Double Take by Brenda Joyce Page B

was time to seriously think about starting a small home business. For the moment she could freelance as an editor—she had so many connections in publishing from her first job as an editorial assistant.
    That decision made, she felt lighter, freer, than she had in years. Kait walked into the kitchen, trembling but relieved. And surely she could get her sister’s marriage back on track. Once they had been so happy; she had seen the photos, she had seen the proof.
    Had Lana returned her calls?
    Kait hit the wall switch and dug her cell out of her pocket. She turned it on and was dismayed to see that she had no messages.
    There was nothing Kait could do now except wait for a return call or Lana’s return home. She opened the refrigerator and was faced with a platter of rare tuna that looked, well, raw. In Manhattan she enjoyed sushi, but now it was as unappealing as diet Jell-O. She slammed the door shut.
    Elizabeth had gone up to her room. Sam was holed up in her bedroom and Marni was asleep. Trev was dining out with the Davisons. Kait did not want to think about what would happen when he came home, so she shoved him out of her thoughts. She had seen a small shopping center on Highway 152 just before the turnoff to Northwoods Road, the country road where Fox Hollow was located. And there had been a pizzeria right there.
    Nothing would be more comforting after this day than a pepperoni pizza and a few glasses of hearty red wine. Unfortunately, she would not be dining in her pajamas in her cozy living room, cross-legged on the floor, her back against her sofa with
Larry King Live
for company and the taxis outside blaring their horns. Unfortunately, she would be dining alone in Trev Coleman’s huge house. Kait realized she was still shaken. She really needed an escape, but she wasn’t going to get one. Not as long as she was posing as her sister.
    She retrieved her purse, threw on one of Lana’s beautiful leather jackets, and hurried outside and to the car. The grounds around the house were not lit, but there were front lights on the porch. It seemed stunningly dark, and except for the cacophony of crickets, so oddly quiet. New York never slept, but the darkness and quiet of the country night was splendid. Kait paused before climbing into the car, gazing up at a sky filled with brilliant stars. Who needed Larry King? Somehow she would make a cocoon for herself in the living room, and by morning, she would be fully up to the task at hand.
    After all, she had been accepted as Lana; the worst was over.
    A few minutes later she wanted to take back her thoughts. Driving at night in a city that was brilliantly illuminated, or on a city highway, was one thing, and trying to maneuver the Porsche down the hill in the blackness of the country night another. The first curve was sharper than Kait had recalled, and the Porsche went right off the road into a ditch.
    Kait was so stunned for a moment she just sat there, panting. Then realized the little car had its two right wheels, front and back, in a deep rut, its two left wheels still on the drive. She had stalled out because of the abrupt stop, so she started the ignition. Carefully, she tried to drive back onto the driveway.
    The Porsche groaned and rocked and did not move up and over the side of the road.
    Kait stopped the attempt. She couldn’t believe it. She turned on the interior lights and opened the dash—no flashlight. She looked in the side pockets of her door—as clean as a whistle. Ditto for the passenger door.
    She got out, stumbling on the uneven ground, and instantly saw how precariously the car was angled between the drive and the ditch. The latter was two feet deep and muddy. She was a weekend driver at best—that is, she simply did not have the skill to get the sports car out of the ditch and back onto the road.
    “Damn,” she said. It was the perfect end to a perfect day. Then she stiffened. Walking up the driveway toward her was a man.
    She glanced back at the