Storm Rising: Book II of The Lara Chronicles

By Paula Galvan

STORM RISING - BOOK II OF THE LARA CHRONICLES

In the eighteen century, the Hoopa Valley was a magical, enchanted place—until one day, an innocent maiden becomes the victim of an unspeakable act of betrayal.

Centuries later, in a dirty, snow-filled alley, a young girl dies of a heroin overdose, but before her tragic death, she leaves behind a legacy that fans the flames of jealousy, revenge, and murder that were ignited so long ago on the banks of the Trinity River in that forgotten valley.

Fifty-one years later, Lara Coleman, living in Seal Beach, California, knows nothing of these events until a heartbreaking accident, a shift in her birthright, and a series of strange occurrences submerge her into a supernatural world she never knew existed.  From the sandy beaches of the Pacific Ocean to the dense woods of the Angeles National Forest, a storm is rising, and Lara soon finds herself in the middle of a war that began long before she was born.  Will she be strong enough to survive the storm?...  And protect her family from an ancient evil?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula Galvan
• Release date: May 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781733932844

Paula Galvan

Paula Galvan, pictured above with her grand-dogger, Zara,  was born and raised in Southern California and currently resides there with her husband, Mike.  She enjoys reading, writing, crafts, walking on the beach, and spending time with her family.  Storm Rising, Book II of The Lara Chronicles is her second book, following: Sunrise Calling, Book I of The  Lara Chronicles. For more information on the author and her books, visit https://paulagalvanauthor.com Also, follow her on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, Goodreads, and BookBub.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Seattle, Washington , 1965

Rita hurried up the alley through the falling snow and ducked under the flap of her tent.  She found it cold and dreary inside, but at least her things were still there.  Fumbling through an old backpack, she located the items she needed and set them out, then pulled the small packet she'd just purchased from the pocket of her dirty jeans. 

She emptied the white power into the spoon, then added a small amount of water from a plastic bottle.  Trying to keep her hands steady, she grabbed her lighter and struck the flint wheel.  Snow started to drift into the tent as the wind outside blew harder, but she didn't notice.  The tiny blue flame flickering under the bowl of powder held her full attention.

When she saw the liquid bubbling, Rita dropped the lighter and reached for a cotton ball, which she carefully set on the spoon, letting it soak up the liquid.  Resting the spoon on her thigh, she grabbed her last needle and started drawing the heroin into the syringe. 

After knocking out the air bubbles, she searched for a vein that wasn't infected or scabbed over.  Switching the needle to her left hand, she eased it into the soft flesh of her inner right arm.  Pain streaked through her shoulder, then the familiar bliss set in.  Dropping the needle, she fell back onto her filthy sleeping bag. 

Rita floated in semi-consciousness, no longer aware of the cold.  Suddenly her stomach contracted shooting bile into her throat.  She tried to swallow it down but gagged instead.  She attempted to roll onto her side, but her body refused to cooperate.  As she struggled to breathe, panic set in, then she saw his face floating above her.

Oh, Adam—how I've missed you. 

She reached up to touch him, and as the world faded away, saw him smile.

SPOKANE, WASHINGTON,1961

There they were again—the voices—making themselves comfortable in her head.  Why couldn't they leave her alone? 

Amy always told her, Concentrate, Rita.  You can easily stop the voices if you try.  But her mother was merely a telepath, as were most of the women in Rita's family, while Rita could read minds—meaning she received unwanted thoughts from everyone—unless she blocked them.  Her family thought it a blessing, but Rita considered it a curse.

Hey, Rita, Johnny called out.  You gonna Bogart that joint forever?

Yeah, Bobbie joined in.  Some of us want to get stoned too.

Rita passed the hand-rolled doobie over to her best friend, Bobbie.  Here, she said, trying to talk and hold her breath at the same time.  She watched Bobbie take a long drag and pass the joint to Johnny.

With each hit, Rita's attention skipped from one thing to another, her ability to concentrate fading.  Johnny, she yelled. Turn the music up, man.  I love this song.

Johnny leaned over and twisted the knob on his stereo, filling the room with Elvis Presley singing Surrender.  As Rita lost herself in the romantic song about love on a magical night and giving in to desire, she noticed the voices in her head had faded to a comfortable buzz like she had her very own beehive wrapped around her head.  She closed her eyes and relaxed. 

WHEN SHE GOT HOME, Rita was careful to stay out of her mother's way.  Amy had an uncanny way of knowing when she was stoned, and if caught, there would be hell to pay.  According to her mother, drugs made the mind sluggish and stupid, and would only dull Rita's ability.  She was right, of course, but Rita didn't care.  If it weren't for pot, she would have lost her sanity long ago.

As a child, at home all day, she had managed some control, but when Rita had started school, she'd been quickly overwhelmed.  The constant influx of voices in her head drove her crazy, and the effort to continuously block them was exhausting.

But when she failed to block, it was far worse.  She rapidly learned that being in someone else's head was like stepping into a minefield.  Rita never knew what horrible things she was going to learn. 

By third or fourth grade, it became a little more interesting.  Rita always knew what her friends were actually thinking, not just what came out of their mouths.  That's why Bobbie was her best friend.  Rita found Bobbie said what she meant and meant what she said.  No surprises.

Johnny was pretty straight, too, although he day-dreamed a lot about sex.  Rita found out early most guys thought of little else.  She also knew boys found her green eyes and curly red hair sexy.  At first, it disgusted her, but as she got older, she told herself to ignore it—that's just the way guys were—it was no big deal.

Soon, the worst thing became the secrets she was forced to keep.  The small ones weren't too bad, like Randy cheating on her friend, Erin.  She didn't want Erin to get hurt, but she had to stay out of it. 

But, the girl in her Social Studies class being raped by her step-father every night was much harder.  Rita wanted to help but didn't have a solution that the girl hadn't already thought of herself.  And, if Rita told the authorities, how would she explain knowing.  It was confusing.  It was better not to know.

There were some perks, of course.  Rita didn't have to work hard to get good grades.  Why would she need to study when everyone else could do it for her?  Her mother would call that cheating, so Rita pretended to do homework every night.  Making her parents happy wasn't a problem when she always knew what they were thinking.

In high school, friends introduced Rita to pot. Then reds and tranquilizers.  Drugs began to provide the downtime she needed.  Stoned, she felt like an ordinary person, which was all she ever wanted—to be like everyone else. 

TONIGHT WAS FRIDAY, and Rita had agreed to go to a party.  She rarely did parties. Too many people and too many voices, but Bobbie had begged.  She knew Bobbie wanted to meet up with her boyfriend, Tim, who her parents had forbidden her to see after catching them making out in her bedroom. Rita planned to duck out as soon as Bobbie and Tim hooked up. 

Rita walked to Bobbie's house and saw her friend already waiting on her porch.  Dressed in her favorite jeans with the knees ripped out and a tie-dyed T-shirt, Bobbie looked like a hippy with her long blond hair and rosy cheeks.  Rita admired the shiny bead necklaces looped around her long, slender neck.

Hey, girl, Rita called out. 

Hi,  Bobbie replied, joining Rita on the lawn.  Thanks for coming.  Tim said he'll be there as soon as he gets off work.  He’s borrowing his dad’s car tonight.  

No problem. 

Walking next to Bobbie, Rita felt frumpy in her shorts and tank top.  She had forgotten to wear earrings again.  She quickly yanked the scrunchie out of her long hair and shook it out to hide her ears.

So who’s supposed to be at this big party anyway?

Everyone.  Linda's parents are out-of-town, and her boyfriend is supposed to score a keg.  Oh, and Johnny said he'd bring a couple of reefers.

Sounds good. If Johnny had pot, Rita decided to stick around long enough to catch a good buzz before skipping out.

Linda's house backed up to the woods, the last house on a dead-end street. Still a block away, they could hear Chubby Checker's Twist ringing out. As the girls approached on foot, they noticed cars already lined the street. Rita saw kids roaming through the trees with solo cups in hand.

Looks like they did get a keg, Bobbie said, quickening her step. 

They spotted several friends on the porch and headed that way, eventually making their way through the house and into the backyard where the keg was.  There were plenty of guys standing around it sipping beer and checking out the newcomers.

Bobbie quickly cleared a path through them and filled a cup for her and Rita. They then wandered out onto the lawn already littered with teenagers in various degrees of drunkenness. They watched a group of senior boys play beer pong on Linda's ping pong table until Johnny and Tim found them.  Bobbie and Tim were soon slow dancing on the grass, one of Tim's hands firmly planted on Bobbie's behind, while they swayed precariously, trying not to spill their beer.

Rita and Johnny made their way to the edge of the woods at the back of the lawn, where Johnny proceeded to light up a joint.  They passed it back and forth, occasionally sharing with friends who drifted by and paused for a hit. 

Rita had been straining to control the voices in her head but relaxed once the weed worked its magic.  She was starting to think about splitting when the reefer came back to her.  She decided she needed one last hit. 

She grabbed it by the roach clip someone had supplied and inhaled, then passed it to the person next to her, glancing up briefly.  A pair of light brown eyes met hers.  Startled, she choked on the pungent smoke she was trying to hold in.

Careful, the guy said, patting her on the back. 

Rita took a sip of beer and was finally able to catch her breath.  Sorry.  I didn't mean to cough all over you. 

The guy with the light brown eyes was busy taking a hit and just nodded.  Rita noticed he was tall and good looking with sandy blond hair that fell carelessly across his forehead.  She didn't recognize him from school and wondered if he was a senior.

No problem, he finally managed in a strained voice.  Good weed.  Is it yours?

No, Rita answered, trying to probe his mind.  My friend Johnny's. She nodded toward Johnny, who had sunk into the grass, and was zoning out to the music. 

Well, thanks for the hit, he added, sipping his beer.

Rita felt his eyes boring into her over the rim of his cup.  She blushed and quickly turned away.  Either she was freaking stoned, or this guy was on to her.  Who was he?

Adam, she heard him say.  She raised her eyes and found him smiling down at her, clearly amused by her discomfort. 

Rita. 

Adam nodded at Rita's empty cup.  Would you like more beer?  I'm going to get some, so it's no bother.

Sure.  She handed her cup over and watching him walk away.  He moved gracefully, stepping over and around kids sitting on the grass as he went.  Rita decided she wasn't in such a hurry to leave after all.

RITA LEARNED ADAM WAS twenty-two.  He had a car and his own apartment.  She knew her parents wouldn’t approve, so when Adam asked to see her again, she arranged to meet him at the park near her house.  They sat in Adam’s car, smoked pot, and talked. 

He said they could hang at his place, but Rita didn't want to be alone with him, at least not yet, so this quickly became their routine.  They would meet at the park, get stoned, then drive around, go to the mall, or sometimes a movie. 

Rita liked Adam’s easy-going manner.  When he evaded her questions about his finances, she suspected he might be a drug dealer, but she didn’t care.  She liked the fact that Adam never lacked for money or good weed. 

And she could relax around him.  Adam's thoughts never drifted into her head, and even when she tried, she couldn't hear what he was thinking.  He obviously possessed the ability to block her.  Something told her she should question that, but the freedom was intoxicating. They were just two regular people like any other couple.  She thought she might be falling in love. 

AMY WAS QUITE AWARE of the sneaky way her daughter always went straight to her room when she came home, then used eye drops and changed her clothes before joining the family.

Of course, she suspected drugs.  She watched for other signs, like loss of appetite, depression, or poor performance at school, all the things that drug users were known for.  They never materialized.  She searched her daughter's room several times but never found anything. So, what was she missing? 

Maybe she was wrong.  Rita did seem calmer these days.  They rarely argued over her struggle with the voices.  Maybe her daughter had finally accepted and learned to control her ability.

But it still bothered her that Rita avoided spending time with the family and was out more and more with her friends.  Then she remembered Rita was a teenager.  Amy should be glad things were as good as they were.  When she was a teenager, she had given her parents a lot worse.

EVENTUALLY, RITA GREW tired of park benches and hamburger stands.  She decided it was time to see where her boyfriend lived.  After all, they'd been seeing each other for several months.  She trusted him.

Adam immediately took her to his small apartment on the other side of town.  Rita found his place sparsely furnished, but clean and comfortable.  She scolded herself for being nervous about coming here before.  They began to spend all their time there, getting high and listening to music.

Several times they came close to having sex, but Rita always pulled back at the last minute.  She liked making out on Adam's bed and having his body next to hers, but she wasn't ready to go all the way.  Adam never pressured her, and she loved him for it.  His patience proved he cared.

One afternoon, after smoking a joint, Adam pulled out a small bag of white powder.  He held it up and wiggled it in front of Rita's face, letting her have a good look.

What's that?

Snow.  Or smack.  It has lots of names.  It's so much better than pot.

Really?  Rita giggled.  Not better than the pot I just smoked because I'm so ripped right now.

Oh yeah, Adam insisted.  It's like walking on clouds.  Want to try it?

Okay.  How?  Do we smoke it?

Adam laughed, then went to the bedroom and returned with a small black pouch.  No, he said, unzipping it.  We don't smoke it.  You relax, and I'll fix you up.

Rita laid back on the sofa and watched Adam disappear into the kitchen.  Adam and his mysterious bag of tricks, she thought, then closed her eyes and resumed listening to The Tokens' new album.  She giggled at the lyrics of the title track, A Lion Sleeps Tonight, and imagined a cute fluffy lion curled up in the jungle somewhere.

When Adam came back with a needle in his hand, Rita sat up.  She didn't like needles.  She started to object, but Adam pushed her back down onto the couch and covered her mouth with his. 

The kiss was long and sloppy, and halfway through it, Rita had forgotten all about the needle.  She was concentrating on Adam's tongue in her mouth when she felt a small prick and realized Adam had injected her.

The next thing Rita knew, she was waking up, even though she couldn't remember falling asleep.  She was floating somewhere between the ceiling and the floor.  Soft white clouds held her body up while sensational rushes shot through her.  Heaven.  I'm in heaven.

Sometime later, she was aware of Adam's naked body next to hers.  He was undressing her.  She laid there and watched, unable to stop him.  Soon she could feel his hands and mouth on her.  Oh, God!  She never wanted him to stop.  She didn't remember going home that night but somehow woke up in her bed the next morning.  It was a week before Rita went back to Adam's. 

At first, she was deeply humiliated and ashamed of the things he'd done to her that night.  She knew she was no longer a virgin, that Adam had taken advantage of her.  For the first few days, she had even convinced herself she would never see him again. 

But as the days wore on, she knew it wasn't true.  She craved the man and, even more, the white powder.  She hated herself for being weak, but she needed them both.  She packed some clothes, and a few of her most treasured possessions then left during the day when nobody was there.  She knew she would never come home again.

Adam smiled when he saw the bag she had with her.  No words were needed.  He lit up a joint, then helped her put her things away.  Later that night, he taught her how to cook her own hit of heroin, then they made love.  Drugs and sex became their nightly ritual.  It was heaven.

A week later, Adam moved them into a small apartment above a theater in Seattle.  A couple of months after that, he started disappearing for days at a time.  Rita questioned him, but he was evasive.  She suspected he had another girl somewhere, but she let it slide.  She didn't care if he cheated as long as she had her drugs, and he always returned to take care of her.

AMY AND HER HUSBAND, Gerald, called the police the first night Rita didn't come home. Amy noticed things missing from her daughter's room, but she said nothing about that to the cops who she knew wouldn't look for Rita if they thought she was a runaway.  Something terrible had happened to her daughter, and Amy blamed herself.  How could she have missed this?

The police questioned friends and relatives then searched the neighborhood, including the park where Adam and Rita had spent so much time, showing a picture of Rita to everyone they came across.  Several people had seen her with a young man, but nobody knew who he was.  Time passed.  The police moved on to other cases. 

Not willing to give up, Amy called her sister Sophia—also a mind reader—and asked her to help.  Sophia talked to each of Rita's friends, trying to pick information out of their minds that might lead them somewhere.  There were brief illusions to a young man with sandy blond hair seen at a party with Rita, but nobody knew his name or whereabouts. 

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, 1963

Adam was furious when Rita told him she might be pregnant.  They had a huge fight.  She claimed it wasn't her fault, but he knew it was.  She's the one that had forgotten to take her birth control pills.  But what did he expect?  She was a damn junkie.

He realized he was responsible.  He'd introduced Rita to heroin, but that was two years ago.  He was tired of the drugs.  Several times he'd tried to convince Rita to get clean, but she'd just laughed at him.  He knew there was no way she would be able to take care of a baby.  But neither could he.

Adam took her to a doctor who informed them both that a baby was well on the way.  He also told Adam, when he discreetly inquired, it was too late to perform an abortion. Rita was already in her second trimester.

The next day Adam was gone.  He left a week's worth of heroin and two month's rent on the kitchen table.  Rita never saw him again.

CHAPTER ONE

Seal Beach, California

December 24, 2015

Lara plopped down next to Don.  It was a relief to sit and relax.  For hours she'd been rearranging her closet and drawers to accommodate Don's new wardrobe, and her spacious, one-bedroom villa she rented from Tom and Maddie Griffin had become a bit cramped.

She didn't mind.  Having her boyfriend back, after being falsely accused of kidnapping and murder, was all she cared about.  She and Don could worry about finding a bigger place later.

Lara knew the police were still working through the evidence they'd collected from the basement where a serial killer had tortured and strangled young girls, including her cousin, Jenny.  Following a gut feeling, she and her friend, Cody, had been the ones to discover the torture chamber beneath the print shop where Cody's boyfriend, Matt, worked.

Eventually, the police cleared Matt, but Don hadn't been so lucky.  Detective Quessy had found incriminating evidence in Don's bedroom—planted by the real murderer—and Don had been arrested and thrown in jail.  But Lara had always known Don was innocent and had never given up trying to prove it.

What nobody knew was that night in the basement, Lara had been drugged and tied up by Dirk—Don's twin brother who was supposed to be dead, but with Cody's help, and by using her new-found powers, Lara had sent Dirk flying across the room into a cement wall leaving him unconscious for the police to find, while Lara and Cody had fled the scene. 

Unfortunately, they'd later learned Dirk had disappeared before the cops arrived, and another man—Sam Gardner—a.k.a. Jeff Baker, who had once been Don's roommate—had been found dead at the scene and was now dubbed the basement killer.  Even though all the charges had been dropped against Don, Dirk was still out there, as dangerous as ever.

Don thought his brother was dead since his parents had lied and told him Dirk hadn't survived a drowning accident when he was nine.  Lara wanted to tell Don the truth about Dirk, but if she did, she'd have to explain some other things as well.  Things Don might not want to hear.

Like, his girlfriend was a telepath and had supernatural powers. And, she had done some snooping into his past while trying to clear his name.  Lara dreaded that conversation.  What if he didn't understand?  He will, she told herself.  She just needed to find the right moment.

Tonight, relaxing on pillows in front of the fireplace, Lara gazed into the flames and sipped her wine while Don gently massaged her shoulders.  She didn't want to spoil the moment but decided it was time.  She took a deep breath.

Don, Lara said, casually.  I have something I need to confess.

Don leaned in and kissed her cheek.  You haven't been snooping under the tree, have you?  We agreed, no shaking or peeking.

No, silly. It's not about Christmas.  It's about—you know—what happened.

Oh, that.  Okay, sure.  Go ahead.

Remember the night the cops raided the basement, and Detective Quessy said they initially came to investigate a gunshot?

Yeah.  That must have been Jeff, shooting himself.

You mean Sam?

Yeah, Sam.  I keep forgetting Jeff turned out to be Sam.  Anyway, I guess he couldn't live with the guilt after everything he'd done.

Lara knew the authorities agreed with that theory.  What if I told you Sam didn't commit suicide but was just another victim?

I think Quessy suspected that, but he couldn't find any supporting evidence.  What makes you think so?

Lara turned around so she could see Don's face.  Because I know there was another person involved.  He was there—in the basement that night.

Don's expression was one of skepticism.  How could you know that?  You weren't even there.

That's what I wanted to tell you. I was.

What?

Yeah.  I saw the real murderer.  It wasn't Sam.  Suddenly Lara didn't like the look on Don's face or the way he was staring at her. 

Who was it? he demanded.  And why didn't the cops say anything about you being at the scene?

Before I explain, I have to tell you something else.  She paused to swallow.  "While you were off the grid, Cody and I went to Dallas and talked to your parents."

Before Don could interrupt, she quickly explained how she'd hoped his parents might know who was framing him for murder.  Your dad wouldn't talk to me on the phone, so we had no choice.  We went to Weston Tower.  She described Gary Weston as friendly but distant. 

Bullshit, Don calmly stated.  I know my father, Lara. He offered you money and told you to get out of town, right?

Lara grinned.  Wow, you do know him. 

And, Mom?  Don asked, turning to stare into the fire.  Did you talk to her?  When Lara started to speak, Don put up his hand.  No, wait. Let me guess.  She had Jay contact you instead.

Lara moved closer to Don, watching his face.  We did talk to Jay, but we saw Savannah too.  She was very helpful.

Really? 

What's wrong?  Lara could feel Don's anger.  She was already regretting her decision to bring any of this up. 

You can't believe anything my mom told you.  Especially about my brother.

Lara was surprised at the bitterness in Don's voice.  What about your brother?

She told everyone he was dead.  He's not, you know.

Lara felt a cold shock go through her.  You know about Dirk? 

I know he's not dead.  And, I know Savannah's a liar. 

Lara stayed silent for several moments, waiting to see if Don would go on, but he didn't.  She felt sick to her stomach. She had a feeling Don knew more than he was saying.

So, what's talking to my parents got to do with the murders anyway?  Don suddenly asked, grabbing her arm.  You're not going to tell me some bullshit about Dirk being the killer, are you?

Don! Lara cried out, trying to pull away.  Please let go.  You're hurting me.

Why don't you use your powers and make me.

How do you know about my powers?  Suddenly frightened,  Lara tried to get to her feet, but Don yanked her back down.  She looked up and saw Don's lopsided grin turn into a scowl, then suddenly, Dirk's face was staring back at her.

LARA JERKED AWAKE AND started to scream, then realized she was in her bed with Don, who was sitting up, staring at her. 

Hey, hey, Don said, pulling her to him.  That must've been quite a dream.  For a minute there, I thought you were gonna punch me.

She tried to control her ragged breathing and find comfort in his arms, but she still had the image of Dirk's face vivid in her head.  It was just a dream, she told herself.  Thank God.  It was just a dream.

Don rocked her back and forth while running his hand through her hair.  You were mumbling too. Something about the murders, I think.  Do you want to talk about it?

Lara shook her head, not trusting her voice.  After that dream, she knew she wasn't ready to talk to Don about his brother or anything else.  She needed more time to sort things out. 

Lara felt Don struggling with his emotions.  She knew as an extreme empath he wouldn't be able to stop himself from absorbing her terror and panic.  She buried her face in his chest and concentrated on erasing Dirk's face from her memory.  After a few minutes, they both began to relax. 

LATER THAT MORNING, Lara waved as Don backed down the driveway headed for the beach.  She saw clouds in the distance and hoped the rain would hold off until Don got in a few hours of skateboarding.  She knew the exercise and fresh ocean air always helped to clear out his emotions. He'd been fidgety lately.  Her nightmare hadn't helped.

When his truck was out of sight, she closed the door and walked back through the living room, stepping over a small mountain of presents stacked around their Christmas tree.  She sympathized with Don's need to escape.  Even she felt stifled in all this clutter, but tomorrow was Christmas, so the house would soon be back to normal.

Lara grabbed her phone off the coffee table and answered before it rang, an old habit of hers.  Hi, Mom.  Has David and Jan arrived yet?

No, not yet, Lynne answered.  Your brother is being very secretive about his schedule.  I thought they were flying into LAX, but he called this morning and said they were driving down the coast from San Francisco.  I guess they've been in the bay area since last weekend.

Wow, sounds romantic.

It does, doesn't it? Lynne giggled.  I told your dad, David's definitely serious this time.

Lara agreed.  Her brother, David, who taught English Literature at Cornell University in New York, had never brought a girl home to meet the family before.  I guess we'll find out soon enough.

As long as they show up in time for dinner tonight, I'll be happy.

Don and I should be there by four unless you need us sooner?

Four is fine.  I have all the help I need, but thanks for asking.  Lynne paused, then added.  By the way, have you talked to Maddie lately?

Not for a few days. Lara walked to her kitchen window and looked out at the big house where her landlords lived.  She could see Maddie's old, white, Cadillac Seville in the driveway.  Why?

She's not answering her phone.  I was just wondering if she was home.

It looks like it from here.  Do you want me to find out?

No, that's okay.  Maddie's probably just busy.  I have to run.  Say hi to Don for me, and I'll see you two later.

Will do.  Bye, Mom. 

After her mom disconnected, Lara continued looking out the window, then realized she hadn't taken her Christmas presents to her landlords yet.  Now seemed like a good time.  She hunted under the tree until she found two brightly wrapped packages, then walked up the brick walkway connecting the two houses.

Standing on the front porch, she noticed the house was quiet, curtains drawn.  She knocked and waited, but heard no movement inside.  It looked like the Griffins were indeed gone.  Strange.  Maddie usually left her Cadillac in the garage when she wasn't using it.  She wondered if Tom's car was here.

Lara left her packages propped up inside the screen door, then walked around the side of the house to the garage.  Standing on tippy-toes, she looked through the small windows across the top of the garage door, but it was too dark to see inside, then had an idea.  Taking her cell phone out of her pocket, she activated the flashlight app and shined the light through the glass.  The garage was empty.

Lara took a deep breath and relaxed.  Tom and Maddie were out in Tom's car, probably shopping.  She'd catch them later and wish them Merry Christmas.  She hurried back to her house—she had a million things to do.

IT WAS ALMOST THREE by the time Lara finished packing her and Don's clothes. Satisfied she hadn't forgotten anything, she joined Don in the driveway, where he was busy loading all the presents into the truck bed.  She added their suitcases to the pile.  Outside, a stiff wind was blowing, and rain still threatened.

Thank God for your truck, Lara said as she surveyed the full load. Don had retrieved his black Silverado from his friend as soon as he'd been released from jail. We would never have gotten a tenth of this stuff in the Bug.

Don laughed. Yeah, we'll have to upgrade you to something with a little more room after the holidays.

What? Lara protested loudly.  I can't believe you just said that.  She walked over to the vintage, convertible Volkswagen bug she loved and considered part of the family. You might be small, but we have history, don't we? she asked the Bug, patting it gently on the hood.

Don just shook his head.  Maybe an addition, then, not a replacement.

Thank you. Lara gave the Bug one last pat, then climbed into the Silverado's passenger seat.  We better get going if we want to beat this rain.

Don looked up at the dark clouds above him, then got into the truck and started the engine.  I hear that.

TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT, so they made good time.  Exiting the Hollywood Freeway forty-five minutes later, Don and Lara drove down East California Blvd. toward old Pasadena, taking in all the extravagant Christmas decorations surrounding the stately homes.  Lara loved this