already knew that.
Losing their son had taught them both the lesson.
The car fell silent as Wren navigated the deep curves. The darkness of the road made it difficult, and she drove slowly, easing around bends that Adam knew like the back of his hand. He knew the hilly areas, the blind entrances. He’d driven along this stretch of rural highway every day for nearly a decade. He hadn’t forgotten it. Sure, the forest seemed lusher, the trees taller. Everything else was the same. The glint of lake in the distance. The pinpricks of house lights through dense foliage. Not many people lived out this far. Those who did liked their privacy.
Charlotte stared out the front window, her hands resting on her thighs, her gaze focused.
“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.
She met his eyes, and he was caught in her gaze. Caught in that look of rebellion and pride that had drawn him to her when they were both outcast kids in a community that didn’t quite understand them.
“That the road looks a lot darker than it ever has before,” she responded.
They were nearing the crossroad that led to the cottage. She had to be remembering the way it had felt to see the truck, to hear Bethany scream.
He reached for her hand, the gesture more muscle-memory than planned. Her fingers curved through his, her palm as smooth and silky as he remembered.
He squeezed her hand gently, forced himself to release it.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, and she nodded.
“That’s the thing to say, right? When tragedy happens? How many times did we hear it after Daniel died?”
His entire body tensed, his blood seeming to freeze in his veins. He thought about Daniel plenty, but it had been years since he’d heard his name spoken aloud. Hearing it was like hearing the saddest melody ever written, reading the most heartbreaking ending of the most beautiful story ever penned.
“Too many,” he managed to say.
The crossroad was just ahead, and he made himself focus on that—on the stop sign still strung with caution tape, the abandoned orange cones that had closed off the road after the shooting.
Something darted out from the trees, a blur of fur and legs, zipping toward the Cadillac with so much speed Adam was certain they’d hit it.
Wren slammed on the brakes, and he put his arm up to keep Charlotte from flying forward. As if the seat belt wouldn’t hold her, as if it were somehow still his job to protect her.
The Cadillac skidded to the right, bumping a couple of sapling trees. Adam had his gun in hand before it stopped, his arm pressing Charlotte down and out of the line of fire.
He knew how quickly safety could turn to danger, and he knew how desperate the Night Stalker must be. The local papers had run the story. So had the Boston Globe, the Providence Journal and a half dozen other New England newspapers.
Guardian Angel Saves Tenth Victim of Notorious Night Stalker
Adam had seen that headline and a variation of it. The reporters might not have Charlotte’s name, but they were speculating that she was someone local to Whisper Lake.
How long would it take the Night Stalker to figure out who she was and where she lived?
Would he try?
That was the question Adam had been asking himself. It was one he knew the team had been discussing.
“Holster your firearms,” Wren said. “It was a dog.”
“A dog?” Charlotte pushed his arm away and straightened, peering out the window. “What dog?”
“It ran off into the woods.” Wren gestured to the left. “Probably someone’s pet got off the chain.”
“We can’t leave him. There are predators around here,” Charlotte said.
“Yeah,” River agreed. “And some of them are human and want you dead. How about we worry about that and let the owner find his own dog?”
“Or we could unroll the window and call to him,” Charlotte argued. “It’s not like we’d be out in the open. We’d just be sitting here exactly like we are. Only, we wouldn’t be abandoning someone’s pet to his fate.”
“Fine. I’ll give it two shouts. If he doesn’t come, we’re out of here.” Wren unrolled her window. “Fido! Come!” she shouted.
Leaves rustled. A twig snapped.
A dog appeared.
At least, Adam thought it was a dog. It looked more like a giant ball of curly red fur. Floppy ears. Bearded snout. Dark eyes.
“Clover!” Charlotte shouted, and then she was scrambling over him, opening the door, tumbling out onto the road.
He grabbed the back of her soft pink sweater, hauling her up and into the SUV. Not caring about the injury or the incision. Not caring if they ended up back in the hospital getting her stapled up again.
All he cared about was keeping her alive.
If the dog loping toward them was hers, someone had let it out. Someone who might be waiting for her to return, waiting for her to go looking for the dog she obviously loved. Waiting on the road with a gun in hand, ready to finish what he’d begun.
Adam wanted to believe the Night Stalker didn’t know Charlotte’s identity, but he wasn’t going to be foolish enough to ignore the possibility.
Wren obviously felt the same.
She shouted for River to jump out and get the dog, and then she was speeding toward the lake and the cottage and the memories Adam had tried so hard to forget.
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