Page 144 of Whispers

“Miranda, it’s me! Tessa’s got—”

“Claire is that you? I . . . breaking up . . . call back . . . minutes.”

“Miranda! Please, you have to listen to me!” But the static on the phone got more intense and suddenly the phone went silent.

“Damn it!” She started to dial Kane’s number again.

“Mom?” She whirled, hadn’t expected to see her daughter standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Samantha’s face was pulled into a knot of worry as she stood wearing a yellow two piece dress that showed off part of her flat little abdomen. Her hair was piled onto her head and she was wearing too much eye makeup, lip gloss and something that made her skin shimmer. “Is something wrong?”

Everything. “I’m just worried about Sean,” she said, trying to stay calm. No reason to panic Samantha.

“He’ll be back.”

Oh, God, I hope so.

“He’s just being a prick—a jerk.”

If only I could believe that.

“You’re not dressed . . . Hey, is something wrong?”

“I said I’m worried. I, um, might not be going to the party after all. Kane’s on his way over and we’re going to look for Sean.”

Samantha’s face fell. “This means we’re not going to Grandpa’s party, right?”

“We’ll go later. When we find your brother.”

“That’s what he wants, you know. To mess things up.” She rolled her overly shadowed eyes and crossed her arms under her chest. Her dress rode up, exposing more of her stomach.

“Why don’t you change into something more appropriate,” Claire suggested though her mind was screaming with fear for her son. Where

the devil was Kane. True it had been only a few minutes since she’d talked to him, but it felt like an eternity.

“I like this.”

“It’s fine. You look good in it, but you need something a bit more conservative.” She was marching her daughter upstairs and into her room. Once there she rifled through the closet, but anything she pulled out, Samantha vetoed.

“You want me to look like a nerd.”

“No, I want you to look like a geek,” Claire shot back, forcing a humor she didn’t feel. She didn’t have time for this kind of argument. She didn’t have time for anything other than finding her son. Where the hell were Tessa and Sean? Why was her sister pulling this stunt? And Kane, why the hell hadn’t he—She heard the sound of an engine roaring toward the house. “Look, Sam, I was just kidding. Why not wear this?” she asked, and pulled out a navy blue sheath with beading at the neck and hem.

“Bor-ing. Aunt Tessa wouldn’t be caught dead in something like this.”

“I wouldn’t call Aunt Tessa a fashion maven. Let’s not put what you’re wearing up to her . . . or even down to her standards.” She dropped the dress over the back of Samantha’s desk chair. “Just find something sedate and tasteful, okay? Kane’s here.”

“And you’re really worried about Sean.”

“Yeah,” Claire admitted, “I am.” She was already racing out of the room but caught her daughter rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath.

“. . . always ruining everything . . .”

“Stay put, I’ll be back,” Claire called as she hurried down the stairs. She’d reached the first floor and already grabbed her purse, cell, and keys when she heard a pounding on the door. Relieved she threw the door open, expecting Kane, ready to fall into his arms. “I’ve been trying to find you, Tessa called and—”

Weston Taggert stood in the shadows of the porch. “And what?”

Fear dark as death slithered down her spine. “Wait a minute. What are you doing here?” she asked, her lungs constricting as she saw desperation in the corners of his mouth. Her knees threatened to give way.

“I think you’d better come with me,” he said, his expression grim.