Amanda/Haunting Rachel

by Kay Hooper

Genres: Sagas; Women's Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

Amanda

A spellbinding tale of contemporary suspense that begins with a mysterious homecoming and ends in a shattering explosion of passion, greed, and murder. And all because a stranger says her name is... Amanda.

Others have claimed to be Amanda Daulton, but now a beautiful, self-assured woman has stepped out of the shadows of the past, insisting she's the missing heiress to a multimillion-dollar fortune. One look is all it takes to assure the family patriarch that she's his beloved granddaughter. But others at the magnificent Southern mansion called Glory are not as easily convinced, others with much to lose from her sudden reappearance. Soon suspicion erupts in a chilling attempt on her life, and after the traumatic ordeal, she begins to have flashes of a nightmarish vision. What, if anything, happened twenty years ago to drive a mother and her nine-year-old daughter away from their privileged life? The struggle to find the elusive answer exposes a frightening trail of secrets—a trail that leads shockingly to the present and to the enigmatic woman who calls herself... Amanda.


Haunting Rachel

Danger wears many faces....

Ten years ago Rachel Grant's fiancé, Thomas, disappeared. His body was never found. Now there's a stranger in town, a man who could be Thomas's twin--or his ghost.

His name is Adam Delafield. He's been watching Rachel for days. He has the locket she gave Thomas before he vanished. And he says he owed her father three million dollars.

But there's no record of the loan—or a shred of proof that Adam is who he claims to be. And he's always nearby as accidents begin to threaten Rachel's life.

Is he an innocent man who only wants to repay a debt? Or a figure from the past with a score to settle? Rachel must expose lies and unravel stories, find out who wants her dead and why...before the next attempt to kill her succeeds.

Release date: September 23, 2009

Publisher: Bantam

Print pages: 704

Sample

Thunder rolled and boomed, echoing, the way it did when a storm came over the mountains on a hot night, and the wind-driven rain lashed the trees and furiously pelted the windowpanes of the big house.  The nine-year-old girl shivered, her cotton nightgown soaked and clinging to her, and her slight body was stiff as she stood in the center of the dark bedroom.

"Mama—"

"Shhhh! Don't, baby, don't make any noise.  Just stand there, very still, and wait for me."

They called her baby often, her mother, her father, because she'd been so difficult to conceive and was so cherished once they had her.  So beloved. That was why they had named her Amanda, her father had explained, lifting her up to ride upon his broad shoulders, because she was so perfect and so worthy of their love.

She didn't feel perfect now.  She felt cold and emptied out and dreadfully afraid.  And the sound of her mother's voice, so thin and desperate, frightened Amanda even more.  The bottom had fallen out of her world so suddenly that she was still numbly bewildered and broken, and her big gray eyes followed her mother with the piteous dread of one who had lost everything except a last, fragile, unspeakably precious tie to what had been.

Whispering between rumbles of thunder, she asked, "Mama, where will we go?"

"Away, far away, baby." The only illumination in the bedroom was provided by angry nature as lightning split the stormy sky outside, and Christine Daulton used the flashes to guide her in stuffing clothes into an old canvas duffel bag.  She dared not turn on any lights, and the need to hurry was so fierce it nearly strangled her.

She hadn't room for them, but pushed her journals into the bag as well because she had to have something of this place to take with her, and something of her life with Brian.  Oh, dear God, Brian...She raked a handful of jewelry from the box on the dresser, tasting blood because she was biting her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming.  There was no time, no time, she had to get Amanda away from here.

"Wait here," she told her daughter.

"No! Mama, please—"

"Shhhh! All right, Amanda, come with me—but you have to be quiet." Moments later, down the hall in her daughter's room, Christine fumbled for more clothing and thrust it into the bulging bag.  She helped the silent, trembling girl into dry clothing, faded jeans and a tee shirt.  "Shoes?"

Amanda found a pair of dirty sneakers and shoved her feet into them.  Her mother grasped her hand and led her from the room, both of them consciously tiptoeing.  Then, at the head of the stairs, Amanda suddenly let out a moan of anguish and tried to pull her hand free.  "Oh, I can't— "

"Shhhh," Christine warned urgently.  "Amanda—"

Even whispering, Amanda's voice held a desperate intensity.  "Mama, please, Mama, I have to get something—I can't leave it here, please, Mama—it'll only take a second—"

She had no idea what could be so precious to her daughter, but Christine wasn't about to drag her down the stairs in this state of wild agitation.  The child was already in shock, a breath away from absolute hysteria.  "All right, but hurry.  And be quiet."

As swift and silent as a shadow, Amanda darted back down the hallway and vanished into her bedroom.  She reappeared less than a minute later, shoving something into the front pocket of her jeans.  Christine didn't pause to find out what was so important that Amanda couldn't bear to leave it behind; she simply grabbed her daughter's free hand and continued down the stairs.

The grandfather clock on the landing whirred and bonged a moment before they reached it, announcing in sonorous tones that it was two A.M.  The sound was too familiar to startle either of them, and they hurried on without pause.  The front door was still open, as they'd left it, and Christine didn't bother to pull it shut behind them as they went through to the wide porch.

The wind had blown rain halfway over the porch to the door, and Amanda dimly heard her shoes squeak on the wet stone.  Then she ducked her head against the rain and stuck close to her mother as they raced for the car parked several yards away.  By the time she was sitting in the front seat watching her mother fumble with the keys, Amanda was soaked again, and shivering despite a temperature in the seventies.

The car's engine coughed to life, and its headlights stabbed through the darkness and sheeting rain to illuminate the gravelled driveway.  Amanda turned her head to the side as the car jolted toward the paved road, and she caught her breath when she saw a light bobbing far away between the house and the stables, as if someone was running with a flashlight.  Running toward the car that, even then, turned onto the paved road and picked up speed as it left the house behind.

Quickly, Amanda turned her gaze forward again, rubbing her cold hands together, swallowing hard as sickness rose in her aching throat.  "Mama? We can't come back, can we? We can't ever come back?"

The tears running down her ashen cheeks almost but not quite blinding her, Christine Daulton replied, "No, Amanda.  We can't ever come back."