Hidden Hearts Read Online Free PDF Page A

freeway . She punched a button and the Droid indicated it was rerouting her again.
    “Continue east on Colter Drive,” the voice said. She looked around. She was on Colter Drive, and it was impossible to head east. “Continue east on Colter Drive,” it repeated.
    “I can’t!” she yelled. “There’s a damn wall right in front of me!”
    She threw the phone on the passenger seat and decided to travel the old-fashioned way—with her common sense. She found a bridge that crossed the freeway and entered a quaint subdivision of post-World War II ranch houses with enormous eucalyptus and pine trees lining the streets and providing ample shade. 
    She pulled in front of a row of orange trees that formed a lovely natural fence. Two brick columns stood side by side, each supporting one-half of a black wrought-iron gate. A long brick walkway led to a unique two-story colonial that looked nothing like the rest of the neighborhood tract housing. 
    She pulled her briefcase onto her lap and coated her dry throat with a swig from her water bottle. This was her first meeting with an adversary—alone. She hated confrontation, and she’d called Blanca into three difficult meetings to help smooth the waters when she felt she was drowning. Even at twenty-seven, she still felt like a child playing dress-up. Her law degree had done little for her confidence.
    She reapplied her lipstick and ran a brush through her auburn hair. At least she looked the part. She checked her briefcase and headed through the gate. It squeaked horribly, and she wondered if it had been opened in the last decade. An orange cat darted in front of her and she jumped off the path, her Kenneth Cole pumps landing in the soft grass.
    “Shit,” she said, noticing the heels of both shoes caked in mud.
    She took a deep breath and circled around a plastic birdbath, wrinkled and parched from lack of use. A stone wraparound porch shaded the expansive windows that stared toward the street, and a white chimney peeked over the back of the house. An old swing rested in the far corner of the porch, and a claw-foot bathtub served as a flower planter next to the front door, absorbing as much sunlight as possible.
    She pressed the bell several times, but no one answered.
    Not surprising. This is why you’re here. Because no one will return your calls.
    She rang once more and decided to follow a fork in the path to the south. It arced away from the house, and she found herself sandwiched between colorful foliage and a row of orange trees that ended at an expansive patio and inviting crystal blue swimming pool. The backside of the house boasted twice as many windows, suggesting at least three or four bedrooms on the second floor that sat above a sun porch that provided a lovely view of the pool.
    She knocked on the back door but still received no welcome. To return to the office without the required handwriting sample would be a career defeat, one that would count against her. Formulating a new game plan, she tapped her foot nervously.
    The plush green yard extended past the pool. There was no fence, only trees, bushes and tall hedges that split at a southern point, providing a clear entry and exit into the backyard. She slipped through the opening and found herself standing in a large expanse of grass facing four cottages that curved around the border. She realized that the cottages and the large brick house formed a circle.
    At the center were two palm trees, their trunks angled outward in a V-shape, a hammock secured between them. Redwood deck chairs, a chaise lounge and a free-standing swing surrounded a long concrete prism, the sides covered in bright mosaic tiles that formed hearts, suns, dog faces, flowers and words. I choose was spelled out in royal blue, red, green and yellowin several places. She assumed it was an art piece, until she stood close enough to see the granite slab top with an embedded backgammon board. 
    She turned a full three-hundred and sixty degrees,