Flash and Fire by Marie Ferrarella Read Free Book Online Page B

question in her mind.
    Why had Whitney sounded so mysterious on the phone, so forlorn? Why had he called her now, after so much time had lapsed? What was happening? And why couldn’t Whitney tell her, or at least give her some sort of hint, over the telephone?
    Something was in the wind, and it wasn’t good. She didn’t need a degree in journalism to know that.
    But if it was bad, what did it have to do with Whitney? Whitney Granger lived under a lucky star, he always had. Everything he had ever put his hand to had been successful. He was a modern-day equivalent of Midas, except that whatever he touched yielded cars, not gold.
    She glanced at the highway sign. Her exit was only a quarter of a mile away. Quickly, she signaled and worked her way over to the right-hand lane. She reached it just in time to exit.
    Her mind kept wandering. She didn’t notice that she was coming to the turnoff that led to Whitney’s estate until she had almost passed it. Twisting the wheel, she made a sharp turn to the right. Tires squealed in protest as she gained access to the private road.
    Five minutes later, Amanda was pulling into Whitney’s driveway. The security guard at the front gate had waved her on after she’d shown him her ID. Whitney’s gleaming silver stretch limousine was baking in the hot sun like a beached whale. It looked more like a funeral hearse than a luxury vehicle.
    Amanda parked and got out of her car. The surrounding grounds had a strangely empty feel to them. It was almost, she thought, as if everyone had disappeared in the dead of night for some reason. Any minute now, Rod Serling was going to appear and tell her that she had entered the Twilight Zone. If she listened intently, she could almost hear the theme song. Her imagination had gone into overdrive.
    That’s what you get for standing out in the hot sun, playing ball for four hours.
    She picked up the brass knocker on the ornate front door and tapped lightly.
    The door sprang open almost instantly. Amanda had the impression that Whitney had been standing by the door, waiting for her arrival. It was a silly thought, but it hung on.
    He was as tall as she remembered, but thinner. Perhaps even a little gaunt. His cheekbones seemed more prominent than she recalled. But the haunted appearance only served to reinforce his good looks, giving him the appearance of some brooding, troubled poet out of the Romantic era.
    He still wore his hair the same way, straight and a little long, but here and there shafts of silver gray shot through the fields of pitch black. Despite the fact that he was at home, he was dressed in a suit.
    Whitney, she thought, was always dressed in a suit. She couldn’t recollect ever seeing him in casual clothing, but he always looked comfortable.
    Except for now. But it wasn’t his clothes that gave him that vague air of discomfort.
    The smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something there she couldn’t fathom, couldn’t quite put her finger on.
    He took her hand in his, trying to put her at ease. “Hello, Amanda. It was good of you to come.”
    “It would have been inexcusable of me not to.” She crossed the threshold, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor. It sounded so empty, as if this were a mausoleum instead of a place where a family resided.
    Where was the family? Where was anyone?
    Amanda looked around. “What happened to Hastings?” she asked, referring to his butler.
    As far back as she could recall, Whitney had always had servants. They suited him, despite the fact that he had grown up in poverty. Or perhaps because of it. There was a commanding presence about him that made others almost eager to do his bidding. She had always thought that he would have made one hell of a senator.
    Whitney took her arm as he escorted her into the living room. “He’s gone.”
    She turned to look at him. His profile gave nothing away.
    “Hastings, too?” she quipped, though her nerves were suddenly knitting