT OF THE SHADOWS
HIDING IN THE SHADOWS
STEALING SHADOWS
HAUNTING RACHEL
FINDING LAURA
AFTER CAROLINE
AMANDA
ON WINGS OF MAGIC
THE WIZARD OF SEATTLE
MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
and in hardcover
SENSE OF EVIL
PROLOGUE
May 24, 1988
t won’t take long,” Thomas said reassuringly. “A week, maybe a bit more. Then I’ll be back.”
“But where are you going? And why does it have to be now?” Rachel’s demand held all the natural impatience and indignation of a nineteen-year-old who was about to be deprived of the company of her fiancé at a somewhat inconvenient time. “Tom, you know Mercy’s giving that shower for me on Thursday, and—”
“Honey, men are never welcome at those things. I’d just be in the way.” He was still soothing, but also a little amused, and he smiled at her with the complete understanding of a man who had known her since her auburn hair had been worn in pigtails and at least two front teeth had been missing. He was ten years her senior, and at that moment every year showed.
Rachel didn’t exactly pout, but when she sat down in a chair by the window, it was with a definite flounce, and her expressive face was alive with frustration and disappointment. “You promised. You said there wouldn’t be any more of these mysterious trips of yours—”
“There’s nothing mysterious about them, Rachel. I’m a pilot, and I deliver cargo. It’s my job. You know that. All right, I know I said there wouldn’t be any more trips out of the country, but Jake asked me to do him a favor, and he is my boss. So—just a quick run down to South America.”
“You promised,” Rachel repeated, not much interested in reasons.
Thomas put his hands on the arms of her chair and bent down, smiling at her with all the charm in his definitely charming nature. “Would it make you happier if I said that Jake’s giving me an extra week off if I take this run? That’s another week in Hawaii, honey. Think about it. Lazing around in the sun on Waikiki, breakfast on a balcony with a magnificent view—and shopping. Lots more time for shopping.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You know that isn’t my thing.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but you’re no slouch at it. Come on now, say you’re not mad anymore. I’ll have a miserable few days if I fly off knowing you’re mad at me.”
It was virtually impossible for Rachel to resist his blandishments, a fact both were well aware of, and her sigh held resignation as well as a touch of resentment. “Oh, all right. But you’d better not hang around down in South America. Just remember what’ll be waiting for you back home.” She wreathed her arms around his neck and kissed him.
The passion between them had been nearly impossible for them to handle since the night of her sixteenth birthday and their first real kiss; familiarity had not bred anything except a better understanding of just how powerful desire could be, especially when it went unsatisfied. Though Rachel’s willpower was shaky where he was concerned, Thomas, very conscious of the years between them and of her youth, had decided for both of them that sex would wait until marriage.
It wasn’t a decision Rachel was happy with, and this wasn’t the first time she had made an attempt to force his hand.
His voice was a little ragged when he pulled back slightly and muttered, “Stop that. I’ve got to go.”
Rachel didn’t want to let go of him. “You’ll miss me. Say you’ll miss me.”
“Of course I’ll miss you. I love you.” He gave her a brief kiss and then firmly unlocked her arms from his neck and straightened. “Make my excuses to your parents about tonight, all right, honey?”
She sighed again. “Right. And I get to spend a boring Saturday night all by myself. Again.”
“Just three more weeks, and that will no longer be a problem,” Thomas reminded her with a grin. “I promise, honey, no more lonely nights for either one of us.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Rachel walked with him to the front door of her parents’ house, received another quick kiss, and stood there watching him stride down the walkway to his fast little car. He loved speed, Thomas Sheridan did, whether on the ground or in the air, and often teased her that she was the only love in his life that characteristically moved at a lazy pace.
He turned and waved before opening his car door, and Rachel admired the way the sunlight glinted off his pale silvery hair. He was a rare blond Sheridan on a mostly dark family tree, so different from his raven-haired sister Mercy that both had
frequently maddened their mother by speculating humorously about blond-haired strangers in her past despite Thomas’s undeniable resemblance to his dark father.
“See you in a week or so, honey,” Thomas called out.
He slammed the car door before Rachel could respond in kind, so she merely waved with a smile. She watched the car until it vanished from her sight, then went back into the house to tell her parents that her fiancé would not be joining them for dinner that night.
Rachel woke with a start and sat up in her bed before she even knew what had awakened her. The room was filled with the somber light of dawn, and she was astonished to see him standing near the foot of the bed.
“Thomas? What’re you doing back so soon? I—” Her voice broke off as though it had been cut by something sharp. It wasn’t right, she realized. He wasn’t right. Because she could almost see the curtains through him. A coldness more gray than the dawn seeped into her body, into her very bones, and she heard herself make an anguished little sound when Thomas seemed to reach out toward her, his handsome face tormented.
“No,” Rachel whispered. “Oh, no …” She stretched her hand out toward him, but even as she did so, he was gone. And she was alone in the stark dawn.
Thomas Sheridan’s plane never reached its destination, and no trace of it was ever found.
ONE
April 21, 1998
t was no more than a glimpse of movement on a street corner that caught Rachel’s attention. She turned her head more or less automatically, drawn as always by the glint of sunlight off silvery blond hair. She expected to see, as she always had, a stranger. Just one more blond man who would, of course, not be who she wanted him to be.
Except that it was Thomas.
She stood frozen, with four lanes of cars filling the space between her corner and his, and when their eyes met, she almost cried out. Then the light changed, and traffic began moving briskly, and a noisy semi blocked her view of the corner. When the truck had passed, Thomas was gone.
Rachel stood there until the light changed again, but when she rushed across the street, there was no sign of him.
No. No, of course there wasn’t.
Because it hadn’t been him.
Realizing that her legs were actually shaking, she found a table at a nearby sidewalk cafe where she could keep an eye on that corner, and ordered a cup of hot tea.
It hadn’t been him, of course.
It was never him.
“Are you all right, miss?” the waitress asked when she returned with the steaming cup. “You look sort of upset.”
“I’m fine.” Rachel managed a smile she doubted was very reassuring, but it was enough to satisfy the young waitress. Left alone again, she dumped sugar into the tea and fixed her gaze once more on the corner.
Of course it hadn’t been Thomas. Her mind knew that. It had been only a stranger with a chance resemblance that had seemed stronger because distance had helped it seem that way. And perhaps a trick of the light had helped, as well as her own wishful thinking. But it couldn’t have been Thomas. Thomas had been dead nearly ten years. No, they had never found a body, or even the wreckage of the plane, but Thomas’s life had certainly ended somewhere in the impenetrable depths of a South American jungle.
Even though he had promised to come back to her.
Her knees were steady once more when Rachel finally got up nearly an hour later and left the cafe. And she didn’t let herself stop or even pause when she passed the corner where a memory had so fleetingly stood. Knowing that she was late helped her to walk briskly, and common sense pushed the memory back into its quiet room in her heart.
It was after three o’clock on this warm and sunny Tuesday when she went into a building in downtown Richmond. She went up to the fourth floor, entered the law offices of Meredith and Becket, and was immediately shown in to see Graham Becket.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said at once.
“Rachel, you didn’t have to come down here at all,” Graham reminded her as he moved around the desk to take her hand and kiss her lightly on the cheek. “I told you I’d come to the house.”
“I needed to get out.” She shrugged, then gently reclaimed her hand and sat down in his visitor’s chair.
He stood looking down at her for a moment, a somewhat rueful expression on his face, then went back around the desk to his own chair. A tall, dark, good-looking man of thirty-eight, and a highly successful attorney, he was accustomed to female interest.
Except from Rachel. He knew Rachel fairly well. He had been her father’s attorney for nearly ten years and one of the executors of the estate after Duncan Grant and his wife had been killed eight months ago. But knowledge didn’t stop Graham from hoping that one day she would notice he was a man who was closer to being one of her contemporaries than her father’s.
And a man, moreover, who had been half in love with her for years.
Today, she hadn’t noticed.
“More papers to sign?” she asked, her slight smile transforming her serene and merely pretty face into something haunting.
Graham had tried to figure out what it was about that smile that made Rachel instantly unforgettable, but to date had been unable to. Her features, taken one by one, were agreeable but not spectacular. Her pale gray eyes were certainly lovely, but the dark lashes surrounding them were more adequate than dramatic, and her nose might have been a trifle large for her heart-shaped face.
Gleaming auburn hair framed that face nicely, but it was unlikely that fashion mavens would copy the simple shoulder-length style. Her mouth was well-shaped and her teeth even and white, but there was nothing especially memorable about either.
Despite all that, Rachel had only to smile that slow smile of hers to become a stunningly beautiful woman. It wasn’t only Graham who saw the transformation; he had heard more than one man and a number of women comment on it over the years.
And even then, her smile was only a shadow of what it had once been. Before Thomas Sheridan’s death. Until the loss of her fiancé had changed Rachel so fundamentally, she had smiled often, her face so alive that strangers had stared at her on the streets. Afterward …
“Graham?”
He recalled his wandering thoughts and opened a file folder on his desk. “Yes, more papers to sign. Sorry, Rachel. But I did warn you that Duncan’s estate was complex.”
“It’s all right. I’m just wondering when it’ll all be over.”
He looked at her across the desk. “If you intend to keep a hand in the business, it’ll never be over. But if you mean to accept Nicholas Ross’s offer to buy you out …”
“I’m still thinking about that. Do you think Dad would have wanted me to sell out, Graham?”
“I think he expected you to. The past few years, your life hasn’t been in Richmond except for holiday and vacation visits home, and those were brief. Ever since you moved to New York, I think he realized it wasn’t likely you’d come back here to live.”
“Yes—but I don’t have to live here to keep the business. I could hire a manager to run my half, you know that. Between you, Nicholas, and a manager taking care of things day to day, I’d have to show up only periodically for board meetings.”
He nodded. “True enough.”
“I don’t know beans about investment banking, so I could hardly be a hands-on boss anyway. And all those investments Dad had personally, they’re so diverse, there’s no way I could keep track of them on my own.” She seemed to be arguing with herself, frowning a little. “At the same time, several of the companies Dad invested in aren’t in a position to buy out his interest right now, so I’d have to find other investors if I wanted out—that, or take a loss. Either way, it means time and trouble.”
Graham looked at her searchingly. “In a hurry to get back to New York? I thought you said you’d taken a leave of absence and didn’t mean to go back until summer.”
“That’s what I said, and what I meant. But … I don’t know, I’m getting restless
, I guess.” She shrugged. “I’m not used to being idle, Graham.”
After a moment, he said, “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s memories. The house is getting to you.”
Rachel got up and went to stand before a window that offered a view of the busy street below. Graham remained in his chair, but turned it to keep watching her, and when she remained silent, he went on quietly.
“After Thomas was killed, you couldn’t wait to get out of that house. Went back to college first and then to New York. And your visits home even then were always brief, because you were always busy.”
“Trying to make me feel guilty for neglecting my parents?” Her voice was a little tight.
“No. They didn’t feel neglected, if that’s been worrying you. They understood, Rachel.”
“Understood what?”
“How much of your past was bound up in Thomas. How old were you when you first knew you loved him? Twelve? Thirteen?”
Rachel drew a breath. “Ten, actually. He came to pick up Mercy from my birthday party, and he kissed me on the cheek. I knew then.”
It required an effort, but Graham kept his voice dispassionate. “And since his sister was your best friend, you saw a lot of him. I imagine he was at the house quite often even before you two began dating. You were sixteen then, weren’t you?”
She didn’t seem surprised by his knowledge, probably attributing it to her father and casual conversation rather than any extraordinary interest in her. “Yes.”
“So Thomas spent a lot of time at the house. Years, really. All the time you were growing up. Eating meals in the dining room, sitting with you in the den, listening to music in your bedroom, walking by the river. That place is filled with him, isn’t it?”
She turned and leaned back against the window casing. She was smiling just a little, wistful, and it made her beautiful again. “Yes, the house is filled with him. And even now, after all these years, it hurts to remember him.”
