he’d been prepared to deal with.
She’d been the practical one in their relationship, the one who thought of things like bears and bobcats, who’d built the chicken coop that now stood empty. She’d taught Matt how to camp, fish and even hunt. Not that they’d ever been successful at any of those things. Matt’s idea of camping was staying in a hotel near hiking trails, and his vision of hunting had never included actually shooting anything.
She smiled at the memories, touching the bear spray she kept in her coat pocket. Better safe than sorry. It was cold for early November, the temperature well below freezing, ice coating the grass and trees. It took five long strides to cross the front yard, the wind snatching her breath and chilling her cheeks. Across the street, Larry McDermott’s house stood shadowy and dark. Shrouded by overgrown trees and a hedge that had probably been planted in the 1950s, it was a Gothic monstrosity that looked as worn and mean as its seventy-year-old owner.
Not mean, she could almost hear Matt whisper. Lonely.
Maybe. In the years since Matt’s and Joseph’s deaths, Raina had tried to be kind to her neighbor. For Matt’s sake, she’d baked him bread, invited him for Thanksgiving and Christmas. She’d shoveled his driveway after snowstorms and checked in on him when she hadn’t seen him for a few days. No matter what she did, he never seemed to warm up to her.
She walked to the edge of his property and made her way along his driveway. Her flashlight beam bounced over cracks in the pavement and illuminated the three stairs that led to Larry’s front door. She jiggled the doorknob, knocked twice, wondering if Larry would hear if he were asleep. Her fingers were freezing, but she wanted to check the back door, too. She swept the flashlight across the front yard, her pulse jumping as it passed over what looked like footprints in the icy grass. Instead of thick ice, a thin layer of slush coated the grass there. She scanned the area, found another set of prints near the edge of the house.
“Larry!” she screamed, her voice carried away by the wind. “Larry! Are you out here?” She rounded the side of the house, following the footprints to a gate that banged against the fence with every gust of wind.
“Larry!” She tried one last time, her flashlight tracking footprints to the edge of the woods that separated Larry’s yard from the church his grandfather had pastored. The church Matt had pastored for five years before his death. Their home away from home. The only church Joseph had ever known. She knew the path that cut through the woods so well she wouldn’t have needed her flashlight to follow it. She used it anyway, making sure that the footprints didn’t veer off into the woods.
Larry couldn’t be too far ahead.
If it was Larry.
She glanced back, could see nothing but white-crusted trees.
She walked another half mile. She’d reach the church parking lot soon, and then what would she do? The place was closed for the night. She was already near frozen. She’d be all the way frozen by the time she walked to the church.
This was a stupid idea. A colossally stupid one. She needed to go back to the house and call the police. If Larry was out in the cold, they’d find him. The problem was, she couldn’t stand the thought of her crotchety old neighbor freezing to death while she cowered in her house. She couldn’t stomach the idea of one more person dying because she hadn’t been able to offer the help he needed.
“Larry!” she shrieked, her words seeming to echo through the woods. The trees grew sparser as she neared the church, and she flashed her lights toward the end of the trail, hoping to catch sight of the older man. Suddenly, a figure stepped out from behind a tree. Not stooped and old like Larry. Tall and lean. Her light flashed on thick ski pants. It glanced off a heavy black parka, landed straight on a black ski mask and glittering eyes that could have been any color.
“Who are you?” she said, her voice wobbling. “What are you doing out here?”
“Go home!” he hissed, pulling something from his pocket.
No. Not something. A handgun. He lifted it, pointed it straight at her head.
“Go!” he repeated, shifting the barrel a fraction of an inch and pulling the trigger.
The night exploded, a bullet whizzing past her head and slamming into a tree. She dodged to the left, dashing into trees as another bullet slammed into the ground behind her.
She tumbled down a small hill, pushed through a thicket. Behind her, branches cracked and feet slapped against frozen earth. He was following her!
She didn’t know where she was, where she was heading. She knew only that she had to run. If she didn’t, the death she’d avoided in Africa was going to find her.
* * *
“This wasn’t one of your better ideas, Stel,” Jackson Miller muttered as he maneuvered the SUV along an icy dirt road that led to Raina Lowery’s house.
“Shh!” Stella responded. “You’re going to wake the kid.”
“Avoiding the comment doesn’t negate it,” he replied without lowering his voice. “Besides, Samuel slept through your rendition of ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads.’ I think he can probably sleep through anything.”
“You could be right. My mom once told me that my voice could wake the dead.”
“Did she also tell you that driving down icy country roads in the middle of the night could turn you into one of the dead?”
Stella laughed. “My mother was all about the thrill. She would have loved this, and you would have loved her. She was crazier than I am.”
He doubted it. Stella had a reputation at HEART—hard-core, tough, determined and absolutely fearless. A former army nurse, she handled stress well, and in the four years he’d known her, she’d never caved under pressure. “Most of the time, I like your kind of crazy, Stella, but the next time you want to go for a country ride in the middle of an ice storm, call my brother.”
The silence that ensued told Jackson everything he needed to know. Stella and Chance hadn’t worked things out.
He hadn’t expected them to. They were both as stubborn as mules. The fact that they’d dated at all still surprised him. The fact that his brother, a consummate bachelor, had bought an engagement ring had shocked him. Stella and Chance’s breakup four weeks ago? Not surprising at all.
“I didn’t call you,” Stella finally said. “I stopped by your place. I wouldn’t have done that if Samuel hadn’t had to use the bathroom.”
“Sure. Go ahead and blame it on the kid who’s asleep in the backseat,” he responded, and Stella laughed again.
“Okay. So I didn’t want to come all the way out to Podunk Town alone. Country roads are creepy.”
“You’ve been to some of the most dangerous cities in the world, and you think this is creepy?”
“Every ghost story I’ve ever heard has taken place on a country r—”
Someone darted out of the woods, and Jackson slammed on the brakes. The tires lost traction, and the SUV spun. Jackson managed to turn into the spin, get the vehicle back under control. It coasted to a stop an inch from a giant oak tree.
“What
