Read The Chase: A Novel Online
Authors: Brenda Joyce
The Chase: A Novel
EXTRAORDINARY PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
B
RENDA
J
OYCE
T
HE
C
HASE
“Joyce skillfully weaves together past and present to create an amazing story of intrigue, wartime passion, and thrilling twists and turns.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fast pacing and dual plot lines from the past and the present make this thriller a riveting read. Powerful and dynamic, this is a book not to be missed.”
—
Romantic Times
“Non-stop . . . filled with action, mysteries, romance, and an awesome ending!”
—
Huntress Reviews
H
OUSE OF
D
REAMS
| “A first-rate tale.” | —People |
“A page-turner . . . excitement and lots of sensuality.”
—
The Belles and Beaux of Romance
“An unquiet ghost stalks her living descendants, seeking vengeance for a long-ago betrayal . . . sure to delight readers.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
“Nicely textured characters.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Twists and turns . . . plenty of passionate embraces.”
—
Booklist
“This is one book you won’t want to miss.”
—
Beachlife Magazine
on
House of Dreams
T
HE
T
HIRD
H
EIRESS
“Sexual intrigue, betrayals, and century-old cover-ups . . . this genealogical thriller is a page-turner and could perhaps prove to be her breakout novel.”
—
Publishers Weekly
| “Real suspense!” | — Kirkus Reviews |
| “Exciting!” | — Booklist |
“Taut suspense, deep character analysis, intricate plotting, and superb writing technique characterize Brenda Joyce’s new novel and offer her fans another book for their keeper shelves. Combined with nail-biting suspense,
The Third Heiress
kept me reading long into the night; it is Ms. Joyce at her best.”
—
Under the Covers Book Reviews
“Bestselling author Brenda Joyce mixes intrigue and romance into a page-turning tale you’ll be loath to put down.”
—Playgirl
“A tense and atmospheric thriller.
The Third Heiress
adds gothic and ghostly overtones to a story of one woman’s obsessive quest for truth and justice.”
—
Romantic Times
THE CHASE
BRENDA JOYCE
PART FIVE: A STRANGER IN OUR MIDST
In memory of my aunt Edna
There was trouble in paradise and there had been for some time.
Claire turned onto Leavenworth, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. She had been married for ten years; she had known David for almost fifteen. When had they begun to drift apart? How had it happened, when once they had been so happy?
Did it even matter?
David had told her just that morning that she was going to far too much trouble for his fortieth birthday. He had made it clear he was in no mood for a big bash with a hundred guests. And he had refused to even look at her, focusing instead on the task of knotting his Hermès tie.
Claire knew she had been blocking out just how badly damaged her marriage was. She had thrown herself into her work at the Humane Society, where she was a director, and into all of her charities, especially the two for which she was chairwoman. She had always been an overachiever, and it was easy to put in sixty, seventy, even eighty hours a week on all of her projects. In fact, she was frequently solicited by new organizations begging her to join them. These days she had to turn everyone down, as she was stretched so thin. The best she could do was to offer up her valuable mailing lists.
David was a lawyer and had switched firms recently. He, too, worked like a dog. Perhaps this was one of their problems; somehow, they had become immersed in their separate career paths, losing the connection they once had.
Last night they had attended the same fund-raiser, a black-tie dinner and dance. Claire doubted they had exchanged more than a dozen words all evening. He had his social circle, and she had hers. He had also drunk too much.
Maybe this was her fault. Last night she had actually been working—she was desperate to raise another million dollars for the Summer Rescue Kids program. Maybe she was a failure as a wife.
Claire had to let go of that thought. She must not be sad, not now, not when her guests would arrive in two hours. It was a stunning spring day. The skies could not be clearer, and the waters of the San Francisco Bay could not sparkle more. Her dog, Jilly, a chocolate standard poodle, sat in the backseat of the Land Rover with her elegant face thrust out of the car, enjoying the air and the sun. It would be okay, Claire told herself. Tonight their guests would dance outside on the terrace beneath a full moon and a thousand stars. David would be happy. And that would make her happy. She was a pro when it came to making events succeed, to taking care of other people; it was what she did.
Claire turned the Land Rover into her driveway, where the caterer’s vans and trucks were parked, causing total congestion. She slid out and opened the door for Jilly, who raced madly for the front door of the house. The stray dogs she housed were also barking. Claire thought she heard childish shouts. She imagined a scene of pandemonium inside, and she smiled, relieved to divert her thoughts from her marriage.
Her house was a big, modern white stucco affair with high slate roofs. From the outside it appeared bulky, but then, four thousand square feet had been crammed into three quarters of an oddly shaped acre. Inside, however, one was greeted with double ceilings and surprising spaciousness—the architect had been a genius. It was their dream house—they had both worked hard for it, had both earned it. Claire slowly entered and paused inside the huge living area, which had smooth wood floors, white walls, and an eclectic combination of modern and antique furnishings. Everything was just perfect. Or was it?
The opposite wall was nothing but double windows. Beyond those windows were the stone terrace and the gardens. From where she stood, Claire could see the sparkling blue waters of the bay, numerous sails, and the red spires of the Golden Gate Bridge. The view was magnificent. She reminded herself not to be sad and smiled.
And it was just in time. “Mrs. Hayden! Mrs. Hayden!” Timmy Kowolski, a neighboring eight-year-old, was shrieking. The chubby boy ran into the room with Jilly chasing him merrily. He was followed by another boy and his sister, as well as three other dogs. The children all lived around the block. Claire adored them. None of them had any pets, and as Claire’s house was always filled with strays, it was a second home for the trio. The kids were screaming, the dogs were barking madly, and it was chaos. She loved it.
Claire basked in the warmth of the children and the dogs as they surrounded her and she smiled, genuinely now, tousling Timmy’s short, spiky hair. Maybe it was time to get pregnant. She was thirty-two. She had always wanted children of her own. Five or six would do—but David had always said it would be one or two.
Claire knew that getting pregnant would not solve anything.
“Can Jilly come stay with me during the party tonight?” Timmy asked eagerly.
“Only if your mom doesn’t mind,” Claire said.
“She won’t mind!” Timmy cried, beaming.
“You’d better go ask her before taking Jilly over there,” Claire said with a fond smile, rubbing her knuckles over his smooth brow.
“I’ll call her now,” Timmy said, then raced for the phone, Jilly following him.
“Hi, Ben. Hi, Lucy,” Claire said to the other children. She was surrounded now by the three other dogs, who had descended enthusiastically upon her en masse, three tails wagging fiercely. Two were mongrels, one a dachshund.
“Hi, Mrs. Hayden,” the kids cried in unison. Lucy’s blue eyes were wide and earnest. She was a tall, skinny girl with freckles. Her brother was skinny, too, but short, with horn-rimmed glasses. “Did that rottweiler make it?” Lucy asked very seriously.
Claire was petting the ecstatic dogs. Now she straightened and smiled at her neighbor’s oldest child, who was twelve going on twenty. Claire patted Lucy’s shoulder reassuringly. “The rottweiler will be fine. But still no word on his owner. Don’t worry, Luce. We’ll get him back to his home.” The real truth was, she had hoped by now that someone would have come forward to claim the older dog who had been hit by a car last night. The Humane Society had rescued the stray and, of course, taken him to a clinic. She would not let Lucy worry, though.
Sometimes I think you care more about the cats and dogs you save than me
.
Claire stiffened, recalling her argument with David that morning. That had been a low blow and completely unfair—one he had been resorting to more and more often recently.
If you really cared about me, you would not be throwing this goddamned birthday party. I am overloaded, Claire. And who gives a shit about turning forty?
They had argued fiercely and hurtfully. Or rather, David had argued, because Claire couldn’t bring herself to hurl ugly words or insults at anyone, much less her own husband. She wished she hadn’t remembered the nasty exchange now.
She had remained calm.
Of course I don’t care more about cats and dogs than you, David. That was an unfair thing to say
.
Oh, so now I’m unfair?
That’s not what I said. I just thought that turning forty is special
—
Yeah, right. Let’s announce to the world just how old I am.
Why are you doing this? Do you want to hurt me?
I’m not doing anything, Claire! For crissakes, I am just trying to make a goddamned living! Did it ever occur to you that I want to stay home for my birthday?
“A dog like that, someone has to be looking for him,” Lucy was saying, breaking into Claire’s thoughts. There was an ache behind the memory, but Claire couldn’t entertain it, not now.
Claire forced a smile. “I think so, too,” she said lightly. She put her hands in the pockets of her black leather blazer, which she wore over a white cotton T-shirt and slim black pants. Her dark blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore no makeup other than lip gloss and mascara. The only jewelry she wore was her watch, a gold Rolex with a diamond bezel that David had given her for their last anniversary, the tenth.
“Mrs. Hayden? Are you all right?” Lucy asked.
Claire started. “Of course.”
“You just seem . . . sad.”
Claire blinked. It was not a good sign if a child could see past her smile and her words. “I’m just tired. It’s been a really long day.” And that was mostly the truth, Claire reminded herself. She
was
tired. It
had
been a long day.
“It will be okay, Mrs. Hayden. Tonight you can dance to a deejay. How cool!” Lucy’s eyes were worshipful.
