DARK RIVER LEGACY
 
 by
 B. J. HOFF
 
 
 
 Volume I of Two Volumes
 Pages i-viii and 1-130
 
 
 
 
 Published by: Tyndale House Publishers,
 Inc., WHEATON, ILLINOIS. Further
 reproduction or distribution in other than a
 specialized format is prohibited.
 
 
 
 
 Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,
 National Library Service for the Blind and
 Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,
 Inc., 1998.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 This braille edition contains the entire text of the
 print edition.
 
 Copyright 1990 by B. J. Hoff.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 iii
 BOOK JACKET INFORMATION
 
 DAYBREAK MYSTERIES
 5                                                              2
 
 B.J. Hoff, one of the most respected
 authors in inspirational fiction, presents the
 Daybreak Mysteries, five contemporary
 novels of romance and suspense that will keep you on
 the edge of your seat throughout the entire series.
 
 __A successful but lonely young mystery
 _writer ...
 Gwynevere ("Freddi") Leigh
 returns to her hometown of Derry Ridge,
 Kentucky, in search of a peace that all her fame
 and success couldn't provide.
 
 __A struggling college _professor ...
 Mitch Donovan is badly shaken by the
 return of his first--and only--love ... and even
 more troubled by the unexplained presence of a forbidding
 stranger on what was once a peaceful, rural
 campus.
 
 The Daybreak Mysteries feature the
 husband-and-wife team of Daniel and Jennifer
 Kaine. Each book finds these two reluctant
 sleuths in the thick of sinister plots and
 dangerous mysteries that challenge both their love
 ... and their faith.
 
 B.J. Hoff, often referred to as "the
 Storyteller" by many of her readers, is a Gold
 Medallion Award finalist as well as the
 recipient of _Christianity _Today's
 Critic's Choice Book Award for Fiction
 and numerous Excellence in Media Silver
 Angel Awards. In addition to her best-selling
 historical series, An Emerald Ballad
 and the St. Claire Trilogy, she is the author
 of _The _Penny _Whistle and the popular
 devotional works _Thorns _and _Thrones and
 __Faces in the _Crowd. B.J. and her
 husband, Jim, are the parents of two daughters
 and live in Ohio.
 
 FictionstRomantic Suspense
 _Moving FICTION
 v
 __What readers are saying about the Daybreak
 _Mysteries:
 
 "_Storm _at _Daybreak helped me through a
 broken romance. ... I've read the book at
 least four times and had my faith re-anchored each
 time."
                                                                3
 "I've discovered gold when I came upon your
 books--indeed a rare treasure!"
 
 "Today I finished your book _Vow _of
 _Silence. I picked it up two days ago and
 haven't been able to put it down."
 
 "I have read hundreds of Christian novels.
 ... I want to tell you that yours surpasses them
 all."
 
 "As a church librarian, I want to tell you
 how well received your books are to our people ... and
 at many other church libraries."
 
 "We all agree you are tops in fiction, and
 we anxiously await any new books coming on
 the market."
 
 __What the media is saying about the Daybreak
 _Mysteries:
 
 "Dramatic Christian fiction at its best
 ..."
 _Christian _Retailing
 
 "... a fast-moving, spine-chilling story that
 weaves the Christian message throughout its
 pages."
 _Librarian's _World
 
 "Christianity right at the grass roots, in
 your lives, where you live ..."
 WCRH FM, Williamsport, Md.
 
 "Hoff is an excellent storyteller who
 spins a tale that can be enjoyed by men, women, and
 younger readers alike."
 _The _Bookshelf
 
 
 vii
 Collect all the titles
 in the Daybreak Mysteries
 series by B. J. Hoff
 
 Nodd1 STORM AT DAYBREAK
 Nodd2 THE CAPTIVE VOICE
 Nodd3 THE TANGLED WEB
 Noddbled VOW OF SILENCE
 Nodd5 DARK RIVER LEGACY
 
 
                                                                4
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 __When yesterday's bright dreams
 dissolve to dust
 and quickly scatter,
 the Lord of Love comes near
 to offer better things ...
 When everything in which
 we've placed our trust
 begins to crumble,
 there's One who never fails--
 the King of _Kings ...
 B.J. Hoff
 from __Banners of His _Love
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 DARK RIVER LEGACY 1
 
 PROLOGUE
 
 Derry Ridge, Kentucky
 Last week of May
 An immense column of a man moved
 steadily, almost woodenly, up the hillside. His
 black clothing rendered him nearly invisible in the
 darkness. Even his white hair was concealed,
 except for the burred sides, by a black
 shooter's cap. His thick-pillared legs carried
 him rapidly, spanning several f tapwith each
 pace. On a sling he carried an AK-47
 rifle, and a 9mm Beretta with a silencer on a
 belt slide. Concealed in an ankle rig was a
 .38 Bulldog. A pair of                                         5
 Israeli-designed infrared goggles dangled
 from a neck strap, tapping his massive chest as
 he climbed.
 The small white cabin just up the hill was dark
 except for a dim glow, which he assumed to be a
 night-light, seeping from a rear window. It came
 on every night a little after eleven, a moment after all
 the other inside lights went dark. At the same
 time, the outside security light mounted on a
 pole to the left of the cabin would go on, beaming a
 pinkish gold spray across part of the side and most
 of the front yard.
 He had been watching the cabin for four nights,
 and the routine hadn't varied more than a few minutes
 one way or the other.
 The old lady might be crazy, but she was
 predictable.
 It was a sultry night, sticky with
 late-spring humidity and sweet with the scent of
 wildflowers. He slapped automatically at a
 prickle on his heavily muscled upper arm; the
 bugs had been after him since sunset, and he
 wished he had worn a long-sleeved shirt,
 regardless of the heat.
 The man climbed a few more feet, then
 stopped. With one hand on the stock of the rifle and the
 other splayed at his waist, he stood watching.
 The cabin had the look of a little girl's
 playhouse. A neat flagainstone walk traced the
 path to the front steps. Frilly curtains
 trimmed the small, square windows, and a calico
 wreath hung on the door. The front edge of the
 porch was lined with a variety of flowering potted
 plants. 3
 His mind replayed his orders: __Isolate
 her; question her; terminate _her. If she appeared
 to be even halfway rational--if there was a chance,
 no matter how slight, that she might have spilled
 anything about the _Lady _A--he was also
 to eliminate her entire circle of
 acquaintances. They couldn't afford the risk that the
 old ditz might have talked or, if she hadn't
 yet remembered, might do so at some point in the
 future.
 From what he had seen so far, she wasn't
 tight with anyone except the teacher who lived down
 the hill, and he'd be easy enough to settle. He
 seemed to spend most of his time roaming the woods
 or talking with the college kids along the
 riverbank.
 Just to be safe, he would watch another two or
 three days before making his move. Not so much to nail
 down her routine--he knew it pretty well
 by now--but to make certain there was no one else in           6
 her life, someone he might have missed. Someone
 she might have talked to.
 In the meantime, he would take care of the
 security light, to make things easier when he was
 ready. Removing the silenced Beretta from his
 belt, the man aimed, fired once, and waited.
 The light popped with the first shot, and after a couple
 of seconds, he replaced the automatic in the
 slide and started back down the hill.
 Without a backward glance, he retraced the
 route he had followed on the way up, veering right
 after a few yards to start around the ridge. He
 continued to walk until he reached an abandoned
 storage shed and a black van, both nearly
 obscured by a dense cover of trees.
 
 Abby woke up slowly, blinking as her eyes
 attempted to focus. The room was quiet
 except for Peaches' soft purring at the foot
 of the bed and the rhythmic ticking of the alarm clock
 on the night table. She had left the window air
 conditioner turned on, but it wasn't running.
 For several minutes she lay unmoving. The
 darkness of the bedroom was relieved only by the faint
 glow of a night-light plugged into the wall outlet.
 Beyond the open doorway, the hall was dark.
 She pushed herself up on one arm, grimacing at
 the dull ache in her lower back as she moved.
 Reaching for her glasses with fingers stiff from sleep
 and arthritis, she put them on and squinted 5
 at the clock's luminescent hands.
 Almost midnight.
 What had awakened her? It wasn't unusual
 for her to wake up several times during the night, of
 course. She had never been a sound sleeper.
 At least she didn't think she had been. She
 couldn't remember the Time-before-the-Hospital, but
 since she'd come to the mountain, she was often restless
 at night.
 Sometimes she dreamed--dark, cavernous dreams
 that wound through endless tunnels and shadowed chambers.
 Often she awoke frightened and bewildered, her heart
 pounding with an urgency to remember ... something.
 But the dreams would fade after she had been
 awake for a while, and along with them any trace of
 vague uneasiness.
 She sighed, and the small cat sleeping at her
 feet stirred and yawned but didn't get up.
 After another moment, she lifted a hand
 to remove her glasses, then stopped. A cold
 finger of apprehension touched the nape of her neck.
 Something was wrong.
 The faint golden rays from the security light
 usually filtered through the curtains, but now there was       7
 only a thick, inky darkness.
 Flipping back the sheet, she pushed herself up,
 sitting on the side of the bed until the pain in her
 back ebbed. Then she got up and went to the window,
 lifted one corner of the ruffled yellow curtain,
 and peered outside.
 Nothing. She pulled the curtain back a little
 more but could still see only thick, obscure shadows.
 The security light was out.
 It had been on when she went to bed, she was almost
 certain.
 At a soft, questioning meow from Peaches, Abby
 turned back toward the bed. The small,
 orange-spotted cat stood up, stretched, then
 stared at her owner.
 "Our outside light is burned out,
 Peaches," she said to the cat. "I suppose that
 doesn't bother you at all, though. You could see
 just fine out there, with or without the light, couldn't you?
 But I don't believe I care for it very much.
 Tomorrow we'll ask Mitch if he'll replace it
 for us. I'm sure he will, he--was
 Abby jumped when the air conditioner suddenly
 switched on and churned to life, then shook her
 head at her own foolishness.
 "My, I'm as nervous as a cat-- 7
 excuse me, Peaches--jumping at every noise.
 There's nothing to be afraid of up here, is there,
 no matter how dark it is?"
 She glanced out the window once more, then laid
 her glasses on the night table and went back
 to bed.
 At her feet, Peaches padded around in a
 circle a couple of times before settling back
 into the nest she'd made earlier. After washing her
 face with her front paws, she cuddled up in a
 ball and closed her eyes.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ONE
 
 Jennifer thought Derry Ridge, Kentucky,
 must be about as far removed from life in the fast             8
 lane as an Amish farm would be from Times
 Square. It was a setting that invited contentment, a
 place that enticed you to relax a little and dream a
 lot.
 The hillside across the river from the campus was
 a deep, lush green, the May woods spotted
 with pink dogwoods and yellow forsythia. The air
 was spiced with the rich smells of things blooming and
 growing in fertile soil. Even the sounds around her
 hinted of new beginnings and fresh hope. Birds
 sang and honeybees buzzed, and in the background
 was the ever present harmony of the Derry River,
 running clean and strong and constant.
 Jennifer yawned and turned to look at her
 drowsy husband. Daniel's eyes were closed, his
 chin lifted toward the early afternoon sun. A soft
 golden haze and flickering shadows dappled the
 strong lines of his face. Sunny, his guide
 dog, lay peacefully at her master's feet,
 her paws nestled snugly under her chin. Jennifer
 smiled.
 "It's incredibly beautiful here, 9
 Daniel."
 "Mm-him."
 "I wish you could see it, especially the
 colors. They're--was Jennifer searched for a
 description he could visualize clearly.
 "Easter egg colors."
 One eyebrow quirked a little. "Mm."
 __Half-asleep, just as she'd _suspected.
 "I think this must be what the British Isles
 look like in the spring. No wonder Mitcth Ces
 on so about his home state."
 Daniel nodded.
 "You know, he isn't quite what I expected."
 Daniel slouched against the picnic bench,
 stretching his long legs even farther out in front of
 him. "How's that?" It was a halfhearted question.
 "Oh, I don't know. I think I was
 expecting him to be more--was Jennifer stopped
 to think. "More _intellectual. You know, bookish.
 Maybe a little forgetful."
 With obvious reluctance, Daniel sat up,
 ran a hand over the back of his neck, then
 slipped his arm around her shoulder. "The
 absentminded professor stereotype?"
 "Yes, I suppose so. He's certainly
 proved me wrong."
 Again Jennifer scanned their surroundings. Across
 the grounds to her right, the chapel clock struck
 two, but the sound was muffled by a large group of
 boisterous young people making their way from the student
 center to the parking lot.
 "He seems awfully _tense, don't you                            9
 think?" she said, her thoughts returning to Mitch
 Donovan.
 "Maybe a little." Daniel paused. "He
 did walk the floor most of last night."
 Jennifer turned to look at him. "If you
 heard him walking the floor, then you must not have
 slept well either."
 He shrugged, brushing a fly away from his arm.
 "I never get much sleep the first night away from
 home."
 Abruptly, Jennifer sat up. "You don't
 suppose there's something wrong, do you? Maybe we
 should have stayed at the Lodge after all."
 Daniel shook his head. "Mitch wouldn't have
 it. Ever since we agreed to do the workshop, he's
 insisted that we stay with him. I imagine he's just
 keyed up about this festival. Coordinating the
 whole thing has to be a lot of work." 11
 "I hope that's all it is." Jennifer rested
 her head on Daniel's shoulder. "He seems
 awfully nice. And kind. I think he's a very
 kind man." She glanced up at him. "I
 wonder why he's not married yet."
 Daniel shook his head, grinning. "You have a
 real problem with the idea of a man over thirty
 who's still single, don't uce  darlin'?"
 "Most men are married by the time they're thirty,
 Daniel," she reminded him archly.
 "I wasn't."
 "That's different. You were waiting for me."
 "Smartest decision I ever made, too," he
 said agreeably.
 "Mm. Well, maybe he's engaged," she
 said, distracted by her study of Daniel's
 profile.
 "Mitch? I don't think so. He's never
 mentioned anyone special, and the way I go on about
 you, I imagine he'd say something if he had a
 lady in his life."
 Jennifer smiled to herself, pleased at the thought of
 her husband "going on about her." "Odd. He's
 so nice, I would have thought--was
 She stopped when she saw the subject of their
 conversation walking across the lawn toward them. "Here
 he comes now."
 Mitch Donovan crossed the grounds with an
 easy, ambling stride. Still, Jennifer sensed the
 same undercurrent of tension hovering about him that she
 had felt at their first meeting the day before.
 A tall, rangy man in his early thirties,
 he approached with his head down, his shoulders
 hunched slightly forward as if burdened by an
 invisible weight. His curly, dark copper hair
 had trapped a spray of sunshine and appeared                  10
 to be shot with gold dust--a fiery, glistening
 contrast to his much darker beard.
 Daniel had met the professor from
 Kentucky at a youth rally in Clarksburg,
 West Virginia, two years earlier. Their
 mutual interest in music, particularly
 Appalachian folk and contemporary Christian,
 had launched a long-distance friendship.
 As the director of the Kentucky Heritage
 Department, Mitch coordinated an annual
 Heritage Arts Festival. Each year the
 week-long event focused on a different kind of
 music, offering workshops and concerts by various
 artists. This year, contemporary 13
 Christian music was to be featured, and Mitch
 had invited the Kaines to lead one of the workshops.
 The likelihood that her own invitation was merely
 a courtesy didn't bother Jennifer in the least.
 She simply applauded Mitch's good sense for
 recognizing the contribution Daniel would make
 to the festival. A gifted composer in his own right,
 Daniel had begun to gain widespread attention.
 _Daybreak, a musical drama he had written
 after being blinded, had met with astonishing success;
 its title song was still frequently recorded
 by artists in the contemporary Christian music
 industry. More recently, the popular
 husband-and-wife team of Paul Alexander and
 Vali Tremayne had recorded a number of
 Daniel's songs on their albums, all of which
 shot to the top of the charts as soon as they were
 released.
 Now that they were here, Jennifer was more enthusiastic
 than ever about the week ahead. The workshops should be
 fun, and she was excited about the prospect of
 meeting some of the celebrities who would be in
 attendance. Lifestream, one of the most popular
 singing groups in Christian music--and a
 favorite of Daniel's--was to give a concert
 on Friday.
 But she was far more excited about another guest,
 one who had nothing to do with music. The brochure
 Mitch had mailed them had featured an
 announcement that the internationally acclaimed
 novelist, Gwynevere Leigh--America's
 First Lady of Mystery--would be returning to her
 hometown to lead a creative writing workshop
 during the festival.
 Jennifer was determined to meet the young author
 who had stunned the publishing world with two
 best-selling novels before she graduated from
 college. She had packed her brand-new copy
 of Leigh's most recent book with the hope of
 having it autographed.                                        11
 All things considered, the week promised to be
 one to remember.
 "All things considered," Mitch announced without
 preamble as he came to stand in front of them, "this
 week promises to be a real challenge." His
 tone was grim, his expression strained.
 "Something wrong?" Daniel asked.
 Mitch glanced back over his shoulder at the
 river, at the same time jingling a ring of keys in
 one hand. 15
 "I was counting on having all the concerts and most
 of the workshops outdoors," he explained, turning
 back to them. "Our auditorium is too small
 for the concerts, and last year some of the workshops were
standing
 room only, too. But I just heard the weather
 forecast for the week."
 "Bad?" Daniel stretched, then got to his
 feet.
 "Miserable. Rain most of the week. _Heavy
 rain. Starting tomorrow."
 Daniel slipped his hands into his pockets.
 "Maybe it'll change directions."
 "Let's hope."
 "We'll help any way we can," Jennifer
 offered. "Just let us know what we can do." She
 hesitated, uncertain as to whether this was the right time,
 yet too eager to wait. "Mitch, could I ask
 _you a favor for sometime this week?"
 Mitch pocketed the keys. "I'll surely
 try," he said, smiling. "What do you need?"
 "Well ... I'm a big fan of
 Gwynevere Leigh," Jennifer explained. "I
 was wondering if you could arrange for me to meet her,
 at least long enough to get her autograph. I
 couldn't believe it when I saw that she's going
 to be here this week--and that she used to _live here!
 Did you know her?"
 As Jennifer watched, his smile faded. The
 lean angles of his face seemed to sharpen even more,
 and the glint of amusement disappeared from his eyes.
 He delayed his answer just long enough to make
 Jennifer wonder if she shouldn't have asked.
 Finally, his expression cleared. "I ... used
 to know her, yes. Well enough to get you an
 autograph, anyway."
 "Wonderful!"
 Avoiding her gaze, Mitch changed the
 subject. "We'd better get the two of you
 acquainted with the campus while the weather's still good.
 Feel like taking a walk?" Without waiting for a
 reply, he put a hand on Daniel's shoulder.
 "Why don't we start with Johnson Hall?
 That's where your workshop will be if it rains."              12
 During the next hour, Mitch took them on a
 tour of the campus. He was an enthusiastic
 guide; his love for the college and the town of
 Derry Ridge was unmistakable. Jennifer
 noted that his relationship with other faculty members
 and students seemed to be one of mutual respect
 and liking. A quick, natural friendliness was 17
 apparent between Mitch and everyone they met as they
 crossed the campus.
 "Let's head toward the cafeteria," he
 suggested as they left the language arts
 building. "I could do with a cup of coffee."
 "I'm surprised at how many students are on
 campus this time of year," Jennifer said, stopping
 at the edge of a curb. "The semester's over,
 isn't it?"
 Mitch nodded, then quickly replied, "It is,
 but most of the students either stay on campus or come
 back for the festival. It's become a kind of
 tradition." He watched as Sunny led
 Daniel around a loose chunk of concrete.
 "Take a right after we get across the parking lot,
 Dan. Does Sunny handle crowds all right,
 by the way? It's likely to be pretty crazy
 by tomorrow."
 "She'll be fine," Daniel replied,
 stepping up onto the sidewalk and turning right, as
 Mitch had directed. "Seeing Eye dogs get
 plenty of training in crowd control before they
 graduate. Sunny's a people dog."
 "She's a beauty, too," Mitch observed,
 smiling at the retriever.
 "She makes a big difference in my life,"
 Daniel acknowledged. He paused a beat, then
 grinned. "Just like my other lady."
 "Nice of you to include me," Jennifer said
 dryly.
 Unexpectedly, Mitch stopped. "Well
 now, here comes the special lady in _my life,"
 he said, smiling and lifting a hand in greeting.
 Pleased by the revelation that there was a woman in
 Mitch's life after all, Jennifer turned
 to look. It took her a moment to realize that the
 subject of Mitch's attention was the
 diminutive, round-faced woman who was hurrying
 toward them.
 "Mitch! Oh, I'm so glad I finally found
 you!" The small, plump woman, who looked
 to be in her early sixties, was clearly
 agitated. Her words tumbled out in a rush as she
 stood clenching and unclenching her hands at her
 waist.
 "They told me you were in the chapel, but you
 weren't." She tilted her head in order to look                13
 up at Mitch.
 He stooped slightly, smiling down at her.
 "What's the matter, Abby? Peaches 19
 didn't run off again, did she?"
 "Peaches?" The woman looked at him.
 "Oh, no. No, Peaches is at home,
 Mitch. I was afraid to let her out this morning."
 Mitch frowned. "Why would you be afraid to let
 Peaches out?"
 "Because of what happened last night. I was
 afraid she might get hurt."
 Mitch's frown deepened. "Last night?
 What happened last night?"
 Abby visibly relaxed the moment Mitch
 took her hand.
 "That's what I'm trying to tell you. That's why
 I didn't come to church this morning. Did you
 look for me?"
 "I did, yes, but by the time I went
 downstairs with the choir and got out of my robe, I
 figured you'd already left. Now, what's this about
 last night? What happened?"
 "I don't like it, Mitch! I don't like it
 at all. It was probably one of those vandals you
 told me about, playing a trick on me, but it
 made me nervous."
 Mitch's gaze roamed over the woman's
 tousled, gray-blonde hair, then scanned the
 circle of her face. A pretty face,
 Jennifer noted, wide-eyed and sweet despite
 the inexpertly applied makeup. It was the kind of
 face you would instinctively trust, she thought, with
 features reminiscent of a favorite grandmother or
 aunt. Again, she wondered about Abby's place in
 Mitch Donovan's life.
 "Abby, tell me what happened." Mitch's
 voice was kind, his affection for the woman
 impossible to miss.
 "The security light outside the cabin,
 Mitch--it's completely shattered. I think
 somebody shot it out."
 "Shot it out?" Mitch's good-natured
 expression turned hard. "When?"
 "Last night," Abby said with obvious
 impatience. "Didn't I just tell you that, dear?
 Will you fix it for me?"
 After a couple of seconds, he nodded
 distractedly. "Sure, I'll fix it," he
 answered, still holding her hand. "Abby, do you have
 any idea what time that might have been? Did you
 see anyone?"
 Calmer now, Abby shook her head. "No,
 I woke up a little before midnight, and when 21
 I looked out there wasn't a bit of light. The                 14
 only thing I found this morning was a lot of glass
 around the bottom of the pole."
 She paused, darting an almost apologetic
 glance toward Jennifer and Daniel before going on
 in a quieter tone of voice. "It's awfully
 dark outside without the light, Mitch. Do you think
 you could fix it soon?"
 Mitch hesitated. "I don't think I can do
 it before tomorrow, Abby."
 Her face crumpled.
 "It's Sunday, sweetheart," Mitch
 reminded her gently. "I doubt that I can find a
 replacement today." He paused. "Tell you
 what, I have a floodlight we can hook up this
 evening, until I can fix the pole lamp. That
 should do almost as well. All right?"
 Abby's relief was evident. "I knew you'd
 think of something, Mitch," she said, reaching up
 to pat his bearded face with a chubby hand. "You always
 do."
 Mitch grinned down at her. "Come over here;
 I want you to meet some friends. Remember, I
 told you about Daniel and Jennifer, that they'd be
 staying with me this week?"
 Abby already seemed to know a great deal about the
 Kaines. "But where's your little boy?" she asked
 abruptly after the introductions had been made.
 "Didn't he come too?"
 Abby's face fell when Jennifer explained
 that Jason was staying with Daniel's family for the
 week. "Oh, dear, and I made _cookies for
 him. Chocolate chip and peanut butter and
 pineapple crunch and ... oh, well ..."
 Moving in a little closer, Daniel flashed a
 smile in Abby's direction. "In Jason's
 absence, Abby, I'd be happy to take those
 cookies off your hands."
 She beamed up at him. "Well now, you can have
 just as many as you want, Daniel. I've made
 hundreds this week, for the fellowship time after the
 concerts. And for Mitch, too, of course."
 Pausing only for a split second, Abby
 turned to Jennifer. "Aren't you terribly proud
 of your husband, dear? I have a tape of
 _Daybreak and a Vali Tremayne tape with some
 of Daniel's songs on it. He writes such
 beautiful music, doesn't he? I listen
 to music all the time, and I simply love
 Daniel's." 23
 She caught another quick breath before rushing on.
 "Mitch promised to bring you to visit this week.
 My cabin is just up the hill from his. Mitch and
 some of the young people fixed it up for me, painted it
 inside and out--it's just like new. He's                      15
 wonderfully handy," she added in a soft,
 conspiratorial tone, "for a musician."
 Jennifer pressed Daniel's arm and saw him
 grin in response. Mitch's Abby was an
 absolute delight.
 "Well, dear," the woman said, turning back
 to Mitch, "I have to run. Mrs. Snider is
 waiting for me in the cafeteria."
 "You're working this afternoon?" Mitch asked. "You
 weren't in there at lunchtime, were you?"
 "No, no, I just came down to help get the
 macaroni salad and baked beans ready for tomorrow, so
 we don't have to do it later. I want to hear your
 choir tonight."
 Mitch reassured her one more time that he would
 take care of an outside light for her by evening,
 and Abby bustled off, all signs of her earlier
 anxiety gone.
 "She's _wonderful!" Jennifer told him,
 watching Abby bounce down the concrete walk.
 "Are the two of you related?"
 Still smiling, Mitch shook his head. "No, no
 relation. We just kind of--adopted each other. As
 a matter of fact, nobody really knows who
 Abby is. Or where she came from."
 Curious, Jennifer kept her hand on
 Daniel's arm as they started to walk toward the
 sprawling brick student center. "She's not from
 here then?"
 "No," Mitch replied. "Abby started showing
 up on campus every day several months ago.
 She'd walk around the grounds and talk to the
 students. Sometimes she'd slip into the back of the
 chapel for worship but then leave as soon as it was
 over. One of the counselors found out she was living
 like a bag lady in an equipment shed up on the
 hill behind the girls' dorms. Eventually, the
 senior class and some of the faculty took her under
 their wings and fixed up an abandoned cabin for her,
 just up the ridge from my place. She's been
 living there ever since."
 "You have no idea where she's from?" asked
 Daniel.
 Mitch shook his head. "Not a clue. We
 don't even know her last name. _She 25
 doesn't know it."
 The image of Abby's sweetly attractive
 face with its guileless smile nagged at
 Jennifer. What could possibly have forced a
 woman like that into such destitute circumstances?
 "Amnesia?" Daniel asked, as if reading
 Jennifer's thoughts.
 Mitch hesitated, then nodded. "So it would
 seem. Although she does remember a few things.                16
 She told us that she came here on a bus. She
 remembered being in a hospital, but she doesn't
 know where it was. She seems to recall things about
 a certain room, a room with light blue walls
 and a painting of a dove."
 Daniel stopped walking, bringing Jennifer up
 short with him. "Did you try to trace her
 background?"
 Mitch shrugged. "The local police
 supposedly made inquiries, but our police
 department isn't really equipped to do much more than
 direct traffic and round up Saturday night
 drunks."
 "What about this business with her yard light?"
 "We've had a lot of vandalism around town
 for the past year or so. Most of it from teenagers,
 I'm afraid. Our dropout rate is high
 all over the county--a lot of kids are getting
 into trouble just because they don't have anything else to do.
 I'll call the police about it, but I doubt if
 they'll be much help."
 "You said Abby remembered something about a
 hospital." Daniel's curiosity was
 obviously piqued. "Had Abby been ill, do you
 think?"
 "She seemed perfectly all right to me,"
 Mitch replied. "Oh, some of the people in town think
 she's a little odd, but she's not, really. She's
 ... flighty, maybe, and she forgets things. But
 the administration gave her a job in the
 cafeteria, and she was practically running the
 place within two weeks. She can actually be very
 efficient. It seems to me that the only thing wrong
 with Abby is that she's obviously had some rough
 breaks in her life."
 Jennifer studied Mitch's profile as he and
 Daniel talked. He had a good face, she
 decided. A kind and sensitive, gentle face.
 She felt instinctively that Mitch Donovan was
 a good man.
 __But not an altogether happy _man. In 27
 spite of the laugh lines that creased the corners of
 those deep-set, golden brown eyes, his gaze was
 vulnerable--and not entirely trusting.
 "The one thing we _do know for certain about Abby,"
 Mitch was saying, "is that she's a Christian.
 She had a small Bible with her, and she's well
 acquainted with its contents." A soft smile
 crossed his face. "She may not know where she
 came from, but she knows exactly where she's going.
 One of the Bible professors here has a saying that
 I think relates extremely well to Abby:
 `You have to get to the point where Jesus Christ is
 all you _have before you realize that Jesus Christ is         17
 all you _need.`"
 Still smiling, he added quietly, "As far as
 Abby's concerned, she's got everything she needs.
 And a lot more than money can buy."
 "Speaking of what money can buy--,was Jennifer
 interrupted, her attention caught by a sleek,
 silver Mercedes easing into a parking space on the
 opposite side of the lot. The door on the
 driver's side opened. Jennifer stared in
 unabashed admiration as a slender, raven-haired
 young woman stepped out of the car, straightened, and
 took a long, thorough look at her surroundings.
 Jennifer heard Mitch catch a sharp breath.
 She turned and saw that his face was ashen, his hands
 trembling. He looked, she thought, like a man who
 had just witnessed a major disaster.
 Again Jennifer's gaze went to the driver of the
 Mercedes. She was tall, taller than
 Jennifer's five-eight, and willow slim in a
 flamboyant peasant dress that would have been
 outrageous on anyone else. Long, glossy
 black hair emphasized the pale oval of a
 face that, even from this distance, was a striking display
 of high cheekbones and enormous eyes.
 It took Jennifer another moment to realize
 why the face was so familiar. "That's _her."
 Daniel lifted one dark, questioning brow.
 "Who?"
 Instead of answering, Jennifer turned
 excitedly to Mitch. "That _is Gwynevere
 Leigh, isn't it? I've seen her picture
 on book jackets."
 The generous curve of Mitch's mouth had
 tightened into a hard line. A peculiar, almost
 feverish glint burned behind his eyes, and he took
 a sudden step backward as if he were about to turn
 and run. Finally, after what appeared to be 29
 an enormous struggle, he expelled a long
 breath and answered Jennifer. "Yes, that's her."
 At that moment the woman turned toward them.
 She stood unmoving for a long time, her eyes
 locked on Mitch. At last she began to walk,
 slowly at first, then a little faster, her gaze never
 leaving Mitch's face as she approached.
 Jennifer thought she could almost hear the crackle
 of electricity arcing between Mitch Donovan and the
 striking young author as she approached.
 She stopped directly in front of Mitch,
 lifting her chin in a gesture that seemed oddly
 defiant--and in direct contrast to her uncertain
 smile. She stood studying him in silence.
 Her voice was surprisingly soft when she
 finally spoke. "Hello, Mitch." She seemed
 to hold her breath once the words were out.                   18
 Jennifer looked at Mitch. He appeared
 to be having difficulty swallowing but otherwise
 seemed to have regained control. The only sign of
 his earlier discomfiture was the faint glaze of
 pain in his eyes.
 "Hello, Freddi," he said quietly after
 an awkward silence. "Welcome home."
 Jennifer saw the look that passed between them and
 pressed Daniel's arm to indicate that an exit
 was in order. "Let's get some coffee,
 Daniel," she said.
 It was obvious that no one except her husband
 heard a word she said.
 
 TWO
 
 He had rehearsed this scene in his mind a
 hundred times or more since learning that she was coming
 back, but not once had he come close
 to anticipating the brutal, dizzying pain that now
 ripped through him.
 For a moment Mitch felt a desperate,
 childish desire to turn and run. He thought he
 was going to make a total fool of himself. Instead,
 he could only stand gawking at her, drinking in the
 sight of her, frantically battling to still the wild
 storm raging inside his head.
 It was as if he were eighteen all over again--
 eighteen and hopelessly, helplessly, foolishly
 in love.
 The years, it seemed, hadn't really passed
 at all. It had been only a dream, a
 cruel, mocking dream, those dismal years 31
 without her. Time couldn't have passed. It must have
 merely hung suspended. Nothing had changed.
 She hadn't changed ... not all that much. She was
 thinner. Too thin. But she still had style.
 She had always had style. Even in a
 baseball cap and sweatshirt, she had exuded a
 kind of elegant unconventionality, a
 distinctive flair that made her ... Freddi.
 Strange, how naturally the affectionate
 nickname he had given her in junior high had
 spilled from his lips. It occurred to him that this more
 mature, sophisticated Gwynevere Leigh
 might resent being called _Freddi.
 And yet it still seemed to fit her.
 "You're looking good, Mitch."
 __She was looking like _yesterday. The long
 sweep of midnight-silk hair still framed a
 fair, fresh complexion. The nose still turned
 up a little too much to be perfect, and the deep
 gray eyes were still unnervingly steady and measuring.
 As he remembered, she wore no makeup; the                     19
 faint blush touching her cheeks and lips was
 natural.
 Her grandfather had sometimes fondly called her
 "Snow White," and Mitch, finding the comparison
 intriguingly appropriate, had occasionally echoed
 it.
 "__Then that makes you my _prince," she would
 reply archly.
 A pain knifed through him, the kind of pain he
 hadn't felt since those long, punishing months
 after she left. He felt himself sway slightly
 and hoped she hadn't noticed.
 Dimly aware that he needed to say something,
 Mitch swallowed against the dryness of his throat.
 "How have you been?" he ventured thickly.
 __Now that's an opener with real punch,
 Donovan. Maybe you should have been a writer,
 _too. ...
 The familiar grin appeared--that impish,
 gently taunting grin with its hint of challenge,
 its faint tilt of mischief. Was it a shade
 less confident now, or was he only imagining the
 unfamiliar softness around her mouth?
 She surprised him by giving an uncertain little
 shrug. "I'm fine. At least I will be after my
 stomach stops heaving."
 Mitch frowned.
 Freddi glanced over her shoulder toward the
 parking lot and the highway beyond. "Some 33
 creep in a black van ran me off the road.
 I just about went over the drop at the dam trying
 to get out of his way."
 Mitch was finding it difficult to take in her
 words. His head pounded with the sight of her; his mind
 seemed frozen. "Are you all right?" His voice
 sounded harsh, even to himself.
 Freddi tossed off his question with an indifferent
 wave of her hand. "Just aggravated." She looked
 at him. "So, Mitch--I suppose I should
 call you `professor` now."
 "Associate professor," he corrected.
 Even her voice was the same. Soft but
 direct, poised but with a note of amusement
 lurking just below the surface, as if at any moment
 she might break into that full-throated laugh of
 hers that always made everyone else laugh with her.
 He hadn't believed she would come, had even
 made a hasty attempt to dissuade the language
 arts committee from inviting her. When he heard that
 she had accepted, he had still been certain she would
 back out at the last minute. __If only she
 _had ...
 He looked at her to find her studying his face
 with an intensity that made his throat tighten and            20
 close.
 "This is what you always wanted. I'm glad for
 you, Mitch."
 __What I always wanted was you, Freddi ...
 more than anything else ... and you knew _it.
 He tried to force a smile. "This is a
 surprise," he managed, "seeing you here."
 "You didn't know I was coming?"
 "I knew," he said too quickly. "I just
 wasn't sure--was
 "That I'd show up?" she finished for him, her
 wide, high brows lifting speculatively.
 He shrugged his answer. "Will you be here ...
 all week?" He made himself meet her eyes,
 again felt his control start to slip away.
 She looked back at him, unhurriedly
 studying his face before answering. "Actually, I'm
 thinking about staying."
 Something flared deep inside Mitch, a small
 spark of hope, quickly doused by a wave of
 panic. "Staying?"
 Freddi nodded. "There's a potential buyer
 for the farm. I don't think I want to sell, but
 the estate can't be settled until I decide.
 I thought I should stay around for a while before 35
 making any decisions."
 Mitch fought against his rioting emotions. How much
 longer was he going to be able to stand here, dizzy with the
 heady scent of her cologne, melting under those
 enormous, searching eyes?
 "I, ah, I'm sorry I wasn't here,"
 he stammered, "when your grandfather died." It had
 been nine years since he had seen her. She had
 been in town two years ago for her grandfather's
 funeral, but he had been on vacation. Relief
 had mingled with disappointment when he returned and
 heard that he had missed her.
 "You were in Canada."
 He shot her a surprised look.
 "I asked around. I had hoped to see you."
 Mitch changed the subject. "It's taken
 all this time to find a buyer for the farm?" __How
 long could they volley this meaningless small talk
 back and forth without really saying _anything?
 Freddi shrugged. "It's a lot of land, a
 big risk with the way things are for farmers these
 days."
 Mitch nodded in agreement, shifting from one
 foot to the other. "I should be going," he said
 abruptly, starting to move away even as he
 spoke. "I promised to show Dan and Jennifer
 around the campus. They're probably waiting for
 me." He hesitated. "It's--been great seeing
 you again, Freddi."                                           21
 "Mitch." Her voice was low but insistent.
 He froze, dragging his gaze to her face.
 "You're--was She glanced at his left hand, then
 met his eyes. "Are you married?"
 Resentment welled up in him. He felt himself
 flush as he stared at her. "No."
 "Neither am I," she said softly.
 "I know," Mitch blurted out before he thought.
 In spite of his resolve to forget her, he read
 her press regularly. There had been a man
 once, a brief engagement that apparently hadn't
 worked.
 His eyes locked with hers and clung. After an
 awkward silence, Freddi glanced away. "I
 thought ... maybe we could get together," she said
 quietly, "to catch up on one another."
 Slowly she looked back to him, waiting.
 Angry with his own lack of composure, he forced
 a note of brightness into his voice. "Sure. I
 want to hear all about your life. It may be hard
 to find the time this week, though. There's a 37
 lot going on. ..." Feeling awkward and
 glaringly transparent, he let his voice trail
 off.
 "What about after the musical tonight?"
 His hands were trembling, and he shoved them into his
 pockets. "The musical? You're coming?"
 "I thought I would." She smiled at him.
 "You're directing it, aren't you?"
 He nodded stiffly as his mind sped forward, then
 lurched in reverse, scrambling for an excuse.
 "I--I'm not sure, Freddi. I have company
 for the week--the couple that was just here. They'll be
 going back to my place with me, after we rig up
 a floodlight up at Abby's--was
 "Abby?"
 Quickly he explained about Abby and the security
 light.
 When she remained quiet, he looked away for
 an instant, then back to her. __Don't be a
 fool. ... You don't have to do this. You don't owe
 her _anything.
 "I suppose ... you could join us." __You
 jerk ... what, you're going to offer her homemade
 ice cream and cookies next? Maybe she'd like
 a piece of your heart, too. She took most of
 it with her nine years ago anyway; you might as
 well let her have the _rest.
 She searched his eyes. "Really? I wouldn't be
 intruding?"
 __Oh, no, not a bit ... no more than a
 knife through my _heart. ...
 "No, not at all," he came back, trying
 his best to sound casual. "You could sit with the             22
 Kaines ... and Abby ... during the musical,
 if you like." At her quick nod of agreement, he
 hurried on. "We can all meet afterward and go to my
 place."
 "I'd like that," she said without hesitating. "If
 your friends won't mind."
 He tried to clear his throat, but managed
 only a choking sound. "I'm sure they won't."
 "Good. Well, I suppose I should sign
 in, or whatever it is I'm supposed to do today.
 Could you show me where the registration office is?"
 "You need to go to the lobby in the student center,"
 Mitch said, eager to get away from that studying
 gaze. "That's where I was headed."
 As always, she walked as if she knew
 exactly where she was going, giving her surroundings
 a sweeping appraisal along the way. 39
 "Where are you staying?" Mitch asked as they
 started toward the entrance.
 "I had planned to stay at the farm, but it will be
 another day or two before Mrs. Kraker gets the
 house aired out and the kitchen stocked for me. I'm
 at the Lodge for now." She smiled at him, and the
 ache began all over again.
 The Lodge. He had worked there all the way
 through high school. Bits and pieces of
 memories began to unroll, whipping through his mind
 with lightning speed and clarity. ...
 The little-girl Freddi tugging at his hand just
 inside the park entrance to Briar Rose Glen,
 her thin face flushed with awe at the sight of a
 doe and its fawn poised in the twilight shadows
 ... A twelve-year-old Freddi beside him on
 a scented summer morning, walking him to work on
 her way to a tennis lesson, her sunburned
 nose beginning to peel, her baseball cap
 tilted back over her ponytail ... A
 teenage Freddi, leaning contentedly against his
 shoulder as they watched the sun fold itself up and
 slip lazily down behind Vision Lake on a
 warm, sultry August evening ... A grown-up
 Freddi pressing her face against his shoulder the
 night before she left for Ohio State ...
 "__I have to try, Mitch. If I stay here,
 I'll never know whether I could have made it or not.
 At least understand why I have to try. I'll come
 back to you, Mitch; I promise you--I'll come
 _back."
 Nine years later, she was back.
 
 Freddi watched him out of the corner of her eye
 as they approached the front doors of the center, still
 somewhat dazed by how different he was--and yet so
 much the same.                                                23
 All those years ago, when he had been more than
 a boy yet not quite a man, she had sometimes caught
 a fleeting glimpse of what he promised to be
 ... someday.
 Now it was someday. And he was more, much more, than
 she had ever dreamed he would be.
 The wiry, always too-thin boy with the sad,
 haunted eyes and the uncertain, vulnerable smile
 was no longer too thin, no longer a boy. Now
 he moved with the slender, confident grace of a man
 who knew himself--who he was, what he was doing,
 where he was going--and was comfortable with what he knew.
 The light spray of freckles across the 41
 bridge of his nose was nearly obscured by the
 bronze of his skin, and the deep cleft in his chin was
 hidden by a dark, closely trimmed beard. His
 hair, still thick and springy, was a little longer but not
 quite so curly as she remembered. And although he was still
 lean and lanky--she had often teased him that he
 looked like a hungry cowboy--his shoulders were
 now wider, his jaw stronger. He no longer
 looked hungry, though he still looked a little like a
 cowboy. Now, more than anything else, he looked
 like a man who had finally found what he wanted.
 But those eyes ... the eyes were still sad, and the
 smile was still vulnerable.
 He was still Mitch. Mitch, who could stab her
 heart and shatter her defenses with one tender
 look, one soft word of affection, one gentle touch
 of caring.
 Instinctively, Freddi tried to raise a
 protective wall, a barrier between her emotions
 and his profile. Then she remembered that she was
 done with walls.
 "So--tell me about your friends," she said, more in
 an attempt to get him to look at her again than
 to make conversation.
 "Dan and Jennifer?" He kept his gaze
 straight ahead. "They're really special. I
 think you'll like them."
 "Was that a guide dog with them?"
 "Yes. Dan's blind." He paused. "A car
 accident. The other driver was drunk."
 Freddi grimaced. "Is he one of the
 faculty?"
 "No, they're just here for the festival. Dan's
 going to lead one of the workshops," Mitch explained.
 "He owns a Christian radio station in West
 Virginia. And he writes music--really _good
 music."
 His smile brightened a little, and he finally looked
 at her. "Do you remember the Olympics several
 years ago? You probably would have still been in
 junior high--about that time."                                24
 Freddi shrugged. "Not really. Why?"
 "There was an American swimmer from West
 Virginia who won a gold. They called him the
 `Swimming Machine.`"
 Freddi thought for a minute. "I did some
 research on the olympics for a book a few
 years ago. I remember something about that--the
 `Swimming Machine`--I think."
 "That was Dan," Mitch said, opening one 43
 of the double doors to the student center and waiting for
 her to step through. "Daniel Kaine."
 She stopped halfway through the door.
 "Really?" A memory flashed through her mind, an
 image of dark hair, a flushed face, eyes
 clouded with tears as a gold medal was slipped
 over his head.
 "How does a man like that cope with being blind?"
 she mused, more to herself as they walked into the lobby.
 "Extremely well, as a matter of fact,"
 Mitch said.
 There were only a few people inside the lobby, most
 of them scattered around the lounge area off to the right.
 Freddi glanced at Mitch and found him studying
 her. She thought he seemed slightly less
 awkward now. Still uncomfortable, but at least his
 eyes had lost that wild, desperate glint that
 made her feel as if he wanted nothing more than
 to bolt and run.
 His gaze was openly questioning, as if he were looking
 for answers, probing her thoughts. It hurt to see
 the doubt, the uncertainty, in those eyes that had
 once looked at her with only warmth and affection.
 "You'll need to go down there," he finally said,
 pointing to a table at the far end of the long, narrow
 hall. "The lady in the blue blouse should have
 everything you need."
 Freddi glanced in the direction of his gesture,
 then turned back. "I'll see you later tonight,
 then?"
 He seemed eager to get away. "Right.
 I'll look you up before the music starts. Come a
 little early if you can, so you can meet Dan and
 Jennifer--and Abby." He left her then,
 walking quickly, as if he could barely restrain
 himself from running.
 Unable to look away from him until he turned
 the corner and disappeared, Freddi drew the first
 deep breath she had been able to catch since
 meeting him in the parking lot.
 Her heart had soared at the sight of him,
 only to plummet at the bitterness and hurt she
 encountered when they faced one another. But at least
 he wasn't married, she reminded herself. She had
 been afraid he might be by now.                               25
 __Married or not, the past is dead. ...
 He's a man you haven't seen for years, not the
 boy who would have died for you. ... That was yesterday
 ... this is _today.
 Still, she had held on to enough of 45
 yesterday to give her hope. And it was that hope that
 had brought her home. Mitch was still Mitch,
 boy-become-man, but the same Mitch who had
 once known her better than anyone else ... the
 Mitch who had grown up protecting her,
 defending her ... loving her. ...
 Freddi glanced around the half-empty
 hallway. This was Mitch's place, his dream--the
 dream he had found in the very surroundings she had
 been so eager to leave.
 Now she was back, searching for that long-ago
 dream of her own. During the darkest hour of one
 seemingly endless night, she had finally realized that
 her own dream had continued to elude her, to slip
 always just beyond her grasp, because she had left it here
 --right here in Derry Ridge.
 Somewhere in this town, on this mountain, in the
 angry, accusing eyes of the man who had just left
 her, was whatever might remain of that dream. And no
 matter what the cost, she had to learn for herself
 whether she could reclaim what was left.
 Freddi had made a number of new beginnings
 over the past few months. This one, she knew, was
 certain to be the most difficult of all.
 
 THREE
 
 The evening was deceptively tranquil, a
 contradiction to the maelstrom of Freddi's
 emotions.
 Sweet and warm, the summerlike breeze was
 faintly scented with wildflowers and anticipation.
 The gentle, lulling sound of the nearby Derry
 River could be heard during the few seconds of
 silence preceding the musical's finale, and
 lanterns bathed the descending twilight with
 flickering gold.
 Hundreds of people were gathered on the lawn. Some
 had brought their own chairs; others shared blankets
 on the ground. After coaxing both Daniel and
 Jennifer to sing with the choir, Mitch had set up
 chairs for Abby and Freddi near the wooden
 platform erected for the choir.
 Freddi liked the Kaines and had immediately warmed
 to the vivacious, dark-eyed Jennifer with her
 unassuming friendliness and the tall, powerful-looking
 Daniel with his gentle smile and hearty laugh.
 She particularly appreciated the way both of
 them had displayed, after the first few awkward moments       26
 of introduction, more interest in her as a 47
 person than as a celebrity.
 Once the performance had begun, Freddi found it
 unsettling, even disturbing, to watch Mitch. With
 consummate skill and sensitivity, he evoked from
 the singers a rich, triumphant offering of music
 that soared above the campus lawn and echoed out across
 the valley. Several times she had to fight back
 tears at the remembrance of things past ... and
 things lost.
 In the instant's hush before the final number,
 Freddi allowed her attention to wander for the first time in
 nearly an hour. Something off in the distance to her
 left caught her attention, and she straightened a
 little in the lawn chair to get a better look.
 The man would have been impossible to miss. A
 huge, towering column in black, he stood on
 an incline that flanked the left side of the
 chapel, several yards away from the outside fringe
 of the crowd.
 _Sinister, Freddi thought as she studied him.
 He was immense, several inches over six feet,
 with the massive, heavily muscled frame of a
 professional bodybuilder. His skin was
 remarkably white, nearly as white as his hair,
 of which only a military-short burr was visible
 around the sides of a black shooter's cap.
 She couldn't see his eyes. In spite of the
 fact that dusk was rapidly settling over the
 mountain, he wore a pair of dark aviator
 glasses. An involuntary shiver snaked along
 the back of Freddi's neck as she wondered about
 the eyes behind the glasses. She had the unnerving
 sensation that they might be carefully and
 deliberately scrutinizing every face in the crowd
 and committing each to memory.
 Freddi had spent too many years gathering
 research in police stations and courtrooms not
 to react to such a blatantly suspicious-looking
 figure. Her eyes narrowed in speculation as she
 continued to study his hulking frame. Instinct told
 her that he was most likely carrying a gun, although
 none was visible.
 Carefully, she unzipped the side pouch of her
 handbag and withdrew a slimline camera no larger
 than a compact. Palming it, she lifted her hand
 to her face as if to glance in a mirror, then
 smoothly released the shutter. Dropping the
 camera back into her purse, she returned her
 attention to the choir, whose voices were now climbing
 toward the majestic climax of the 49
 musical.
 During the almost deafening ovation that greeted the
 finale, Freddi glanced once more toward the                   27
 gentle swell of ground beside the chapel. The man
 was gone, but a lingering uneasiness chilled her as she
 stared into the thickening shadows that were beginning to cloak
 the campus.
 
 The atmosphere in Mitch's living room
 later that night was, at best, tense. With a
 pang of sympathy for him, Jennifer noted the
 tightness around his eyes, the slight trembling of his
 hands every time his gaze encountered Freddi's.
 He seemed to be trying a little too hard to be
 carefully polite to Freddi. Her response
 appeared to be a combination of restrained emotion and
 something very much like disappointment.
 The problem seemed to be that neither Freddi nor
 Mitch could keep their eyes off one another for more
 than a moment or two. Every look that passed between
 them was charged with tension. Every word exchanged seemed
 laced with hidden meaning. There had been laughter and
 good-natured teasing while they were setting up the
 floodlight at Abby's cabin, but now a
 blanket of constraint had fallen over the room.
 The laughter seemed forced, the conversation stiff.
 It was Abby who had unknowingly honed the tension
 of the evening to its peak. By ten o'clock they had consumed
 nearly two dozen cookies and a pot of coffee.
 Jennifer was sitting next to Daniel on the
 enormous sofa that rimmed one entire wall of the
 living room, while Mitch stood in front of the
 wide, stone fireplace facing them. Freddi had
 settled herself into a massive leather easy chair,
 her feet tucked snugly beneath her. She looked
 comfortably--though deceptively, Jennifer
 suspected--at ease with her surroundings.
 Abby was on her way back from the kitchen with a
 fresh pot of coffee when she came to an abrupt
 stop. Only inches away from Freddi, she stood
 staring at her. Jennifer had noticed the older
 woman watching Freddi throughout the evening, but she was
 caught completely off guard by what came next.
 "You're the girl in the picture!" Abby
 exclaimed, the coffeepot trembling slightly in
 her hands.
 Freddi gave her a puzzled look. "The
 girl in the picture?"
 With an eager nod, Abby glanced at Mitch,
 who appeared flushed and decidedly 51
 uncomfortable. "The picture in your wallet,
 Mitch! Remember, when I was looking at your
 snapshots, and I asked you about the girl with the long
 black hair?"
 Turning back to Freddi, she regarded her with
 unmistakable satisfaction. "You're much
 prettier now, dear." Almost as an afterthought, she           28
 added, "Mitch said the two of you used to be best
 friends. How nice that you can be together again."
 As Jennifer watched, Freddi slowly turned
 to Mitch with a look that was both pleased and questioning.
 "Yes," she said quietly. "Isn't it?"
 Mitch, who seemed to have developed an acute
 interest in something on the floor beside his foot,
 remained stonily silent.
 As if to rescue him from his embarrassment,
 Freddi smoothly changed the subject.
 "Mitch, have you seen anyone--peculiar--around
 town lately?"
 Mitch looked up. "Peculiar?"
 Freddi nodded. "Huge guy," she said, her
 tone thoughtful. "Probably six-six or more.
 Bodybuilder type--very muscular. He was standing
 several yards off from the chapel. Dressed all in
 black. With sunglasses," she added, frowning.
 "Though he couldn't have needed them by then."
 Mitch shook his head. "I can't think of
 anyone like that in Derry." He looked at Abby.
 "Did you see him, Abby?"
 Abby didn't seem to be listening. She had
 plopped down on a small rocking chair across from
 Mitch and was playing with Pork Chop, a spotted
 cocker spaniel--one of several dogs that seemed
 to parade at will in and out of Mitch's cabin.
 When Mitch repeated his question, adding Freddi's
 details, Abby's reaction puzzled Jennifer.
 She went ashen, and her voice trembled almost as
 badly as her hands. "A big man in black
 clothes? with sunglasses?"
 "Did you see him, Abby?" Freddi
 prompted.
 Abby didn't answer. Instead, perched on the
 edge of the chair, she began to hug herself, rocking
 forward and back as she stared out the glass doors
 into the darkness.
 Mitch glanced from Abby to the door, then went
 to her. "Abby," he said softly, stooping down in
 front of her.
 Slowly, she turned to look at him. Her
 expression had cleared somewhat, but her 53
 eyes were still troubled, her body rigid.
 Mitch's voice was gentle as he took her
 hand. "Abby, what is it? What's wrong?"
 Abby stared at him, her gaze strangely
 vacant. "Wrong?" she repeated. "Why,
 nothing, dear. Nothing's wrong."
 Mitch studied her for a long moment. Watching the
 two of them, Jennifer sensed that this had happened
 before.
 Finally Mitch stood and helped Abby up from
 her chair. "We'd better get you home," he                     29
 said. "It's late." He darted a look at
 Freddi. "I'll take you back to your car after
 we drop Abby at her place, if that's all
 right."
 Freddi merely nodded and, uncoiling herself from the
 chair, got to her feet.
 The silence in the cabin after they had gone was
 unsettling. Daniel broke it by bending forward and
 fumbling hopefully around the cookie platter.
 "Anything left?"
 "Here." Jennifer guided his hand to one of two
 remaining brownies.
 "Is this the last one? I'll share."
 Distracted, Jennifer mumbled, "No, it's
 all yours."
 "Something bothering you?" he asked, as if he
 knew there was.
 "Abby. She seemed so--strange for a moment.
 I had the distinct feeling that she didn't even know
 where she was."
 Finishing off the brownie, Daniel wiped his
 hands on a napkin and sank back against the couch
 again. "So--tell me about Abby."
 Jennifer thought for a moment. "She's very
 attractive. She has this really sweet,
 pretty face--and her eyes are wonderful, like a
 china doll's. I suppose she's probably in
 her early to mid-sixties."
 "And she troubles you."
 Jennifer thought for a moment. "It's as if there's
 something ... missing about her. She's warm and
 sweet and delightful. ..." Uncertainly, she
 let her words trail off.
 "But?"
 Jennifer glanced away and sat staring into the
 cold fireplace. What _did trouble her about
 Abby? For a moment tonight she had half expected the
 older woman to rise from her chair and go walking
 outside into the darkness as if someone ... 55
 or something ... had called to her.
 With a sigh, Jennifer turned back
 to Daniel. "I'm not sure," she said, still
 troubled.
 He patted the cushion beside him, and Jennifer
 moved closer. Pulling her into the circle of his
 arm, he coaxed her head against his shoulder. "So
 how does it feel to have spent an evening with a
 celebrity?" he asked.
 "Freddi? Actually, it's hard to remember
 who she is--that she's famous, I mean. She's
 incredibly easy to be with, not at all what I
 would have expected."
 "Am I right in thinking that Mitch doesn't
 find it quite so easy to be with her?" he asked.              30
 Again Jennifer sighed. "Poor Mitch."
 "Poor Mitch?"
 "I think his life is about to become
 extremely complicated."
 "Ah." He nodded wisely. "The lady
 Gwynevere, I presume."
 "There's a story there." Jennifer had always
 loved a good mystery. And a good mystery seasoned
 with a touch of romance, as seemed to be the case with this
 particular situation, was a combination that never failed
 to ram her curiosity into overdrive.
 "Oh, a _story." Daniel grinned in
 anticipation.
 "Exactly. You should see the way she looks
 at him."
 "Something like the way you look at me?"
 She tilted her head to glance up at him.
 "Well ... yes, as a matter of fact."
 "And Mitch?"
 "Mitch," she replied after only a
 second's hesitation, "looks at Freddi like a
 man standing on the edge of a cliff trying to decide
 whether he should take a flying leap or turn and
 run."
 "I can identify with that. That's pretty much how
 I felt when I realized I was falling in love
 with you."
 Jennifer looked at him. "By the way,
 Daniel, just how is it that you _know the way I
 look at you?"
 His smile was nothing short of smug. "Oh,
 I've been told."
 "Gabe-the-Mouth strikes again," Jennifer said
 dryly.
 Daniel shrugged off the reference to his 57
 brother-in-law. "No shame in a woman showing
 her love for her husband."
 Jennifer grinned at him, waiting.
 One heavy dark brow lifted in anticipation.
 "Don't you agree?"
 "Oh, I do."
 "So?"
 Agreeably, she wrapped her arms around his
 neck.
 
 FOUR
 
 Squeezed snugly between Abby and Mitch in the
 front seat of his blue pickup, Freddi tried
 not to think about Mitch's closeness. More than
 once, however, she thought about all the times ... so
 many years ago now ... the two of them had bumped
 along this same deserted mountain road. It was
 difficult to believe that the tall, confident man             31
 behind the steering wheel was really Mitch, that she was
 home, and that they were together again.
 No. Not _together. Too many years of separation
 lay between them--almost a decade of differences and
 distance. The man beside her wasn't the boy she had
 left behind. Nothing was even remotely the same as
 it had once been.
 Nostalgia rushed at her, deepened by the
 lonely silence of the night. A tidal wave of
 images threatened to overwhelm her--the shadowed
 silhouette of Mitch's profile beside her, the
 faint cinnamon-clove scent of the rock candy he
 still carried in his pocket. ...
 And his sporty blue truck. There had been a
 time--so many years ago that it now seemed like forever--
 when she had sat on a riverbank holding hands
 with a lean-faced boy, listening to his solemn
 declaration ... "Someday, I'm going to buy me a
 bright blue truck with a shine you can see your
 pretty face in, instead of driving you around in that
 ugly, old, broken-down wagon truck."
 Mitch's dreams had always been incredibly
 simple, as uncomplicated as the boy he had
 been, as gentle as the man he seemed to have
 become. Back then her own dreams had seemed
 vastly more important, so much bigger and brighter.
 ...
 The drive to find out what lay beyond Derry
 Ridge had been at the heart of Freddi's
 dreams for as long as she could remember. She had
 entertained only one other ambition throughout 59
 all the years of growing up: to write, and to write
 so well that all the world would rush to read what she
 had written.
 Although Mitch had pretended to understand the fury that
 drove her, he had never really been able
 to comprehend her desire to reach beyond what she already
 had. He had always loved the Ridge and everything it
 encompassed: its people, its music, its history,
 its heritage. While he had yearned only
 to become one with the mountain, Freddi had longed
 to separate herself from it and explore what lay beyond.
 For as long as Freddi could remember, Mitch
 had ached to have a place of his own, a
 "homeplace" right here on the Ridge. And in
 spite of his inability to comprehend _her need
 to get away, she thought she had instinctively
 understood _his need to stay.
 His father had deserted his teenage wife not long
 after Mitch was born. Before Mitch was old enough to go
 to school, his mother had dumped him on a relative
 and headed for her own "fresh start" somewhere in North
 Carolina, leaving Mitch to spend the rest of his
 childhood being passed from one indifferent aunt or           32
 uncle to another. He had never known the
 security, the stability, of a real home.
 In contrast, Freddi had grown up under the
 shelter of a widowed, doting grandfather after the death of
 her parents in an airplane crash. Her father, the
 community's only veterinarian, and her mother, a
 Latin teacher at the high school, had left
 Freddi financially independent. She had marched
 confidently through childhood and adolescence, much
 loved and admittedly pampered by her grandfather.
 It was no wonder she and Mitch had reached for
 different stars. She was glad to see that he had
 finally attained his dreams, or was well on his
 way to doing so. He deserved it all--the
 directorship of the new Heritage department, the
 doctorate he had recently completed, and the
 moderate success for his newly published
 textbook on eastern Kentucky folk music,
 coauthored with another instructor on campus.
 Along the way he had built not only his cabin
 home but a meaningful campus ministry as well.
 __Oh, Lord, why couldn't I have realized then
 how very small my own dreams were? They were nothing
 but tinsel--empty and vain, without any lasting
 _value. ...
 Beside her, Abby spoke, rousing Freddi from her
 memories. "The mountain's nice at 61
 night, isn't it? So quiet and untroubled."
 Freddi smiled at the older woman in the
 darkness. "You like it here very much, don't you,
 Abby?"
 "Oh my, I certainly do! You'll come in and
 see my place, won't you?" she urged
 Freddi. "You can meet Peaches, too."
 "Peaches?"
 "Peaches," Mitch explained dryly, "is a
 mountain lion posing as a cat. The little beast has
 teeth like a chain saw and claws like carpet
 tacks. Believe me," he said with a wry twist
 of his mouth, "her name is the only sweet thing about
 her."
 "Oh, Mitch, she's only a kitten!"
 Abby scolded. "She just likes to roughhouse with
 you."
 "She likes to make me bleed, you mean."
 He gave Freddi a conspiratorial wink,
 another familiar gesture from years past that made
 her heart skip.
 The three of them sat in silence the rest of the
 way up the road. Both windows were down, and the
 night breeze, a little cooler now, felt good on
 Freddi's face.
 The strong scent of pine and hardwood meshed with the
 heady odor of rich, spring-warmed earth and the               33
 fragrance of mountain wildflowers. Somewhere on the
 hillside a dog howled, and Freddi shivered.
 This late at night, the ridge was a lonesome
 place to be, at times forbidding in its isolated
 darkness.
 As Mitch pulled into the gravel turnaround at
 Abby's cabin, Freddi suddenly realized that it
 was _too dark.
 "I thought you set the floodlight to turn on
 at nine," she said.
 "I did. The timer must not have worked."
 Freddi leaned forward. Draped by a shroud of
 darkness, the cabin was almost indistinguishable from the
 woods that surrounded it. Something didn't seem quite
 right. But what?
 The door.
 "Mitch--was Keeping her eyes straight
 ahead, Freddi put a hand on his arm.
 He shot a questioning look at her, then at the
 darkened cabin. The sky that had been clear a
 short time before was now thick with clouds, the thin
 slice of moon no longer visible.
 His eyes still on the cabin, Mitch 63
 reached over to add the pickup's overhead running
 lights to the headlight beams. In the tumbling
 roll of light that hit the front porch, the open
 doorway gaped like a black hole.
 Abby gasped and fumbled to open the door of the
 truck. But Mitch flung out an arm to stop her.
 "No--wait!"
 His gaze swept their surroundings as he leaned
 across Freddi and Abby to lock the door and roll
 up the window on the passenger's side, then his
 own. Still watching the cabin, he opened the glove
 compartment and withdrew a large crescent wrench,
 smacking it once against the palm of his hand.
 Abby looked blankly from the wrench to his
 face. "Mitch? What are you doing?"
 Mitch didn't answer but sat unmoving,
 scanning the cabin and the dark, forest-covered
 hillside looming behind it.
 "Stay here," he finally said in a harsh whisper.
 "Keep the doors locked. If you need me,
 lean on the horn."
 He put his hand on the door handle, but
 Freddi caught his arm. "I'll go with you."
 "No!" He whipped around in the seat, repeating
 in a lower voice, "No. Let me take a
 look first. Just stay put until I come back."
 He opened the door slowly, wincing at the
 metal's loud squeak of protest.
 Freddi snapped the lock down as soon as he
 leaped from the truck, then watched him take the
 flagainstone walk in quick, cautious steps. The               34
 tense silence inside the truck was broken only
 by her own shallow breathing and the sound of Abby
 worriedly cracking her knuckles.
 
 All the way up the walk, Mitch told himself
 this was probably the work of the same gang of
 unruly teens that had been vandalizing various
 businesses and residences throughout the county over the
 past few months. Their random mischief had been
 witnessed on a number of occasions, but they were still
 freely roaming about the Ridge. They were
 probably responsible for shooting out Abby's
 security light the night before.
 At the porch, he glanced around, seeing nothing.
 Quietly, he stepped up onto the wide
 planks and crossed to the open door.
 He stopped, pressing himself against the porch
 wall. After a moment, he looked in. The wrench
 felt heavy in his hand. He tightened his 65
 grip on it and took one cautious step over the
 threshold.
 The blackness of the room stopped him. His heart
 pounded as he fumbled for the light switch on the
 wall beside the door.
 An immediate wash of light illuminated the room,
 and Mitch froze.
 The seat of the couch had been slashed all the way
 across, its ruffled cushions tossed to the floor.
 Books had been spilled from the shelves beside the
 fireplace, some ripped from their bindings and pitched
 across the room. The single drawer of the petite
 spinet desk he had given Abby for Christmas
 was overturned on the floor, its contents strewn
 haphazardly nearby. In front of the window and
 beside the end table were shattered pieces of broken
 lamps.
 In spite of the cool breeze blowing in through the
 open door, Mitch felt hot and sick with fury
 and disbelief. He took a couple of unsteady
 steps toward the middle of the room, his mind
 struggling to take in the wanton destruction.
 His heart pounding, he left the room and started
 down the hallway toward the kitchen. He held his
 breath in dread as he flipped on the overhead
 light.
 Dishes and crockery lay shattered on the
 handwoven rug, and half-empty cupboards
 gaped, their contents tossed onto the pine counter
 and the floor.
 Mitch's head began to pound, and a chilling
 whisper at the back of his mind warned that he
 hadn't yet seen the worst. A frantic inner
 voice told him to run, to get out.
 With his legs shaking beneath him, he climbed over            35
 the rubble on the floor and started for the bedroom.
 He groped his way through the darkness to the bedside
 table, found the lamp, and turned it on.
 He moaned aloud at the violation that greeted
 him. His pulse thundered in his ears, and he thought he
 was going to be sick.
 The newly stained louvered doors of the closet
 had been ripped from their hinges and Abby's sparse
 wardrobe flung to the floor. The drawers of her
 small bureau had been pulled out and overturned,
 their contents tossed helter-skelter around the
 room.
 Mitch stepped back, turned to leave the
 room, then stopped.
 Peaches. __Where was the _cat? 67
 She's outside, he realized with relief. The
 door had been open, hadn't it? The cat had
 most likely dashed from the house at the first sign
 of the intruders.
 Just to be sure, he ducked across the hall into the
 small bath that opened off the bedroom.
 Everything here seemed normal, except for the
 shelves of the small linen closet. Towels and
 sheets lay scattered on the floor, but
 otherwise nothing seemed to have been touched.
 As he returned to the kitchen, a renewed
 sense of outrage and anger burned its way past
 the shock and took control of his emotions. This was
 worse than simple teenage mischief. Abby
 had been robbed of her privacy, her security,
 her safety. In Mitch's mind, this was almost as
 bad as an outright attack on her person.
 It occurred to him that he ought to try to sweep up
 as much of the debris as possible before Abby came
 inside. He stuck the wrench in his hip pocket,
 then started across the kitchen. Pushing the calico
 curtain to the broom closet aside, he began
 to grope in the darkness for the broom and dustpan.
 His foot nudged something on the floor, something
 soft. He stopped and leaned over, his hand touching
 ... something. Mitch froze, then straightened. A
 cold trickle of perspiration crept along the
 nape of his neck as he finally reached to pull the
 chain on the single lightbulb above the shelves.
 Peaches, Abby's small, spotted cat,
 lay on the floor, her neck obviously
 broken.
 Bile rose to Mitch's throat, choking him.
 He had to fight back wave after wave of
 nausea as he dropped down to his knees. He
 touched the cat once, his fingers trembling as he
 remembered all the times he had teased Abby about
 her harmless little pet.
 He glanced at the shelf just above his head and               36
 reached for a hand towel. Gently, he covered the
 lifeless cat. His eyes swept the room as he
 struggled to think. Rage battered at him,
 accompanied by a stirring of fear.
 Who would have done something like this, something so mindless,
 so unfeeling? And to a perfectly harmless person
 like Abby?
 He raked a hand across the back of his neck,
 felt his own clammy perspiration, the coldness of
 his skin.
 He remembered then that both Abby and 69
 Freddi were still outside in the truck. Fear
 swept over him, and he practically ran from the
 kitchen down the hall toward the front door.
 The two women were standing just inside the open
 doorway staring at the destruction in front of
 them. Freddi's face was a hard mask of shock
 and anger. Abby was pale, with the stunned look of a
 wounded animal.
 Seeing Mitch, Freddi took a step toward
 him, then stopped. "We were afraid to wait any
 longer," she said. "We were worried something had
 happened to you. ..." Her voice caught, and she
 met his gaze, holding it.
 Mitch felt an irrational dart of relief that
 she was here, that he didn't have to face Abby
 alone. He started toward them, warning them with an
 upraised hand not to come any farther.
 The look on Abby's face was as horrified
 as he had known it would be as she stood taking in the
 vandalism to her cabin. The bewildered gaze she
 turned on Mitch was imploring, a plea for him
 to tell her that none of this was real.
 Knowing that the worst was yet to come, Mitch fumbled
 for words, for answers to her unspoken questions. But the
 only thing he managed was a steadying arm around her
 shoulders. When he felt Abby tremble under his
 touch, he tightened his grasp.
 At this moment, there was nothing he could say to her,
 nothing he could do for her. Nothing except to get
 her out of the cabin, away from the horror.
 With a firm hand, he began to turn her toward the
 door, but she stood frozen.
 "Abby--you mustn't come in. Come on, let's
 go back to the truck." Again he tried to turn her
 from the room.
 "But Mitch, what ..."
 "Abby, please."
 "Who--was Her voice broke. "_Why,
 Mitch?"
 Glancing over her head, he caught
 Freddi's gaze and silently urged her to help
 him. She moved to take Abby's other arm, and the
 two of them managed to lead her onto the porch.               37
 At the back of Mitch's mind, a warning
 sounded, chilling him with the thought that whoever did this
could
 easily be close by, watching from the woods,
 waiting.
 His pulse hammering, he scanned the thick,
 inky darkness surrounding them as they started back
 down the porch steps. His hand went to the 71
 wrench in his back pocket in a gesture of
 reassurance.
 Abruptly, Abby stopped and tried to pull
 away. "Peaches! I can't leave without Peaches,
 Mitch--she'll be terrified--was
 Mitch shot an agonizing look at Freddi.
 With a grim nod of understanding, she tightened her
 hold on Abby's arm. "Abby, Mitch will take
 care of Peaches. Let's you and I go to the
 truck."
 Only when the three of them were safely locked
 inside the pickup, this time with Abby in the middle,
 did Mitch tell them, as gently as possible,
 what had happened to Peaches.
 
 FIVE
 
 The rain began the next morning. True to form
 for a Kentucky mountain rainstorm, its beginning was
 deceptively mild and seemingly harmless. But as
 a native, Freddi knew it was only a matter
 of hours before the drizzle would become a downpour.
 She sat next to a window in the dining room of the
 Lodge and studied the pewter sky through light rain
 splashing against the glass. Maybe the gloomy
 weather wasn't all bad, she thought. At least the
 weather would provide a safe topic of conversation
 for her and Mitch when he arrived.
 _If he arrived. Freddi's suggestion that they
 meet for breakfast this morning had been strictly
 an impulse and met with awkward hesitation on his
 part. Still, it had been Mitch's idea to strand her
 at the Lodge without a car.
 He had caught her completely off guard the
 night before with his insistence that she leave her car in the
 campus parking lot and let him drive her to the
 Lodge. When she protested, reminding him that she
 needed a way in to her morning workshop, Mitch had
 faltered only a moment. "That's no problem.
 I'm going to Abby's place first thing in the morning
 to ... take care of the cat. I'll drive on
 up to the Lodge afterward, and you can ride in with me."
 When Freddi would have objected, he silenced
 her with a flat, slightly obstinate warning.
 "You've got no business driving that road by yourself
 this late. Especially after what happened at                  38
 Abby's."
 It _had been late--nearly two--when they had
 finally gotten Abby settled in at Mitch's
 cabin. Daniel Kaine, with a quiet, 73
 soothing kindness, and Jennifer, with a brisk,
 no-nonsense manner that seemed to balance her
 apparent mother-hen instincts, had both been
 wonderfully helpful with the distraught Abby.
 For her own part, Freddi had been restless
 throughout the night. When she wasn't sparring with herself
 about her feelings for Mitch, she was replaying in
 vivid detail the destruction at Abby's
 cabin. The scene had stirred nagging questions about the
 woman who had seemingly come from nowhere. She
 supposed it was force of habit for a mystery
 writer.
 Abby intrigued her: her missing past, her
 lack of identity, the circumstances that had brought
 her to Derry Ridge. The unanswered questions
 surrounding the winsome Abby were too many to disregard.
 Nor had she managed to shake the unsettling
 memory of the black-garbed behemoth standing on the
 campus green the night before. By the time the first
 gray light of morning had begun to filter through her
 window, a core of suspicion had cemented itself
 firmly in Freddi's mind: There had to be a
 connection between the Monster Man and Abby. Freddi
 had learned to trust her hunches, and--
 She was yanked abruptly out of her thoughts when
 the double doors to the dining room swung open and
 Mitch walked in. At the mere sight of his
 lean, ambling frame, opposing forces of longing and
 regret began to pull at Freddi. Swallowing,
 she drew in a steadying breath as she watched him
 cross the room in her direction.
 He was wearing a navy windbreaker open over a
 denim shirt and pleated khaki pants. The rain
 had tightened the curl of his hair slightly, and his
 dark brows were knit together in a frown that clearly
 said that this meeting was a bad idea.
 When he came to stand in front of her, he
 managed a brief, unconvincing smile. "Have you
 already eaten?" he asked, glancing at her
 half-empty coffee cup.
 Freddi thought he sounded hopeful. "No. I
 was waiting for you."
 After a slight hesitation, he shrugged out of his
 windbreaker and hung it over the back of a chair,
 then sat down across from her.
 "You look tired," Freddi said.
 In fact, he looked a lot worse than
 tired. His eyes were smudged with deep shadows that
 hadn't been there the day before, and there was a tightness
 about him, a haggard expression that left 75                  39
 little doubt as to the kind of night he'd had.
 His eyebrows lifted as he shrugged and picked
 up a menu.
 "How's Abby this morning?"
 Mitch laid the menu back on the table, then
 pushed it aside. "Confused. Hurt. Pretty
 much as you'd expect. She went to work, though."
 It went on that way for several minutes. As
 if by silent agreement, they limited their conversation
 to the neutral subjects of Abby, the weather, and the
 view from the Lodge's dining room. In between
 ordering breakfast and a few idle remarks about the
 food when it arrived, they exchanged awkward
 looks and uncertain smiles.
 When their fingers accidentally brushed while reaching
 for the cream pitcher, Mitch flinched as if he had
 been seared by an open flame. If their casual
 reminiscing happened to skirt too close to a
 shared memory, he simply blinked and quickly
 turned away.
 "Have you talked to the police yet, about last
 night?" Freddi asked, trying to keep the
 conversation as impersonal as he seemed to want it.
 He scowled. "For all the good it did. Will
 Bannon is still chief."
 Freddi made a face at the memory of
 Derry Ridge's Chief of Police.
 Bannon had been threatening an early retirement
 for as long as she could remember. His laziness was
 legendary, surpassed only by his bigotry and
 savage contempt for "strangers." He would be
 hopelessly callous toward Abby's plight.
 "He calls her the `dipsy bag lady on
 the hill,` if that tells you anything," Mitch
 added resentfully, finishing off his last bite of
 toast.
 "Bannon always was a compassionate soul."
 Freddi took a sip of coffee and nibbled
 indifferently at her sweet roll. "It's going
 to take some work, putting Abby's cabin in order.
 I'd like to help."
 Mitch gave her a long, unreadable look before
 glancing down at his cup. "That's nice of you, but
 I think I can find some students willing to lend a
 hand. I want to get it cleaned up as quickly as
 possible."
 He filled both their cups from the stoneware
 coffeepot, then asked their waitress to bring them
 more cream. After the girl had again retreated, he
 leaned forward, locking his fingers together on 77
 top of the table.
 "I just wish there was a way to put those punks out
 of business," he said bitterly, staring at his
 hands.                                                        40
 "Mitch, do you really believe that what happened
 at Abby's place was vandalism?"
 He looked up. "What else?"
 Freddi hesitated. "I think it might have
 been ... something more."
 Saying nothing, he frowned and waited.
 "It seems to me that whoever tore Abby's
 cabin apart was looking for something."
 Openly skeptical as well as puzzled,
 Mitch drew back a little in his chair and crossed
 his arms over his chest. "Like what?"
 Freddi ran the tip of one finger around the rim
 of her coffee cup. "Most of the damage was
 methodical," she explained. "Oh, there was a
 certain amount of rage, violence--certainly
 killing the cat was senseless and sadistic. But the
 way the couch was ripped open, the desk emptied,
 the closets rifled--was She shook her head,
 meeting his gaze. "Whoever did that was after something."
 His eyes narrowed. "After _what?"
 Freddi shrugged. "There's no way of knowing.
 Maybe he doesn't know, either. Maybe he's
 just looking for--whatever he can find."
 "_He?" Mitch lifted one brow in a
 dubious look.
 "Probably. Somehow I think it's only one
 person."
 He stared at her for a long time, long enough for her
 to grow uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
 "I suppose it follows that a mystery writer
 is part detective, too." He made no
 effort to soften the scorn behind his words.
 Freddi met his sarcasm with a quiet reply.
 "No. But I _do spend a good deal of time around
 crime scenes. And police stations and
 courtrooms."
 He seemed to relax somewhat. "That makes
 sense. I suppose that's why your books always
 ring true."
 Freddi blinked in surprise. "You read my
 books?"
 He shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?"
 She returned her attention to the rim of her
 coffee cup. "I guess ... I just didn't
 think you would," she answered softly.
 Mitch shifted in his chair. "Are you 79
 serious about what you said? You think someone
 deliberately trashed Abby's place because they were
 trying to find something?"
 "Yes." She leaned forward a little, lifting her
 eyes to his. "Mitch, what exactly do you know
 about Abby? Anything more than what you told me
 yesterday?"
 He moved to pour more coffee for both of them.                41
 "No. How could I, when she knows so little about
 herself?"
 "What about her clothes?"
 "Her clothes?"
 "What was she wearing when she came here? What
 did she have with her?"
 He thought for a moment. "Until we took up
 a collection and bought some stuff for her, she had
 only one dress. It was ... blue, I think.
 Faded."
 "That's all?"
 "That was it, other than some toiletries. And
 her Bible. Why?"
 Freddi met his question with another. "What about a
 purse?"
 He gave a nod of acknowledgment. "She had
 a purse, but it was virtually empty. No
 wallet, no ID. Just a couple of small
 pieces of jewelry and some tissue. And an
 empty pillbox."
 Freddi mulled that over for another instant.
 "It doesn't fit."
 "What doesn't fit?"
 "That a woman like Abby would show up with no
 money, no clothes, no possessions--and no
 past."
 "A woman like Abby?" His brows drew together
 in a questioning frown.
 "Haven't you noticed a certain--was She
 reached for the word she wanted. "A certain _dignity
 about her? A kind of understated elegance?"
 For a long moment Mitch looked at her. Then
 a slow-dawning light of recognition rose in his
 eyes. "Yes," he said, nodding slowly. "I
 _have. Something about the way she sits, certain ways
 she holds her hands, even her head--was
 "Class."
 At his puzzled look, Freddi repeated,
 "_Class. Abby has class."
 His smile was soft and faintly tender as he
 echoed the word. "Class ... that's it. That fits
 her. Abby's ... a lady." 81
 "Exactly." Freddi's imagination began
 to roll. "So what's a lady like Abby doing on
 top of a Kentucky mountain without a nickel to her
 name or a scrap of memory about her past?"
 When Mitch didn't answer, she went on.
 "You said the local police tried to dig up some
 background on her. How much of an effort do you
 think they really made?"
 He shrugged. "I have no idea. I suppose
 they did what they could."
 Freddi lifted her cup and drained the rest of the
 coffee. "I have a friend in Chicago--a PI,                    42
 one of the best in the business--who would probably do
 some checking for us, if I asked him to."
 She could almost hear the questions forming in Mitch's
 mind as he studied her.
 "Boyfriend?" His tone was light, but his eyes were
 hard.
 "_Friend," Freddi emphasized.
 His gold-flecked eyes continued to probe hers
 for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I don't
 think so."
 Freddi drew back, watching him. "Why not?"
 He looked away. "I'm not sure we have the
 right. It seems ... almost like prying." His voice
 held a sharp edge when he turned back to her.
 "Besides, there's no money to pay someone like that.
 Even I know private investigators don't
 come cheap."
 "I told you he's a friend. There wouldn't be a
 fee."
 "He must be a _good friend."
 Unless Mitch had changed a great deal, the
 pointed remark and accompanying borderline sneer
 represented all the nastiness of which he was capable.
 Freddi decided to ignore the dig. "Aren't you
 curious enough to want to try?"
 Again he glanced away. "What if there's some
 kind of trouble in Abby's past--something she's
 running away from?"
 "That's a possibility. But it's also possible
 that there are people in her past, people who love her and are
 trying to find her. A husband, children--what about
 them?"
 As she watched, he closed his eyes for an
 instant, then opened them, saying nothing.
 "Mitch," Freddi probed quietly, "are you
 afraid of what we might find out?"
 He turned back to her but remained silent
 until he had taken a long drink of 83
 coffee. "Maybe. I'd hate to see Abby
 hurt."
 Freddi hadn't expected him to admit what
 came next. "Maybe I'm also a little afraid
 of losing her. She's become really important
 to me."
 "That's not likely to happen. Abby adores
 you."
 He smiled a little, and she saw a brief
 flash of the younger, roguish Mitch. "Yeah, it
 takes a certain amount of maturity
 to appreciate my charm."
 For a long time they both continued to stare outside
 in silence as they watched the light, steady rain.
 Finally Mitch turned back to her. "Go ahead,"
 he said.                                                      43
 Freddi looked at him. "What?"
 "Go ahead and ask your ... friend ... to see
 what he can find out. I don't like it, but I
 suppose it's the right thing to do." He shot her a
 look. "But anything he turns up gets run
 by me before it gets to Abby."
 Freddi nodded. "Of course."
 After another brief silence, he sighed
 heavily. "I just wish I knew what to do with her
 now."
 "What do you mean?"
 "She can't stay alone. Not after what happened
 last night." Jabbing at the table with his thumb, he
 added, "Especially if you're right about it being
 deliberate."
 "How do you think Abby would feel about a
 roommate for a few days?" Freddi didn't know
 what had sparked the idea, and the words surprised
 her as much as they seemed to catch Mitch off
 guard.
 "A roommate?"
 Freddi nodded. "Me."
 She thought he was going to choke on the cinnamon
 ball he had just popped into his mouth. "_You?
 Stay with Abby?"
 "Why not?"
 His face tightened. "What exactly are you
 up to, Freddi?" he demanded. "A new
 plot? You smell the makings of another
 best-seller, is that it?"
 She bristled. "I'm not up to anything,
 Mitch. I'm trying to help. Is that really so
 inconceivable?"
 He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with 85
 challenge. "Abby lives in a three-room
 cabin on the topside of a mountain--a mountain which,
 as I recall, you were never overly fond of. She
 doesn't own a hot tub; she doesn't even
 own a television set. Her idea of entertainment
 is crocheting afghans for one of the local nursing
 homes." He stopped and brought his face even
 closer to hers. "Not exactly the lifestyle to which
 you've become accustomed, is it, Freddi?" he
 added caustically.
 Their eyes locked and held. "What exactly
 do you know about my lifestyle, Mitch?" she
 countered evenly.
 He backed off a little. "Point taken. But you
 still haven't told me what you're up to."
 His expression was more than skeptical. It was
 openly hostile.
 "I told you I'd planned to stay at the
 farm," Freddi said evenly. "But it's going to be
 a few days before I can settle in." Warming                   44
 to her own idea, she pressed on. "If Abby
 would have me, it would give you a little peace of mind,
 wouldn't it? At least she wouldn't be alone."
 "She doesn't have room."
 "She has a couch."
 "Not anymore," he reminded her almost
 viciously.
 Freddi thought for a moment, then nodded. "I'll
 replace the couch. It can be my way of paying my
 keep, for however long I stay with her."
 Mitch's eyes narrowed even more as he studied
 her with open mistrust. Then he slowly eased
 away, sinking back against the chair. "Freddi
 ... why did you come back?"
 Unprepared for his bluntness, Freddi at first
 attempted to skate around the truth with a weak
 laugh. "I thought you were the man with all the answers
 this week." She paused. "I'm doing a
 creative-writing workshop, remember?"
 "I'm sure you get more than your share of
 workshop invitations," he said acidly, his eyes still
 hard. "Try again, Freddi."
 Gripping the rim of her saucer between both hands,
 Freddi groped for an answer that would be honest but
 not too revealing. "I'm not sure you'd believe
 me."
 His look never wavered. "It might take some
 doing, but try me."
 Freddi swallowed, then looked away. Staring
 into the leaden gloom of the morning, she knew 87
 that it was too soon to tell him ... everything.
 "Let's just say that it was time to ... make
 some changes in my life."
 Uncertainly, she looked back at Mitch.
 His gaze was relentless, raking her face with
 undisguised suspicion. "What kind of
 changes?"
 She tried a careless shrug, but it came off
 badly. "My life's become ... too fast.
 Too fast, too frantic--too much. Even my
 writing is out of control. I decided to take some
 time for myself, do some thinking. Besides," she added
 quickly, before he could interrupt with another jibe,
 "I was homesick."
 __Homesick for my best friend ... my hero
 ... my _love.
 She watched him, anticipating more sarcasm.
 Anticipating anything but what came.
 His eyes were still wary but no longer contemptuous
 as he leaned toward her. "Freddi, are you in some
 kind of trouble?"
 Freddi stared at him. "Trouble?"
 Still searching her face with what appeared to be
 genuine, if guarded, concern, Mitch pressed,                  45
 "Do you need help?"
 He hadn't believed her. He hadn't even
 _heard her. Freddi suddenly felt incredibly
 sad. Was she really that shallow, that untrustworthy
 in his eyes ... in his memory? "No, Mitch,"
 she said softly. "I'm not in any kind of trouble.
 I simply wanted to come home, that's all."
 For a long time he sat silently studying her.
 When he finally spoke, his words pierced her
 heart. "Freddi, if the Ridge wasn't big
 enough for you when you were eighteen, it's surely not big
 enough for you now. Not after being where you've been, doing
 all you've done. Don't forget how desperate
 you were to get away from here."
 "That was a long time ago, Mitch."
 "Some things don't change. The Ridge
 hasn't changed, Freddi."
 __But I have, Mitch. ... I _have. "I was
 counting on that," she said softly.
 He leaned back, his shoulders sinking heavily
 against the back of the chair. "You're really
 serious."
 "Yes."
 "It won't work, Freddi," he said, shaking his
 head slowly. "You'll never stay."
 __It has to work, Mitch. ... The 89
 only part of me that's worth anything is somewhere
 back here, on this mountain ... with _you. ...
 He got to his feet so abruptly the chair
 collided with the wall. "We'd better go."
 Freddi stood, fumbling in her purse for a pen
 to sign the check.
 His hand covered hers just long enough to slide the
 check from between her fingers, and she jumped. "I'll
 get it," he said, holding her gaze. "We
 don't have to go dutch anymore." For an instant
 the faint smile in his eyes was unguarded and almost
 warm.
 He took her arm as they started toward the
 cashier's counter. "There's a chapel service
 each morning at nine-fifteen," he said.
 "You'll have a few minutes after that before you start your
 workshop."
 "Good," Freddi said brightly, waiting as he
 slipped the bills from his wallet to pay the check.
 "That'll give me a chance to see how Abby
 feels about a roommate. Will she be in chapel?"
 Mitch glanced over at her and nodded, then
 reached for her rain poncho and slipped it over her
 shoulders.
 Feeling his hands linger on her shoulders for a
 second longer than necessary, Freddi held her
 breath.
 "You _are serious?" he asked quietly before                   46
 dropping his hands away.
 Freddi turned to face him. "Totally. In
 fact, I think Abby and I will have a great time
 together."
 Mitch shook his head, drew a long breath, and
 again took her arm. "Why do I have the feeling
 you're absolutely right about that?" he muttered,
 leading her out of the dining room.
 
 SIX
 
 The man stood in the field behind the student
 center, his huge frame half-hidden behind a
 massive, gnarled maple tree. He kept off
 to the side just enough to have a good view of anyone going in
 or out of the student center building and the chapel across
 the parking lot.
 Indifferent to the light rain, he watched
 Donovan follow the black-haired,
 foxy-looking woman up the walk and through the
 doors of the chapel, right behind the blind man and his
 wife. 91
 He glanced at his watch. It was almost
 nine-fifteen.
 _There _she _was. As usual, the old ditz
 came at a run, bolting out the door of the student
 center, head down against the rain. Veering to the right,
 she pounded across the parking lot, then went racing up
 the sidewalk to the chapel. He hadn't seen her
 walk at a normal pace yet. She always
 seemed to hit the pavement running.
 Watching her, a knot of pressure behind his
 left eye began to pound in frustration. He
 hadn't allowed for all the fuss this week with
 this--_festival, or whatever it was. Most
 likely it would mean a change in the old
 woman's routine. From the looks of a discarded
 schedule he'd picked up behind the chapel, there was
 something going on day and night.
 He resented the upheaval in his plans. He
 had originally intended to make his first move on her
 by tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest. But now it
 looked like the whole campus was going to be mobbed with
 teachers and kids most of the time. The old lady
 hadn't been alone for more than a few hours since
 yesterday.
 Talk about lousy timing. He had expected
 to find a crackers old dame on her own--an
 open target. Instead, the place was swarming with
 students, and the old lady obviously had more people in
 her life than he had been led to expect. In
 addition to the teacher, the blind man and his wife were
 sticking pretty close. And apparently the
 savvy-looking dame with the Mercedes was part of the          47
 club as well.
 His mouth twisted in a sneer as he thought of the
 black-haired woman. He had just about run her
 off the road the day before, up by the dam. If he
 had gotten a closer look at her, he wouldn't
 have been in such a hurry to waste her. Still, she
 seemed to be mixed up with Donovan and the old
 lady, so that meant he'd have to get rid of her.
 Later, he thought, cracking a quick smile.
 Something had to make this stupid job worthwhile.
 The clincher was the rain. He was holed up in an
 abandoned storage shed, deep in a pine woods not
 too far from Donovan's and the old lady's
 cabins. He had thought it would be all he needed
 for a few days, but with this rain, it was probably
 going to turn into a cold, wet hole real fast.
 A familiar crawling sensation spread over
 him; he could almost feel the dry, stinging 93
 rash begin to splotch his skin. Digging first at his
 forearms, then at his shoulders and chest, he began
 to carelessly rake the rash with his fingertips.
 After another moment, he turned and started
 to walk up the incline behind the student center.
 Pulling his cap down a little tighter around his head,
 he started toward the dense forest that opened onto a
 rough path up the mountain. He zipped his black
 poncho all the way up to the collar, hunkering
 inside it against the rain as he trudged along the
 overgrown clearing through the woods.
 He hated jobs like this. You planned and
 planned as close as you could, and then it all blew
 up in your face because the jerk that gave the orders
 hadn't done his homework.
 Now he was going to have to blow at least another day
 or two figuring out how many others needed doing
 besides the old woman. He already knew Donovan
 had to go, but it was beginning to look as if there might
 be several more.
 He hadn't turned up a thing at the old
 lady's cabin. Not that he had really expected
 to. He was beginning to think this whole stinking job was
 a waste. His blood heated just thinking about it, and
 he again raked his nails over his itching forearms.
 Abruptly he remembered the cat he had
 killed the night before. He had always hated cats.
 There had never been less than half a dozen of
 them creeping around his simpleminded aunt's
 apartment--skinny, screeching for food, stinking up
 the place. He killed them off every chance he got.
 Remembering the one he'd wasted the night before
 helped to cool him down a little.
 He took a swipe at some of the wet,
 low-hanging branches slapping him in the face.
 The pine needles scraped his skin as he charged his           48
  through the woods. But despite the rain and the
 rash, he was feeling better.
 And once the old lady and her friends were out of the
 way, he would feel good--real good.
 Good and rich.
 
 SEVEN
 
 By eleven o'clock that night, Jennifer was incapable
 of thinking beyond a hot shower and a soft bed.
 The day had turned into a marathon: workshops in
 the morning and afternoon, followed by a concert that evening.
 After the concert, the four of them had spent another
 two hours finishing the cleanup at 95
 Abby's cabin and helping Freddi move in.
 Somehow they had also managed a frenzied trip
 into town and a visit to Derry Ridge's only
 furniture store, where they hastily purchased a
 new sofa bed for Abby's cabin.
 Freddi's determination to buy the couch triggered
 what easily could have turned into a major clash
 between her and Mitch. Daniel, however, had
 mollified both of them by suggesting that he and
 Jennifer would like to help Abby, too. The end
 result was that Daniel paid half the purchase
 price of the couch, Freddi the other half.
 At the moment, Jennifer would have settled for
 _any couch, so long as it was close by and out of the
 rain. Hurrying up the steps of the deck, she
 huddled gratefully against Daniel's warmth
 while they waited for Mitch to unlock the cabin
 door.
 She uttered a weary moan as Daniel
 pulled her under his arm and gave her a hug.
 "Tired?"
 "I don't know which did the most damage," she
 admitted, "the long day or the second piece of
 Abby's chocolate cake."
 Daniel shook his head. "You must have a real
 zinger of a metabolism. By all rights, you ought
 to look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, the way
 you eat."
 Too tired to counter, Jennifer waited for
 Sunny to lead Daniel through the now-open door,
 then followed.
 The phone was ringing as they walked in. Mitch
 stopped only long enough to turn on the lamp beside the
 couch before starting down the hall. "I'd better
 get that, in case it's Abby."
 After locking the door, Jennifer went to hang
 up their jackets in the hall closet. When she
 came back, she found Daniel already sprawled
 out on the couch, his legs out in front of him. At
 his feet, Pork Chop was scurrying delighted                   49
 circles around Sunny who merely sat
 unmoving, eyeing the energetic cocker spaniel with
 good-natured tolerance.
 Jennifer sank down beside her husband and watched
 the two dogs for a moment, then turned to Daniel.
 "I'm really glad you had that idea to help pay
 for Abby's couch. Now I feel as if we've
 done something to help her, too."
 He nodded. "You like her a lot, don't you?"
 "How could anyone _not like Abby? She's 97
 precious."
 "Well, I'm afraid there's _someone out there
 who doesn't like her very much," he said grimly.
 "Daniel, do you really think she's in
 danger?"
 Locking his hands behind his head, he nodded.
 "It's beginning to look that way. Mitch told me
 tonight that Freddi's suspicious that there might be a
 connection between the guy she saw at the musical
 last night and what's been happening to Abby."
 "I know. She told me while we were
 unpacking." Jennifer shivered slightly as she
 recalled Freddi's detailed description of the
 stranger in black.
 "So, what do you think of the mystery lady now?
 It sounded to me as if the two of you were hitting it
 off pretty well."
 Straightening, Jennifer scooted closer to him.
 "Daniel, can you believe it? I actually
 helped _Gwynevere _Leigh unpack her
 luggage tonight!"
 "You're really impressed with her, aren't you?"
 he asked after a moment.
 "Of course I'm impressed. Look at
 what she's accomplished, and she's not even thirty
 years old yet."
 "Her books, you mean?"
 "Her books--her _life. She's a huge
 success, you know. She's also beautiful and
 intelligent--and surprisingly nice. You'd never
 dream she's a celebrity, would you? She's
 so--genuine. And did I tell you she's a
 Christian?"
 Daniel nodded and smiled. "A couple of
 times."
 Jennifer looked at him. "I suppose you
 think I'm being childish."
 Still smiling, he shook his head. "A little
 starstruck, maybe, but not childish."
 Jennifer bit her lower lip, thinking. "I
 don't think it's wrong to admire someone who's
 accomplished as much as Freddi has."
 "Hey, I'm not criticizing you. I understand."
 He pulled her into his arms. "I just want you                 50
 to realize, though, that in a lot of ways you're more
 of a success than the Gwynevere Leighs of the
 world."
 Jennifer laughed at his foolishness, and he
 pulled back, frowning. "I'm serious. Look
 at all the people in your life--the people you love 99
 and make happy. Like me. And Jason. And so
 many others, Jennifer. There's no index for that
 kind of success, but I expect it counts for a
 lot with the Lord. One of the things that makes you so
 special is your servant's heart, and I love
 you for it."
 Jennifer studied him, lifting a hand to his
 bearded cheek. "What a sweet thing to say,
 Daniel."
 He caught her hand and held it. "I mean it,
 Jennifer. Don't minimize the importance of
 everything you do. What about your family--and mine?
 And those little preschoolers you teach on Sunday and the
 people who listen to your show on the air every day and hear you
 sing in the choir at church?"
 His words warmed her, but Jennifer couldn't help
 but wish that just once she could accomplish something
 _truly special. Something important.
 It would be enough, she thought, to excel in just one
 thing. Daniel and his entire family were
 _achievers. Athletes and teachers, musicians
 and physicians, craftsmen and builders--the
 Kaines were a mix of all kinds of gifts and
 abilities. She had her music, of course, but
 even though Daniel told her she had an
 "incredible" voice, Jennifer knew the truth--that
 her voice was better than average but less than
 great. She had come to terms with that long ago.
 Lately, however, it seemed that everyone around
 her was doing important things--things that _mattered.
 Everyone except her.
 The restlessness she had felt for the past few
 weeks had left Jennifer frustrated. What in
 the world did she want, after all? She had a
 wonderful husband whom she loved more than life,
 an adorable son, a good home--how could she
 possibly feel ... _unfufilled? And yet
 she _did. Unfulfilled--and guilty, guilty
 that she felt as she did.
 "Jennifer?"
 She jumped at the sound of Daniel's
 voice.
 "Is something wrong?" He was still holding her
 hand, and now he gave it a gentle squeeze.
 Jennifer looked at him.
 "Jennifer ... are you happy?"
 Appalled that he even had to ask, Jennifer
 hurried to reassure him. "Oh, Daniel, of                      51
 course I'm happy! How could I be anything _but
 happy?" 101
 __Exactly, Jennifer ... _how could _you?
 His expression was still one of concern and
 uncertainty. Jennifer kissed him gently on the
 cheek. "Daniel Kaine, any woman would have
 to be a total fool not to be happy with a husband
 like you," she said firmly. "And I am _not a
 foolish woman!"
 He seemed to relax a little. "It must be me.
 Maybe I'm just feeling a little insecure."
 Jennifer studied him, but before she could question him
 further, Mitch appeared in the doorway. He
 did not, Jennifer noted, look happy.
 "I'm beginning to think this week just wasn't
 meant to be," he said.
 Daniel apparently heard the strain in his
 voice. "What's the matter?" he asked,
 releasing Jennifer and getting to his feet.
 "That was Lifestream's manager on the phone.
 He called to cancel the group's Friday night
 concert. It seems their bus wrecked just outside
 of Nashville last night, and three of their guys
 are in the hospital." He paused. "Including
 Dylan Gray, their lead singer."
 "Oh no!" Jennifer sat forward. "How
 badly are they hurt?"
 "Gray and the driver are listed as critical;
 the other fellow will probably be released in a
 few days."
 Daniel frowned. "What happened, do they
 know?"
 "Head-on collision. Mason said it was an
 ugly night. A lot of fog and heavy rain."
 Jennifer saw Daniel wince slightly.
 Mitch's description had no doubt jarred a
 painful memory of a similar accident--the one in
 which Daniel had lost his sight.
 "Apparently an elderly man went left of
 center and rammed into their bus," Mitch continued.
 He let out a long, weary sigh. "That heavy
 rain is headed our way, incidentally."
 His left shoulder lifted in a tension-relieving
 gesture, then dropped. "They were the anchor event
 for the entire week. Now we're going to have
 hundreds of people expecting a Friday night concert
 that isn't going to take place."
 "Can't you bring in someone else?" Daniel
 asked.
 "Not on such short notice." Mitch shook his
 head with obvious frustration.
 "Why don't you do it yourself?" 103
 Daniel suggested. "You don't have to take a
 backseat to anyone as a musician. Get some                    52
 of the kids together and do your own concert."
 Mitch stared at him incredulously. "Come on,
 Dan. I play a little banjo and guitar, that's
 all."
 "_And a little fiddle, a little mandolin, and a little
 dulcimer," Daniel recited dryly.
 "Yeah, well, bluegrass isn't on the
 program. And I'm certainly no CCM star.
 I couldn't begin to--was
 He stopped in midsentence and turned an
 intent, measuring look on Daniel. After a
 moment he began to nod, slowly, then more
 vigorously.
 "_You could do it!"
 "I could do what?" Daniel parroted
 blankly.
 "The concert!" The worry that had darkened
 Mitch's eyes only an instant before suddenly
 lifted. "You're a natural."
 His words tumbled out fast and sharp. "You're
 perfect for it. You've got a great voice--I
 heard you sing with your teen group at that youth rally in
 Clarksburg, remember? And you're absolute
 dynamite on keyboards. Plus the fact that
 you've got name recognition because of _Daybreak and
 your numbers on the charts."
 He stopped, a broad smile of obvious
 relief breaking over his features. "You'll be
 great!" He paused. "You _will doo. R won't you,
 Dan?"
 Stunned by the lengthiest stream of conversation she
 had yet heard from the usually taciturn Mitch,
 Jennifer turned to Daniel for his reaction.
 "You're a maniac, man. There's no way."
 Daniel began to shake his head firmly. "No
 way."
 "Now wait, Dan--listen to me a minute,"
 Mitch said urgently. "You can bail me out on
 this. We're talking about mostly teens and
 college kids here. They'll accept you just as
 easily as they would Lifestream."
 Flicking his glance to Jennifer as if in an
 appeal for support, Mitch continued to press.
 "You've got a lot more credibility with your
 music than you seem to realize, Dan. Once
 people find out who you are--that you're the man behind
 _Daybreak--well, that's all it will take.
 Trust me." 105
 Daniel leaned toward Mitch in an attempt
 to protest, but the effusive Mitch wasn't
 finished. "You're exactly what I need. Where
 else could I get someone who could just walk on and
 take over on such short notice?"
 "Mitchell, do you think you could just listen to me           53
 for a minute here? Please?" Daniel assumed the
 tone of voice he ordinarily used with Jason
 when he was trying to explain a very difficult
 point. "It's true that I've done some stuff with
 my teen ensembles at youth rallies. _But--was
 he slowed his words, giving each one a deliberate
 emphasis--"my teens are not here this week. It
 would just be me and a few instruments. And that, my friend,
 does not a concert make."
 "You've got Jennifer," Mitch countered without
 missing a beat. Turning to her, he said,
 "Dan's told me about your great voice. I
 can't wait to hear the two of you together."
 Jennifer opened her mouth to protest, but Mitch
 waved off her attempt. "The Lord _does
 provide. You guys can save the week for me."
 "Mitch--was Daniel tried again.
 "I wouldn't even _think of getting up there in
 front of all those people!" Jennifer broke in.
 "For goodness' sake, Mitch, I sing in our church
 choir--that's all!"
 Daniel turned toward her. "Don't put
 yourself down, Jennifer. You've got an
 absolutely incredible voice."
 "Daniel--was
 Mitch narrowed his eyes at her. "If
 Daniel will do it, will you?"
 "No, I will _not! Daniel, tell him I
 won't--was
 "I wouldn't even consider doing it alone,"
 Daniel said stubbornly.
 "There you are, Jennifer." Mitch's tone was
 solemn. "The ball's in your court."
 Jennifer stared at him. Undaunted, Mitch
 simply shot her a boyish, thoroughly disarming
 grin.
 "Besides," he rushed to add before Jennifer could
 say anything, "you can't say no without at least
 _praying about it, can you? I mean, how do you know this
 isn't the real reason you're here this week?
 Maybe this is exactly why the Lord led you
 to Derry Ridge."
 Jennifer looked at him incredulously, then
 turned to Daniel. Her stomach did a 107
 slow flip when she saw the frown of uncertainty
 on her husband's face. Mitch's outburst had
 obviously hit a nerve.
 "All right, all right. We'll pray about it,"
 Daniel conceded.
 "_Daniel!"
 Daniel's shoulders went up in a shrug of
 helplessness. "He's right, Jennifer. We have
 to at least pray about it."
 Jennifer gaped at him for another moment, then                54
 turned back to Mitch. Intending to level one of
 her sternest glares at him, she hesitated,
 stopped by a sudden flash of insight about the
 lean-faced, gentle-natured Kentuckian.
 Mitch Donovan might very well possess
 what Daniel had rather whimsically described as the
 "spirit of a poet and the heart of a Christian
 martyr," but the gleeful, outrageous grin he now
 turned on Jennifer was that of an Irish sea
 captain about to board the enemy's ship.
 Jennifer knew with a sudden, unnerving certainty
 that she and Daniel would be doing the concert Friday
 night.
 
 
 EIGHT
 
 Freddi awoke before dawn the following morning
 to the sound of rain pounding relentlessly on the roof of
 Abby's cabin.
 Instantly alert, she swung her legs over
 the side of the sofa bed and reached for the jeans and
 cotton pullover she had laid out the night before.
 The room was cool, and she dressed hurriedly,
 then went to the front window to look out.
 There was little to see. Mitch had replaced the
 security light the night before, but it was wrapped
 too thickly by the mountain's dense fog and a heavy
 curtain of rain to be little more than a feeble beacon
 in the darkness.
 Eventually she turned away, crossing the
 room to turn on a lamp beside the sofa. The
 small living room was snug and friendly in the warm
 glow from the lamp. Mitch's touch was everywhere.
 Last night after the others had gone, Abby had
 pointed out to Freddi a number of pieces that he
 had either built or refinished: the blue
 milk-chair resting against the opposite wall, the
 double-board mantel above a rebricked
 fireplace, the wide-planked floor 109
 he'd stained to a satin finish then accented with a
 multi-colored hooked rug from a local estate
 auction. Even most of the primitive tin and
 local stoneware pieces on the mantel had come
 from his own collection.
 Smiling a little to herself as she let her gaze
 scan the room, Freddi reached for a treasure of
 her own. She picked up a small figurine
 music box from the lamp table where she had placed
 it the night before, tracing with loving gentleness the
 graceful lines of a barefoot young girl in a
 ballgown. Mounted on a pedestal meant
 to resemble a patch of wild flowers, the girl had
 long black hair and enormous eyes and was                     55
 playing a wooden flute.
 Mitch had given it to her on her sixteenth
 birthday. He had stood there, home from college
 just for her birthday, handsome but still too thin, watching
 her intently to measure her reaction. "It was so
 much like you I couldn't resist it," he had told
 her. "Classic country."
 His smile had been tender but uncertain. What
 Freddi hadn't realized at the time was that the
 music box was imported porcelain. She
 didn't like to think about how many meals he must have
 skipped just to pay for it.
 With great care and a feeling of sadness, Freddi
 turned the figurine, winding it just enough to start the
 music. Eyes shut, she listened to the soft,
 plaintive tune of "Derry Air," the song
 known around the world as "Danny Boy."
 Freddi had slept in dozens of hotel
 rooms, lived in New York City,
 Chicago, and, for a few months, San
 Francisco. She had seen most of the United
 States, traveled to England, Ireland,
 Scotland, and Wales. Everywhere she went, the
 music box had gone with her. From place
 to place, year to year, night after night, she had
 kept it with her, and with it, the memory of Mitch.
 ...
 She opened her eyes, blinking away the tears
 as she replaced the figurine on the table. She
 would tuck it away in her things later, before Mitch
 could happen in and see it ... but not just yet.
 Leaving the room, she padded down the hall to the
 kitchen in her stocking feet. A dim light was
 glowing weakly just inside the kitchen door, enough for
 Freddi to find her way around. Crossing to the
 counter, she plugged in the coffeemaker 111
 Abby had filled the night before, then opened the
 cabinet above the sink to get a cup.
 A brass lamp hung over the small oval
 table. She started across the room to turn it on but
 stopped at the window. Pulling the curtain back
 a little, she looked out, then down, in the direction
 of Mitch's cabin.
 Last night she had been able to see his roof and
 one side of the deck from this same window. But not this
 morning. The rain-veiled darkness made for
 near-zero visibility. She thought she _did see
 a faint glow of light coming from the cabin and stood
 watching it for a moment, wondering if Mitch was
 awake.
 The coffeemaker gurgled, and she glanced over
 her shoulder toward the counter. When she turned
 back to the window, a slight movement in the distance
 caught her attention. She stepped closer, bringing            56
 her nose almost against the glass as she strained
 to see.
 Off to the right, about halfway down between the two
 cabins, something moved. As she watched, she
 realized she had been wrong about the light she had
 seen a moment ago. It was coming not from inside
 Mitch's cabin but rather from the outside.
 And it was moving. Suspended eerily in the
 darkness for several seconds, it flickered, then
 began to flutter away from the cabin.
 With growing uneasiness, Freddi finally realized
 what she was seeing. Someone was down there with a
 lantern or a flashlight, someone who was now
 starting up the mountain.
 Her mind raced. What kind of crazy person
 would be coming up the mountain before daylight--and in this
 kind of weather?
 Instinctively she backed away, then bolted
 across the kitchen to turn off the night-light. With the
 room now in total darkness, she crept back
 to the window. More cautiously this time, she nudged the
 curtain to one side.
 The light was still there, swaying and weaving its way
 up the mountain, toward Abby's cabin.
 Freddi's throat tightened. Her eyes
 scanned the sky, hoping for at least a pale
 tracing of light, but it was still as dark as midnight.
 As she watched, the light suddenly changed
 directions. Veering off to the right, it began
 to drift toward the other side of the ridge. After a
 few more seconds, it disappeared from her field of
 vision. 113
 Chilled, Freddi stepped back from the window,
 thinking about what she had seen. Somebody had been
 outside--
 She swallowed. Somebody could have been
 _inside.
 She moved quickly but silently, crossing the
 room and fumbling through the drawers on either side
 of the sink until she finally located a small
 flashlight. Aiming the light low until she
 reached the wall phone beside the refrigerator, she
 lifted the handset and trained the flashlight on the
 insert card. Mitch's number was there, the first one
 listed.
 She keyed in the number with an unsteady hand,
 pulling in a couple of deep breaths as she
 waited, praying he was all right.
 Mitch answered on the second ring.
 "Mitch--are you all right?"
 "Freddi?" He sounded disoriented, only
 half awake. "What's wrong?"
 "Mitch, listen to me--are you awake? I saw
 something--somebody--outside your cabin."                     57
 "What?" His tone was gruff but alert.
 "When?"
 "A few minutes ago. I was in the kitchen,
 looking out the window, and I saw a light. At
 first I thought it was coming from inside your cabin, but then
 it started moving, coming up the mountain. Whoever it was
 came about halfway up and then headed west."
 There was silence for an instant, then, "Are you
 sure?"
 "_Yes, I'm sure! That's why I called
 you."
 "That's all you could see--a light?"
 "It's too dark to see anything else."
 "All right," he said after another brief
 pause. "I'll have a look." He stopped.
 "You and Abby are both OK?"
 "We're fine. Abby's still asleep. Mitch?
 Be careful."
 He grunted something unintelligible and hung
 up.
 
 Mitch shrugged into his clothes and hurried
 downstairs, almost colliding with Dan in the living
 room.
 "Sunny barked a couple of times a few
 minutes ago," Dan explained. "I took her
 out of the bedroom before she could wake Jennifer.
 She's settled down now," he added. 115
 "I don't know what she heard."
 Suddenly Mitch realized that Pork Chop,
 too, must have been restless in the night. The cocker
 had been on the couch when Mitch went to bed, but he
 had moved upstairs to Mitch's bedroom sometime
 before Freddi's phone call.
 Mitch waited until Dan and Sunny
 returned to the guest room before going outside.
 Dan would have insisted on going with him, and there was no
 point in his getting drenched, too. Besides, he
 felt no particular concern about whatever Freddi
 thought she had seen. She had always looked for the
 weird stuff first, before seeking a natural
 explanation. Chances were she had seen the flashlight
 of a stranded motorist or maybe even the
 reflection of someone's headlights. He
 expected to find nothing outside.
 Twenty minutes later he was behind the wheel of the
 Ranger, heading up the mountain toward Abby's
 place. He had seen nothing during his ten-minute
 search that looked suspicious. There _had been a
 sunken dip of mud not far from the back porch that
 looked as if someone might have slipped or
 skidded, but with the ground so spongy, there was no
 telling what might have caused it. No point in
 jumping to conclusions just because Freddi was feeling        58
 skittish.
 Besides, who would be fool enough to go traipsing around
 in this miserable weather before daylight?
 __Someone who didn't want to be _seen. ...
 He tried to push the nagging thought away. He was
 cold, still sleepy, and mildly irritated with
 Freddi for getting him out of bed in the first place.
 He also had a dull headache that was growing worse
 by the minute.
 His headlights were nearly useless in the fog,
 and the windshield wipers couldn't keep up with the
 downpour. By the time he pulled into the turnaround at
 Abby's cabin, he was gritting his teeth with
 tension.
 Pulling up the hood of his warm-up jacket,
 he leaped from the truck and made a dash for the
 porch. Freddi opened the door before he could
 knock. "Give me your jacket," she whispered
 as he stepped inside.
 Mitch shook his head. "I'll put it in the
 bathroom so it can dry out. Is Abby still
 asleep?"
 She nodded. "There's coffee in the kitchen."
 As soon as he walked into the kitchen, 117
 she poured milk into a steaming mug of coffee and
 handed it to him, then turned to refill her own cup.
 Mitch leaned against the counter, watching Freddi,
 his mouth going dry in spite of the coffee. Her
 hair was piled carelessly on top of her head,
 loosely secured with some sort of foreign
 object that resembled a twisted knitting needle.
 Her nose was shiny, her eyes still smudged with
 sleep. She looked scrubbed, innocent, and
 extremely young.
 She was wearing some kind of soft-looking cotton
 shirt--pink--and an old pair of jeans. No
 shoes, just socks. He found himself wondering if
 she still hated shoes. Did she go barefoot in her
 apartment in Chicago? Freddi had always detested
 anything that restricted her movement. Uncomfortable
 shoes, tight clothing, even gloves had been
 odious to her.
 "Mitch?"
 Embarrassed, Mitch realized he'd been
 staring. "Sorry. It takes me a while to wake
 up."
 "I asked if you found anything."
 He shook his head. "Nothing." He took
 another sip of coffee, then went to sit down at
 the table.
 She followed, scooting into a chair directly
 across from him.
 "So--do you think someone was watching your cabin?"
 He saw the familiar intensity in those wide                   59
 gray eyes, could almost hear the gears grinding in that
 imagination of hers. "In this rain? More likely it
 was someone stranded on the road, looking for a
 telephone."
 "Did you pass anyone on your way here?"
 "No, but they could have been farther up."
 Her eyes met his over the rim of her coffee
 cup. "You don't really believe that."
 "I _do believe it. Give it up,
 Freddi," he said, suddenly impatient with her.
 "You're not going to find any new plot ideas on
 the Ridge."
 She seemed unruffled by the dig. "Oh, I
 don't know. I'd say this one is beginning to show a
 lot of promise."
 "Such as?"
 She smiled at him. "One: A
 weird-looking stranger shows up on the Ridge
 --for no apparent reason. Two: Someone shoots
 out Abby's security light--for no 119
 apparent reason. Three: Unknown subject
 rips up Abby's cabin and kills her pet cat
 --for no apparent reason. Four: Someone waving
 a flashlight sneaks away from your cabin in the
 middle of a predawn downpour--for no apparent
 reason. ..."
 He lifted a hand to stop her. "All right,
 all right. We've got some stuff that's out of the
 ordinary."
 Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
 Finally, Freddi got up and took both their
 cups to the counter for a refill. He watched her,
 grudgingly admitting to himself that coincidence couldn't
 possibly cover all the unexplained events of the
 past two days.
 "So what's your point, Freddi-Leigh?" The
 familiar combination of her two names into one slipped
 out before he could stop it. It was a nickname he had
 given her years ago, a teasing endearment he no
 longer had the right to use.
 Apparently, she hadn't noticed. With
 smooth, unhurried movements, she poured fresh
 coffee and returned to the table.
 "My point," she said evenly, "is that Abby
 may be in a great deal of danger." Her eyes
 met his and held. "And if I were writing this
 story, your involvement with Abby would place you in
 jeopardy right along with her."
 Startled, he almost laughed. But she was
 completely serious. Wearily, Mitch combed the
 damp hair at the back of his neck with his fingers.
 How could his life, so orderly and routine only a
 few days ago, suddenly become so complicated?
 It would be easy to blame Freddi, but what good               60
 would it do?
 At the touch of her fingers on his wrist, his head
 shot up.
 "Mitch? You look exhausted. Why don't you
 go back to your place and try to get some more
 sleep?"
 He shook his head, unable to drag his eyes
 away from the long slender fingers touching his skin.
 "It's too late. I'd just feel worse the
 second time up."
 She withdrew her hand, and, for an instant,
 Mitch wanted to recapture it, pull her
 closer.
 Abruptly he stood, pushing his chair back
 to the table before downing the last of the coffee. "I'd
 better go." 121
 Freddi rose from her chair and took his empty
 cup to the sink. "Is there a photography lab
 on campus?"
 He nodded. "In Fletcher Hall--the
 language arts building. Why?"
 She came back to the table. "What about a fax
 machine?"
 Again he gave a small nod. "In the
 administration office."
 "If I can reach Henderson this morning--that's
 the PI I told you about--he's going to want
 photographs." She shrugged. "I've got a
 picture of our man in black; I took it thund other evening at the musical. If Abby will let
 me, I'll take a couple of shots of her this
 morning. I'd like to get them developed as soon
 as possible and fax them to Chicago."
 "That shouldn't be any problem. If you give me
 the film this morning, I can get someone to develop
 it before noon."
 "Great." She hesitated. "Mitch? I'm
 only trying to help. You _do understand that, don't
 you? I _like Abby."
 Carefully avoiding her gaze, Mitch
 managed a weak smile. "That's good. She's
 really enjoying having you here."
 "I wish you were."
 For a moment he thought he'd only imagined it,
 that she really hadn't said it. He took a step
 away from her, then stopped, willing himself to meet
 her eyes.
 He wasn't sure what he was looking for as
 he searched her face. He only knew there was
 something new in her eyes, something that hadn't been
 there when they were younger. A quiet kind of strength,
 a peace, a composure that pervaded her every word, her
 every gesture.
 It almost made him angry, this unfamiliar                     61
 ... _quietness about her. She had walked back
 into his life without warning, plunging him
 heart-deep into a backwash of painful memories
 and broken dreams. And when she grew tired of
 whatever game she was playing at the moment, she would
 walk _out of his life again, leaving him to drown in the
 current she'd set in motion. It would be just like
 before: Freddi would go, and he would stay. Alone.
 In a frantic effort to head off the anxiety
 rising in him, Mitch began to talk as they headed
 for the living room. He told her about
 Lifestream's accident, about his concern 123
 over the approaching Friday night concert, about his
 plea to Daniel for assistance.
 "Do you think he'll do it?"
 "He promised to tell me this morning."
 Mitch fished his keys out of his pocket as they
 walked into the dimly lighted living room. "I
 don't know what I'll do if he decides not
 to--was
 He stopped, staring in disbelief at the table
 next to the sofa.
 Pressure constricted his chest, then moved
 to his throat, choking him. Unable to move, unable
 to speak, he stood there, his eyes locked on the
 music box. All the shattered pieces of their
 past, all the dusty, elusive dreams they had
 shared together, seemed to rise slowly from the ashes.
 Stiffly, he took a step toward the table, then
 another. Finally, he reached for the music box,
 touched it, picked it up, and studied it.
 "I ... was showing it to Abby last night,"
 Freddi said in an unsteady voice. "I meant
 to put it away ... later."
 Mitch tried to swallow, but the fist was still
 lodged in his throat. He wanted to hold her.
 He wanted to shout at her.
 "It still plays," she said, her words little more than
 a whisper.
 Finally Freddi moved toward him, reaching for the
 music box. He glanced down at it once, then
 handed it to her.
 Taking it, she wound it very slowly, lifting her
 face to his and smiling a little as the music began
 to chime.
 Emotion swelled in him, threatening to explode.
 He started to touch her, even while his mind shouted
 its warning. __Don't ... this is just a diversion
 for her. ... Don't set yourself up for the pain
 _again.
 She was only inches away from him, and he reached
 for her. His hand went to her hair, then hesitated
 when she closed her eyes. He lifted one long,
 silken strand, wrapped it around his fingers, then            62
 watched it slowly fall free.
 Her eyes opened, traveling over his face, and
 he almost reeled at the memories he saw
 reflected there. For a moment the rain beating down
 on the tiny cabin became his heartbeat, drumming
 the past back into existence, crashing through every wall of
 defense he had erected over the years.
 "I have to go now," he blurted out 125
 inanely.
 Freddi hesitated only an instant,
 regarding him with a level, measuring gaze.
 "I'll get your jacket," she said finally.
 When Mitch walked out onto the porch, she
 followed him. It was still raining, but a weak gray
 light was now creeping over the sky.
 "Have there been any reports on the river
 yet?" she asked, hugging her arms tightly to her
 body.
 "No. They'll probably start coming in this
 afternoon." He glanced into the downpour, avoiding her
 gaze. "You might want to keep an eye on
 Abby once they start issuing the flood warnings.
 She has a thing about the river. You may have
 to reassure her."
 At her questioning look, Mitch explained. "She
 doesn't like the river. She won't go near it.
 I'm not sure why."
 "Some sort of phobia?"
 He shrugged. "Maybe. She likes to keep
 her distance from it, that's for sure."
 Still averting his eyes, he stepped off the porch.
 "Is it all right if Abby rides in with you this
 morning?"
 "Of course."
 "She usually goes in around seven, but not today.
 Let her sleep for a while and come in with you at
 nine. I'll tell the other ladies in the
 cafeteria."
 Back inside the Ranger, he slid the key
 into the ignition and started the engine, waiting for it
 to warm up before pulling out. As he watched,
 Freddi waved, then stepped back inside and
 closed the door.
 Mitch put the truck in gear and started down the
 mud-slicked mountain road, the music box's
 refrain playing in his mind and tugging at his heart.
 
 NINE
 
 Huddled inside his poncho, the man perched
 cross-legged on a blanket in the back of the
 van. The blanket was already wet from his drenched
 clothing, and the poncho was next to worthless for warmth.
 Late last night he had abandoned the                          63
 ramshackle storage shed and taken refuge in the
 van. It would provide better shelter from the rain
 than the drafty, mud-floored shed.
 There had to be vans all over the 127
 place in a hick college town like this; no one
 was going to pay any attention to one more. Besides,
 once he was done with the old ditz and her friends,
 he'd be out of here.
 In spite of the miserable wet chill of the
 morning, his skin felt hot, almost feverish from the
 rage and frustration simmering inside him. The skin
 rash was worse than it had been for years; his
 left eye was infected again--probably because of the
 weeds he'd been tramping around in; and his gut was
 on fire from all the acid he was churning.
 Scowling, he glanced around the van's dark
 interior. Here he sat, a rich man
 by anybody's standards, with three foreign bank
 accounts. He should be staying at a first-class
 hotel--he could take his pick--instead of
 hunkering out here in the woods like some homeless
 creep.
 He rotated his shoulders and neck sideways
 to relieve the stiffness. At the same time he
 reminded himself why he was putting up with this
 garbage. Big bucks. He already had the first
 installment, and he stood to collect twice that much
 once he finished things here. The jerk who was
 financing the whole thing had accused him of messing
 up the first time, but he had straightened him out real
 quick.
 The man dabbed at his eye with a clean
 handkerchief. Taylor hadn't flapped his mouth for
 long. It had taken only a couple of minutes
 to make the little wimp understand the facts. This week
 was nothing more than a loose end that needed to be tied
 off. He was doing it because _he wanted to, not because
 some pencil-pushing lightweight was leaning on him.
 He would finish the job for the rest of the dough and for his
 own satisfaction. And since he'd have to waste a
 few others besides the old lady, this week just might
 not be all grief. Maybe he'd get some
 laughs out of it after all.
 He usually did.
 
 Abby was having the dream again.
 __Her bedroom ... the entire cabin ... was
 filled with dark water. Cold water, black,
 opaque, and inhabited by ... things ... things that
 didn't belong ... people she didn't know ...
 eyes following her, glaring at her, accusing her
 ... guns ... and blood ... blood-filled
 _water ...
 Then came the shadow, an enormous 129                         64
 black shadow rising up from the water. No, not a
 shadow, a man ... a mammoth hulk of a man with
 white hair and black clothes, black like the
 water ...
 He was struggling, grappling with another man, a
 man in a white shirt. She knew this man--he
 was good; he cared about her. There was a girl between
 them, a pretty young girl with a blond ponytail
 and pink tennis shoes. ...
 Abby tried to scream, to warn them about the man
 with the gun. ... They were going to get hurt. She
 opened her mouth and screamed and screamed, but she had
 no voice. She tried to run, to warn them,
 to help, but her legs were so heavy and all she could
 do was float ... float in the water. ...
 She heard the explosion and tried to scream again,
 but the black water choked off her voice, filled
 her throat and her lungs. ...
 Blood ... the water was turning to blood. A
 white shirt drifted by, stained with red ... then
 a pink tennis shoe ... and another. ...
 Now beyond her she saw the man, the one with the gun.
 He was in the water, raging like a mad sea
 monster. Blood on his shirt, on his face, in
 his hair. He grabbed her legs, pushed his face
 close to hers. ...
 His eyes ... he had no eyes. ...
 She screamed, and this time the sound finally ripped
 free from her throat as she shot up and forward in
 bed.
 Arms went around her, holding her close. A
 voice--a gentle voice--said kind, soothing
 things to her, warming her from the cold, icy terror in
 which the dark water had wrapped her.
 It was Freddi, Mitch's Freddi. Freddi
 was here. The water was gone. Abby told her about the
 dream, and Freddi held her until she was warm
 again.
 
 END OF VOLUME I
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
child DARK RIVER LEGACY
 
 by
 B. J. HOFF
                                                               65
 
 
 Volume II of Two Volumes
 Pages i-ii and 131-274
 
 
 
 
 Published by: Tyndale House Publishers,
 Inc., WHEATON, ILLINOIS. Further
 reproduction or distribution in other than a
 specialized format is prohibited.
 
 
 
 
 Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,
 National Library Service for the Blind and
 Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,
 Inc., 1998.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright 1990 by B. J. Hoff.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 DARK RIVER LEGACY 131
 
 TEN
 
 "I've been wanting to ask you this ever since we
 met," Jennifer said, finally giving in to her
 curiosity. "How in the world did you get a
 nickname like `Freddi`?"
 Driving with one hand on the steering wheel, her              66
 left arm on the ledge of the door, Freddi
 glanced over at her. "Mitch gave it to me."
 She laughed softly. "He always said I was too
 much of a tomboy for a name like `Gwynevere.`"
 They were on their way back to the cabins after a
 brief trip to the small shopping center just
 outside of town. Some toiletries for themselves and
 groceries for Abby filled several bags in the
 backseat.
 Turning off the main highway onto the narrow,
 snakelike road that scaled the mountain, Freddi
 shifted to low gear. "You and I have the same name, you
 know."
 Jennifer shot her a questioning look.
 "`Gwynevere`--in a variety of
 spellings--is an old Welsh name," Freddi
 explained, turning her gaze back to the road.
 "It evolved into several different forms over the
 centuries. One is `Jennifer.` Another
 is `Winifred.` Mitch found out about that one and
 dubbed me `Freddi.` It stuck all the way
 through school."
 "The two of you went to school together?"
 "Mm-him. Well, in a way. Mitch is
 four years older than I am, but he was always
 ... around. I really was a tomboy," she said,
 shooting Jennifer a quick smile, "forever getting
 myself into situations I couldn't get out of. Mitch
 just always seemed to be there to bail me out. Over the
 years he settled into a role somewhere between big
 brother and guardian."
 "That would be nice," Jennifer said. "I have
 two brothers, but they're both younger. I often
 wondered what it would be like to have an older brother
 who'd take care of _me for a change."
 "I used to daydream about having a whole
 houseful of brothers and sisters," Freddi said.
 "My parents were killed in an airplane crash
 when I was in elementary school, and a couple of
 years later my grandmother died. That left just
 Grandpa and me. I loved having Mitch hover
 over me--except when he got too 133
 bossy, of course--but my grandfather wasn't keen
 on the arrangement. He never approved of
 Mitch."
 Jennifer raised her eyebrows in surprise.
 How could anyone disapprove of Mitch
 Donovan?
 Freddi grimaced when the Mercedes bounced
 over a huge pothole, shooting muddy water
 into the air.
 "Grandpa was a good man," she went on,
 turning the windshield wipers on high, "but he
 had an almost obsessive sense of family                       67
 pride. He could trace his ancestors all the
 way back to the original Kentucky settlers,
 and he had a real problem with people like the `Do-nothing
 Donovans,` as he called them."
 She glanced over at Jennifer. "He got
 worse when Mitch and I started dating. He
 didn't actually forbid us to see one another--he
 just made life miserable for Mitch every time he
 came around."
 "But he continued to come?" Jennifer prompted.
 She could hardly wait to tell Daniel that she
 had been right about the romance between these two.
 "Oh, yes," Freddi said with a reminiscent
 smile. "In his own way, Mitch was a match for
 Grandpa. At least in terms of stubbornness."
 Pulling onto the gravel drive in front of
 Mitch's cabin, she put the car in park and let
 the engine idle. "Grandpa was never able to see the
 goodness in Mitch," she said softly, staring out the
 window. "He was so hung up on what most people
 _think is important that he never looked quite far
 enough to see what _is important."
 Jennifer nodded. "I guess we all do that
 sometimes."
 "Sure we do. That's why I left the
 Ridge."
 Jennifer turned to Freddi and saw the wistful
 look in her eyes.
 "I grew up restless," Freddi said, sinking
 back against the car seat as she continued to gaze out the
 front windshield. "I can't remember a time
 when I didn't want to escape the Ridge, to go
 --exploring. I just _knew," she said with a
 humorless smile, "that there were all kinds of
 wonderful, exciting things waiting for me on the
 other side of this mountain. And I was determined
 to find every one of them. Career, success,
 excitement--I wanted it all. 135
 Everything Derry Ridge couldn't offer."
 "And you found it?"
 Freddi met her eyes for a long moment, then
 looked away. "I found it. But a few months
 ago I began to realize that I had lost far more
 than I'd found."
 "And that's why you came back?" Jennifer
 studied Freddi's profile, puzzled by the
 unhappiness she sensed in the lovely young woman.
 "Nothing seemed important to me any
 longer," Freddi answered. "I had always been
 restless, unsettled--but this was different. Nothing
 satisfied me, nothing mattered to me--not even my
 writing. I felt as if ... as if I had no
 _reality in my life. Everything had become so
 artificial--so _plastic."                                     68
 There was no self-pity or resentment in her
 words, merely a quiet steadiness as she went on.
 "For the first time in--too long--I began to really
 pray." She looked at Jennifer. "Until
 then I'd only been giving lip service
 to God. My writing had always come first--always.
 Everything else took second place."
 As Jennifer listened, she began to sense that this
 was the first time Freddi had actually talked through her
 feelings. Her words were so simple and sincere that it
 was almost as if she were speaking to herself.
 "I realize now that I was passing through a kind
 of crisis in my faith, a turning point. I was
 forced to face the truth about myself: the center of my
 existence had never been Christ, even though I had
 been a believer since I was a little girl."
 Her gaze grew distant and more contemplative.
 "It was a devastating time for me. I was brought to a
 place of painful, raw honesty about what I
 believed and why I believed it. Gradually I
 began to realize that Christ had been my Savior
 for years--but I hadn't wanted him as my _Lord.
 He had never," she added in a voice that was little more
 than a whisper, "really been _first in my life."
 Freddi was silent for another moment. Finally
 she spoke, and her words arrowed straight
 to Jennifer's heart.
 "You see, I had to get to the place where
 Jesus was enough. I had to reach the point where I
 could say, and mean it with all my being, that if I
 lost everything--my writing, my success, my
 health, _everything--he would be enough."
 Shaken, Jennifer suddenly glimpsed a
 different Freddi. Or was she simply 137
 seeing the _whole Freddi? A lonely, wounded young
 woman, a woman whose eyes held yesterday's
 sorrows and no small measure of pain. But beyond
 that she sensed the very essence of peace, a peace that
 came only from what Daniel called the
 "sufficiency of Christ."
 Somewhere at the back of her mind, an uneasy
 question began to form, a question about her own peace. Could it
 be that she had allowed her feelings of inadequacy,
 her recent frustration and dissatisfaction, to invade
 that peace? Had she, like Freddi, forgotten that
 Jesus was enough?
 But she _had given the Lord first place in her
 life, a long time ago.
 Then what accounted for the increasing feelings of
 discontent nagging at her?
 Freddi's voice broke into her thoughts. "I
 can't believe it's after five already. We're going
 to have to hustle to make the concert tonight."
 Jennifer glanced at her watch and groaned.                    69
 "I promised to start dinner for Mitch! And I
 wanted to call and check on Jason, too."
 Collecting her purse, she turned to Freddi.
 "You and Abby are still coming for dinner, aren't you?"
 "I'll drop Abby off, but I'm not staying.
 In fact, I think I'm going to skip tonight's
 concert too; I've got some things I want to do
 at the farm. By the way," she added dryly,
 "what's this I hear about you and Daniel doing a
 concert of your own Friday night?"
 Jennifer made a face. "I had no idea
 Mitch could be such a bully," she cracked. "I
 can't believe he actually talked Daniel
 into this."
 "You'll be super," Freddi assured her,
 smiling. "I'm glad you're doing it."
 "_Daniel is doing it," Jennifer
 corrected, opening the door. "I'll be in the
 front row, rooting for him."
 Freddi grinned at her. "Somehow I think your
 husband may have other ideas."
 Jennifer started to get out, then turned back.
 "Are you going to need any help tonight? I could go with
 you."
 Freddi shook her head. "It won't take
 long. I just want to move a few things upstairs
 in case we get water."
 "Water?"
 Freddi nodded. "This is a flood district.
 It's easy to forget about it up here--was 139
 she inclined her head toward the upper part of the
 mountain--"but the farm is too close to the
 bottoms for comfort. The house has never taken much
 damage, but the first floor _has had water a
 couple of times."
 "You're not going to try to move furniture?"
 "No, just some small stuff I'd hate to see
 ruined. I can prop most of the furniture up off
 the floor."
 "Mitch will be disappointed if you don't stay,"
 Jennifer said without thinking.
 Freddi straightened in the seat, waiting for
 Jennifer to get out. "Most likely," she
 replied with a rueful smile, "Mitch will be
 relieved."
 
 Five minutes later, Jennifer was
 appraising the contents of Mitch's
 refrigerator. When the telephone rang, she
 answered it with one hand, reaching with her free hand
 to set a plastic container of lettuce on the
 butcher-block counter.
 It was Freddi. "Jennifer, is Abby there?"
 "Abby? No. At least I don't think so.                         70
 I've been in the kitchen ever since I came
 inside, but I'm fairly certain she's not here."
 "She's not here either."
 Jennifer glanced through the open doorway into the
 hall. "Hold on a minute, and I'll check
 the rest of the cabin." She laid the handset down
 on the counter.
 After finding no sign of Abby anywhere in the
 cabin, Jennifer picked up the extension in
 Mitch's bedroom. "She's not here, Freddi.
 Maybe she went back to the campus for something."
 There was a pause. "Mitch told her not to go
 anywhere alone."
 "Do you think we should call him?"
 Again Freddi hesitated. "Would you mind
 looking around outside? I'll do the same. If
 neither of us finds her, then I'll call the
 campus." She paused. "Did Mitch give you
 any idea what time he planned to come back to the
 cabin?"
 "About six. He and Daniel were going to meet
 with a few students in the choir and try to put together
 a backup ensemble for Friday night. Listen,
 I'll go outside right now. I'll call you
 back--was
 "No, if I don't find her in the 141
 next few minutes, I'll come down.
 Otherwise I'll call you."
 Jennifer grabbed her rain jacket and
 exchanged her dress shoes for a pair of boots,
 then headed for the back door.
 On the deck, she glanced around, then hurried
 down the steps into the yard, starting for the garage at the
 rear of the cabin.
 It was raining again. She pulled up the hood of
 her jacket and dashed across the walk to the garage.
 Through the window that ran the length of the garage door,
 she could see nothing but a few tools hanging on
 a pegboard and a couple of spare tires leaning
 against the far wall.
 She scanned her surroundings. Mitch's
 backyard was actually part of the mountain. He had
 cleared less than an acre directly from the
 slope, and his lot line merged naturally with the
 tree-covered hillside. A small white barn
 sat directly across from the garage, separated
 by only a few feet of gravel.
 Jennifer raced across the gravel to the front
 of the barn, tugging the zipper of her jacket up as
 she went. The door was locked. She went around
 to the side, her feet sinking a good inch into the mud.
 __Mitch could have used a little gravel over here,
 _too, she thought wryly.
 She cupped her hands around her eyes and tried                71
 to see through the narrow, mud-splashed window on the
 side wall of the barn. It was dark inside, and the
 window was filthy. She squinted, waiting for her
 eyes to adjust. She could just barely make out the
 dim shapes of a lawnmower and a bicycle resting
 against the wall. A workshop bench cluttered with power
 tools stood against the far wall.
 Finally, she decided to go back inside the
 cabin in case Freddi should call. There was still no
 sign of Abby.
 She started toward the cabin, then stopped. Out
 of the corner of her eye off to her right she saw
 something move. A man in a black, full-length
 poncho was trudging resolutely up the mountain.
 He was ten or twelve yards away, his back
 to Jennifer.
 Her breath caught in her throat. It had to be
 the man Freddi had described to them. There was no
 mistaking someone his size.
 He was walking fast, his legs covering the rise
 in giant steps. Jennifer hesitated only a
 moment before moving. She raced across the 143
 graveled section of the yard and dipped in among the
 trees, taking care to stay concealed as she began
 to edge her way up the mud-slicked hillside.
 The man was fifty yards up the mountain from her
 by now, but Jennifer still had a clear view of his
 back as he continued to climb. The wind had
 picked up and was slashing through the trees, hurling the
 rain with a force that made her face sting. Her heart
 was pumping hard, more from fear than exertion. She
 knew she ought to go back, but she was intent on
 seeing where he went.
 About halfway up to Abby's cabin, where the
 woods broke into a narrow clearing for a few
 feet, he suddenly turned left and began
 to jog, his head down against the wind-driven rain.
 Jennifer tried to increase her own pace,
 clutching at tree branches to keep from losing her
 balance as she climbed the slippery incline. She
 had to duck her head every few seconds to protect
 her face from the slapping tree limbs. Her
 lungs fought for air, and she veered left, straining
 to keep the man in sight.
 The distance between them was rapidly widening. In
 order to keep him in view, she was going to have
 to sacrifice the refuge of the woods and break
 into the clearing. It would mean leaving herself open,
 risking his seeing her, but she was going to lose sight
 of him otherwise.
 Her chest was on fire, the palms of her hands
 raw and wet. In a split-second decision,
 she broke forward, leaving the cover of the woods for
 open ground.                                                  72
 The man was almost out of sight. Jennifer began
 to run, but the mud sucked at her feet, pulling
 at her, slowing her pace.
 Unexpectedly, the man slowed, then turned and
 started toward the edge of another wooded area,
 heading toward a dilapidated, unpainted storage
 barn nearly concealed by the woods. A black van
 was pulled in close to it, its front half nosed
 in among the trees.
 Jennifer stopped, watching. The man went
 directly to the back of the van, unlocked it, and
 opened the doors. He raised one leg to climb
 inside, then stopped, his head snapping around as if
 he had heard something.
 Jennifer caught her breath as he stood
 scanning his surroundings. Below a black shooter's
 cap his face was pasty, his eyes concealed by dark
 glasses. 145
 She tried to dart away from the clearing and back
 into the trees before he could see her, but as she
 bolted toward the woods her foot slipped in the
 mud. Her ankle twisted hard, and she went
 down, pitching forward between two enormous pine
 trees. She fell on her side and shoved a
 fist against her mouth to keep from crying out.
 When she caught her breath, she realized that she
 wasn't hurt, only stunned and badly jarred.
 Praying that the man hadn't seen her, she
 scrambled to her feet and, half sliding, half
 running, fled down the side of the hill.
 She heard tree branches slapping behind her.
 __He had seen her. ... He was coming after
 _her.
 Mindless of the pain now, she grabbed limbs with
 hands already bloody, choking on the taste of her own
 terror as she heard the thrashing sounds closing in
 on her.
 Then, without thinking, she whipped around to look behind
 her and lost her balance. She skidded into a tree
 and went down, hard enough to knock the breath from her.
 Hot pain stabbed at her shoulder, and she leaned
 back against the tree, exhausted and disoriented.
 He was coming after her. ...
 She had to get up, get away. Now, before he
 reached her. ...
 He was close, so close she could hear the sound
 of his footsteps.
 __Dear Lord, help me get away from him.
 ... Please, get me out of _here. ...
 "Jennifer!"
 Jennifer opened her eyes to see Freddi dart
 out from between two trees and come running toward her.
 The hood of her raincoat had fallen away, and
 her hair was a wet black cap hugging her head.                73
 She grabbed Jennifer's shoulders. "What
 happened? Are you all right?"
 Shaking, Jennifer tried to form words but managed
 only a choked sob.
 Freddi's hands tightened on her shoulders.
 "Jennifer, are you hurt?" she asked, her
 voice urgent.
 Jennifer shook her head. "I thought you were him.
 ..."
 "Who? You thought I was _who?"
 "The man you saw on campus ... at the
 concert. ..." She couldn't stop shaking. "He was
 behind the cabin," she explained. "I tried
 to follow him, to see where he went. I 147
 thought he was coming after me."
 Freddi held on to her, at the same time
 scanning the woods. "He was _here? You saw
 him?"
 Jennifer stared at her. "We have to get out of
 here! He may have seen me!" She strained,
 pulling free of Freddi. "_Hurry!"
 Again Freddi grabbed her arm, holding her as
 they ran.
 Once Jennifer stumbled and Freddi caught
 her, helping her down the muddy incline,
 supporting her with one arm while shoving tree
 branches out of their way with the other. "Come on,
 let's get to the car."
 "But Abby--was
 "Abby's at the cafeteria," Freddi
 grated, her breath coming in gasps as they scurried
 the last few yards down the hillside.
 The back of Mitch's cabin came into view,
 and both women surged forward, breaking out of the
 trees and racing across the gravel as fast as they
 could.
 Freddi pulled her keys from her coat
 pocket, hurriedly unlocking the door on the
 passenger's side. Jennifer reached across the seat
 to unlock the other door, and Freddi jumped in
 behind the steering wheel. She threw the switch on the
 automatic door lock, then turned to face
 Jennifer.
 "You're bleeding," she said shortly, her eyes
 hard.
 Dazed, Jennifer glanced down at her
 palms.
 Freddi opened the glove compartment, found a
 light-colored scarf, and wrapped it around
 Jennifer's hands. "Keep that on until we
 get to the campus."
 She slammed the key into the ignition, waiting
 only an instant for the powerful engine to roar
 to life. She shifted hard into reverse and skidded            74
 out of the driveway, throwing gravel as she careened
 onto the road.
 In spite of the blistering pain now burning her
 hands, Jennifer felt her mind finally begin
 to clear. "Abby's all right?" she asked, looking
 over at Freddi.
 "She's fine. I talked with Mitch.
 Apparently someone called while we were in town and
 asked her to come back to the cafeteria and help with
 desserts for tonight. Mitch drove up 149
 to get her but didn't think to leave a note."
 "How did you know where to find me?"
 "I didn't," Freddi said, keeping her
 eyes on the road. "I came down to tell you
 about Abby after I talked with Mitch, and when I
 couldn't find you I went around back. I saw
 footprints a couple of places, some of them
 too big to be yours. I got worried. Then I
 heard you running and tried to follow the sound." She
 glanced over at Jennifer. "What happened?"
 The heater began to purr with warm air, and little
 by little the vise in Jennifer's chest eased. She
 drew a deep breath and, huddling against the door,
 described to Freddi the harrowing events of the last
 half hour.
 Throughout her entire account, she kept her eyes
 closed. She had seen enough of the mountain for one day.
 
 ELEVEN
 
 He had been watching the teacher's cabin for over
 an hour. Slouched down behind the steering wheel of the
 van, which he had parked in a dense grove of
 trees several yards below the cabin, he was far enough
 away that no one else would see him--but close enough
 that he could see anyone entering or leaving.
 They were all inside. The old ditz had showed
 up with the good-looking woman in the Benz no more than
 five minutes ago. If the routine was the same
 as the night before, they would leave for the campus in
 another hour or so.
 He was still trying to figure out the connection between the
 dark-haired dish and the old lady. According to the
 program he had picked up, she was some
 big-deal writer from Chicago, back in her
 hometown to do a workshop. So why was she playing
 roomies with the old woman?
 He was beginning to wonder just how much squawking the
 old bag had done. One thing for sure, he was
 going to up his price when he got back. In the
 beginning he had hired on for three hits, tops.
 A week ago he thought he had it down to one--the
 old woman. Now it looked like he still had to take
 care of her plus at least four others--the teacher,           75
 the writer, the blind man, and his snoopy wife.
 What was her name--it was on the program--
 _Kaine. _Jennifer _Kaine. Did she know he
 had seen her this afternoon, up there in the woods?
 He grinned, his eyes still fastened on the cabin.
 He could have offed her right there in the clearing 151
 if he'd wanted to. Dumb broad left herself
 wide open. He could have snapped that scrawny
 neck of hers with one hand. He didn't need a
 piece to take care of the likes of her.
 But that wasn't his plan. He had no intention
 of leaving any evidence behind.
 All that was left now was to do the job and get out.
 He had wasted enough time on these hicks. Fast and
 easy, that's how it was going to be. He wouldn't
 try to take them out one at a time. All he
 needed was a can of gasoline.
 Five people, one cabin, one fire. Piece of
 cake. No, make that _four people. He had other
 plans for _Gwynevere.
 He shook his head, grinning. Even her name was
 classy.
 He looked at his watch. Almost
 six-fifteen.
 When he looked back at the cabin, the door
 was open. The teacher walked out on the deck with the
 writer. They talked for a minute--Donovan
 looked mad about something--then they walked the rest
 of the way out to the driveway.
 The teacher opened the door of his pickup and
 reached inside for something, then turned and handed what
 looked like a letter to the woman. They fussed at
 each other a few more minutes; then the woman got
 in the Mercedes and backed out.
 Catchside waited until the teacher went
 back inside the cabin before starting the van and
 pulling out.
 He stayed a safe distance behind the Benz all the
 way down the mountain. When she reached the
 intersection to the highway, instead of turning right and
 heading toward campus, she turned left.
 Where was she going?
 He sat at the intersection long enough for a couple
 of other cars to get between him and the Benz, then pulled
 out and started down the highway after her.
 Wherever she was going, she was alone. That's all
 he needed to know.
 Staying behind a red Buick and a Toyota, he
 continued to keep the Benz in view. This stretch of
 road was straight and level enough that he could keep
 her in sight with no problem.
 About a mile up, the Toyota turned off
 onto a dirt road, leaving only the Buick
 between him and the Mercedes. He eased up on the gas          76
 pedal a little and turned his wiper blades on
 high. The rain was coming down harder than 153
 ever.
 Just ahead of the Buick, two kids on
 bicycles bumped onto the road from a
 driveway. Both of them had on yellow rain
 slickers with hoods and carried newspapers in their
 bike baskets. They edged far enough into the right lane
 that the Buick had to pull back fast, cutting his
 speed by half.
 Catchside uttered an oath and tapped his
 brake. The Benz was already out of his view.
 Hunching forward over the wheel, he jammed the
 accelerator to the floor and leaped left, tearing
 around the Buick and the bikers. The van threw
 water several feet into the air as he flew by.
 As soon as he passed, he whipped the van
 back into the right lane. In the rearview mirror
 he saw one of the bicycles hit the berm and its
 rider go flying off into the ditch. An instant
 later the other kid crashed off the road right behind
 him.
 He shrugged when he saw the Buick leave the
 highway and pull in behind the kids.
 __Good for you, jerk. You and the little creeps can
 all get drenched _together.
 He could see her again, about three-quarters of a
 mile ahead. She went past the turnoff to the
 dam, her speed holding steady. Then her right
 turn signal came on, and she pulled off the
 highway.
 Resisting the impulse to speed ahead and turn
 off behind her, he stayed on the road, slowing
 imperceptibly as he passed the dirt road she
 had taken.
 The marker said Tridale Lane. Beneath it, on
 the same pole, a square brown-and-white sign
 read Leigh-Hi Farm.
 Catchside pulled his black cap down an
 inch lower over his forehead and kept going.
 
 TWELVE
 
 All the way out to the farm, Freddi's emotions
 vacillated between simmering irritation and a swelling
 sense of dread.
 The irritation was targeted at Mitch. When she
 had told him of her intention to spend the evening
 alone at the farm, he had begun to rail at her
 about her obstinacy.
 "You're just as hardheaded as you ever were," he
 declared. "I'd think that after what happened 155
 to Jennifer this afternoon, you'd use a little better
 judgment."                                                    77
 He hadn't even had the courtesy to wait
 until they were outside. Instead he had started his
 harangue in front of the still-shaken Jennifer,
 while Daniel and Abby listened with obvious
 embarrassment.
 At that point, Freddi had said a hurried
 good-bye to the others and pushed past him, right on out
 the door.
 But Mitch wouldn't let it go. "There's nothing
 out there that won't wait until I can go with you,"
 he insisted.
 "I don't _need you to go with me, Mitch." The
 initial rush of pleasure Freddi had felt at
 his concern quickly gave way to annoyance at his
 overbearing attitude. "I'll be back at
 Abby's by eight, eight-thirty at the latest,"
 she told him, striving to keep her voice
 level.
 This attempt to placate him didn't work.
 He ended his tirade with the caustic observation that
 sometimes she didn't show "a lick of sense."
 If she hadn't been so exasperated with him,
 Freddi now thought, it might have been almost amusing.
 She had managed to curb her own temper, waiting
 until he quieted, then sweetly requested the
 fax report he had brought with him from the campus.
 Mitch's parting shot as he smacked the report
 sharply into her hand had been something about her
 possessing "all the smarts of a grapefruit."
 Oddly enough, the confrontation seemed to have melted
 at least one of the many walls of ice between them.
 Perhaps, Freddi thought with a smile, because it had
 brought things back to a more normal state of
 affairs. Conflict was familiar territory for
 her and Mitch.
 The growing knot of dread in her midsection was
 due not to her argument with Mitch, however, but to the
 Monster Man who continued to haunt her thoughts.
 Her talk with Henderson hadn't helped.
 The detective, whose mood swings ranged from
 cynical to glum depending on what he had
 eaten, had been predictably morose throughout
 their telephone conversation that morning. Before hanging
 up, Henderson had warned her that anyone fitting
 the description of Freddi's stranger would
 assuredly fall into one of three categories:
 sociopath, psychopath, or lunatic.
 "I'd opt for _lunatic, seeing as 157
 how he has nothing more to do than slink around the
 woods in the rain," the detective had offered, just
 before promising a quick report.
 Freddi's mind had been working overtime ever
 since learning of Abby's recurring dream early
 that morning. Her writer's imagination insisted on            78
 outlining a number of possible scenarios, all of
 them chilling.
 Someone was stalking Abby, she was almost sure of
 it. And she was equally certain that the same person
 had been watching Abby's cabin--and Mitch's.
 In fact, Freddi had begun to sense that Mitch,
 and possibly anyone else associated with
 Abby, might be in danger.
 The question was _why? Why would anyone want to hurt
 someone as innocent, as obviously harmless, as
 Abby?
 And what about Abby's dream? Abby's
 _nightmare.
 Freddi shuddered as she recalled how Abby had
 wept and clung to her while describing the "dark
 water ... and blood ... and a man with a gun and
 no eyes." What could have happened in that poor
 confused woman's past to spawn such images of
 horror?
 Questions. So many questions, and not an answer among
 them. With a sigh, Freddi reached to turn up the
 fan on the car's heater.
 Approaching the turnoff to the farm, she shot a
 cursory glance in the rearview mirror and saw
 the dark van in the distance behind her.
 Her gaze fixed on the mirror, she pulled
 off the highway onto the narrow dirt road that led
 to the farm and deliberately slowed the Mercedes to a
 crawl. The van passed the turnoff and went on
 up the highway without so much as slowing down.
 Freddi sighed with relief and grinned
 sheepishly at her white-faced reflection in the
 mirror. There were probably only a hundred
 or more black vans in the county.
 With a shake of her head, she started watching for the
 familiar blue-and-white buildings that checkered the
 right side of Tridale Lane, buildings that
 made up Leigh-Hi Farm.
 Home. It was a heartening sight, if only
 for the sense of stability and permanence it offered.
 
 For the first half hour inside the house, Freddi
 simply wandered through the rooms, looking, touching,
 remembering. Even though she had spent 159
 several hours here on her first day back, the same
 bittersweet waves of memory had rolled over
 her full force again tonight, almost as soon as she
 stepped out of the car.
 In her old room, she now sat in the middle
 of the bed, her legs tucked snugly beneath her.
 Strange how the brick-walled room still seemed
 to hold the same cozy warmth that had blanketed
 her with security throughout all her growing-up years.
 The cherry four-poster was covered with the same              79
 Kentucky Rose quilt her grandmother had made
 before Freddi had even been born. Both front
 windows were still covered with the prim Cape Cods--
 obviously freshly laundered by Mrs. Kraker.
 Even the toddler-sized carousel horse carved for
 her by her great-uncle Robert stood in its
 usual place by the door, wearing its blue
 saddle and gold harness.
 Freddi had been unprepared for her reaction
 to the house--in particular to this room, which had served
 as playroom, bedroom, and retreat. Here she
 had grown from girl to woman, and the walls still
 seemed to echo with her carefree, childish
 pranks, her girlhood dreams, her tears, her
 laughter, and her longings.
 A sudden weariness washed over her. Could she
 really live here alone in this rambling old barn
 of a house, beloved as it was to her? Or was she
 merely deceiving herself, acting out a fantasy she had
 entertained for months? Should she have come back at
 all?
 And Mitch. How did he really feel about her
 being here? Until that awful first meeting, it hadn't
 occurred to Freddi that he might resent her coming
 back. She had hoped for at least a hint of
 welcome, even while she had feared his
 indifference. What she hadn't anticipated was his
 barely concealed hostility.
 She had thought she would be able to deal with his
 apathy, but the resentment, the bitterness behind his
 carefully impassive gaze, was breaking her
 heart.
 And yet there had been moments when she thought she
 had glimpsed something else, some fleeting,
 elusive hint of a remembered smile in his
 eyes, a glint of fondness. Or had she only
 imagined it because she longed so desperately for some
 small sign of affection?
 More questions with no answers. Freddi drew a
 long breath, then uncoiled her legs and 161
 swung her feet over the side of the bed. The
 only thing she could be reasonably certain of at
 present was the condition of the river. Before driving
 back into town tonight, she planned to make a run
 by the lower bank that edged almost the entire north
 side of the farm. She already knew what she would
 find: the river had to be close to overflowing its
 banks.
 Freddi figured they had had at least four or
 five inches of rain by now. If it didn't stop
 soon, the Derry would surely reach crest by tomorrow.
 The dam worried her even more. Twice it had
 given way, and despite reinforcements and
 governmental assurances to the contrary, her grandfather      80
 had maintained that it would go again unless someone found a
 way to rechannel some of the spring floodwaters
 into separate tributaries.
 Like most natives of the area, Freddi had
 lived around the river too long to get panicky every
 time they had a hard rain. But this was more than a hard
 rain, and she felt increasingly uneasy about what
 it might do to the dam.
 So why was she sitting here doing nothing?
 Pushing herself off the bed, she went downstairs and
 started to work. After nearly an hour of searching through
 cabinets and cupboards, she had several stacks
 of photograph albums, scrapbooks, boxes
 of her grandmother's needlework, and other keepsakes
 heaped up in the middle of the hall, ready to be
 carried upstairs.
 With a hefty load of items in her arms, she
 went up the stairway and started down the hall.
 There were four bedrooms on the second floor,
 one of which had never been used for anything other than
 storage. It was this room she planned to use now.
 The door was open, but the room was dark. With her
 elbow, Freddi flipped the light switch and
 stepped inside, making a face at the damp,
 musty smell that greeted her.
 The room was unfurnished except for an old
 daybed, her grandmother's treadle sewing machine, and
 some boxes. Freddi unloaded the albums on
 top of the daybed, pushing them flush to the wall so they
 wouldn't topple over. Then, leaving the light on,
 she went back downstairs for more.
 She was almost to the top of the steps on her
 second trip when the lights went out, plunging the
 house into total darkness.
 Stunned, Freddi teetered on the step,
 reeling from the sudden loss of vision and the 163
 burden in her arms. She felt a split
 second of panic. She leaned against the banister,
 then carefully shifted the box of needlework and
 scrapbooks from her arms to the top step. Slowly
 she started back downstairs, running one hand
 along the wall, gripping the banister with the other.
 It was probably the storm. The wind was up and
 had been rattling the windowpanes for the last hour.
 Power outages were common throughout the county,
 especially during heavy rainstorms. Then, too,
 the house hadn't been occupied for over two
 years; there was no telling what condition the wiring
 might be in.
 She stood unmoving at the bottom of the steps
 for another moment before turning and starting for the kitchen
 in search of a flashlight.
 Just then a strong gust of wind hurled a wall
 of rain against the house. Her heart lunged, and she          81
 tripped, almost falling. She leaned against the wall
 for a moment to steady herself.
 The roar of the wind and slashing rain made it
 difficult, nearly impossible, to hear. But
 Freddi heard _something and held her breath, trying
 to identify the sound.
 _There. She froze, listening. From the back of the
 house--the kitchen--she heard it again. Louder this
 time. A rattling, then a thud.
 Scarcely breathing, Freddi put her hand to the
 swinging door that opened into the kitchen, waiting.
 __Someone was trying to force the back _door.
 Her stomach knotted, and her pulse went
 crazy. _Wait, she cautioned herself. _Just ...
 _wait.
 She dropped her hand away from the door,
 clenching and unclenching it at her side as she tried
 to draw a deep breath. A sudden howl of wind
 seized the house. Freddi jumped, then put her
 ear to the door, trying to hear what was happening on
 the other side.
 Both the front and back doors were steel,
 equipped with deadbolts and security chains. The
 back door had even been braced with a chair
 shoved under the knob--Mrs. Kraker's doing,
 Freddi felt sure. She knew for a fact that the
 doors and windows were all locked; she had checked
 them earlier when she first arrived at the house.
 She held her breath and listened for a few more
 seconds but heard nothing. She was letting her
 imagination run wild, she told herself. This
 wasn't like her, to be so skittish. It 165
 was the storm, the worry about the dam, the
 black-clad stranger. If she wasn't
 careful, she was going to start acting like one of the
characters
 in her own books.
 The doors were a veritable fortress. Her
 grandfather had replaced them before Freddi had ever
 left home. No one was going to fool around with a
 steel door and a deadbolt.
 Disgusted with herself, she expelled a sharp breath,
 then pushed the swinging door open, inch by inch. She
 stepped into the kitchen and stood, waiting.
 She could see nothing. The room was black and
 silent. Freddi crept across the floor, feeling
 her way past the refrigerator, the electric
 range, then on to the sink. She fumbled for the
 drawers beside the sink and opening the second one on
 the right, blindly searched its contents. Nothing but
 silverware. She tried the one beside it, tugging at
 it a couple of times before the swollen wood finally
 let go with a screech.
 She jumped, then froze for a moment before                    82
 rummaging through numerous unidentifiable items.
 She caught a breath of relief when she found a
 box of safety matches. Not as good as a
 flashlight, but better than nothing.
 She tried one more drawer. Almost as soon as
 she opened it, her hand closed over a full-size
 flashlight.
 The batteries were still good. Aiming the beam of
 light at the floor and shading it with her other hand,
 Freddi started across the room, hovering close to the
 wall until she neared the window. She killed the
 flashlight, nudged the curtain slightly to one
 side, and looked out.
 Nothing. Nothing but rain and darkness.
 With the flashlight still out, she moved to the door
 to listen.
 Again, nothing. Not a sound.
 Obviously, she had heard only the wind. That
 had been her noise.
 Then why was her heart still banging away at her
 rib cage?
 She turned the flashlight on just long enough
 to glance at the face of her watch. When she saw
 it was almost nine-thirty, her stomach lurched. She
 had told Mitch she would be home by eight-thirty
 at the latest.
 Not that Mitch was likely to worry about her, but
 Abby and Jennifer might. Freddi doused the
 light. At the moment, all she wanted 167
 to do was get out of the house and back to Abby's
 cabin. She would deal with the rest of the things in the
 hall tomorrow; hopefully by then the power would be
 restored.
 Did she really intend to go outside? There was
 no light out there, either. No yard light, no
 moon, no stars.
 Freddi shook her head, newly annoyed at
 herself. She was _going, and that was that. It was late,
 she was tired, and she still hadn't even glanced at
 Henderson's report. She would go back
 to Abby's, have a hot shower and a cup of cocoa, in
 that order, and then find out what Henderson had dug
 up for her.
 She switched on the flashlight and started across
 the kitchen, snatching her purse from the end of the
 counter. The fax report was still there, in the side
 pocket. All she had to do now was grab her
 raincoat from the hall closet, and she'd be out of
 here.
 Freddi was only inches away from the swinging
 door when she heard a muffled thud at the front
 of the house.
 She tensed. The only sound in the room was her
 heart pounding in her chest.                                  83
 Suddenly she heard a sharp popping sound, then
 silence.
 _The _front _door.
 She caught a breath and held it as her mind
 groped to identify the sound she had heard.
 A gun. A gun with a silencer.
 Her blood froze and her heart leaped to her
 throat. She saw the circle of light from her
 flashlight break up and realized that her hand was
 trembling almost uncontrollably.
 Panic clutched at her throat as the image
 of an immense, dark-clad figure standing on the
 rise across from the campus flashed into her mind, and
 raw terror ricocheted through her body.
 __He was in the _house.
 Freddi knew with chilling certainty that she had
 only seconds to react. Her mind scrambled for
 focus.
 __He thinks I'm _upstairs.
 If he had been watching the house--and she
 knew with a sudden sick clarity that he had--he would
 have seen the light go on in the spare bedroom
 shortly before the power blew.
 __He'll head upstairs. ... I have _time.
 ... 169
 Suddenly, a firestorm exploded in
 Freddi's stomach. The ulcer that had been
 dormant for nearly a month roared to life.
 Clammy perspiration beaded her forehead as she
 gripped the flashlight. With her free hand, she
 clutched her purse to her stomach, bending nearly
 double at the unexpected surge of pain.
 She couldn't afford to wait until the attack
 subsided. Keeping the flashlight beam low, she
 turned and retraced her steps across the kitchen.
 At the back door, she carefully pried the
 chair free, then held the flashlight with one hand
 as she fumbled to release the security chain and the
 deadbolt with the other.
 Outside, Freddi practically hurled herself
 off the back porch and around the side of the house.
 Mindless of the rain slashing her face and body, she
 raced across the yard, wet mud sucking at her
 feet.
 A hot flame of agony was burning in her
 stomach, but she tried to ignore it. The pain
 surged, but she didn't falter, slowing her speed
 only when she rounded the corner at the front of the
 house.
 One glance at the front door standing open
 confirmed her fear: He was inside. It wouldn't
 take him long to realize that she _wasn't.
 With the beam of the flashlight trained on the ground
 just ahead of her, Freddi ran for the gravel                  84
 driveway and the Mercedes, digging her keys out of
 her purse as she went.
 She hit the electronic door opener, her
 eyes scanning the car, locking on the tires.
 __The front tires were _flat! Shredded almost
 savagely.
 Stunned, Freddi leaned against the car. Raw
 panic hit her full force now, threatening
 to overtake her reason. The pain in her stomach
 and the mounting horror of her situation brought hot
 tears to her eyes.
 She swiveled, staring at the house, the gaping
 front door.
 She couldn't give in to the fear. ... That's
 exactly what he would expect ... what he
 wanted.
 She tried to pray. __Lord, you are "my
 stronghold and my deliverer, my shield, in whom
 I take _refuge. ..."
 Forcing a deep, steadying breath, Freddi
 hesitated for only an instant. Then 171
 she pushed away from the car, broke into the open, and
 bolted across the field toward the road.
 Fear urged her on as she raced across the road
 into a wedge of overgrown pastureland that led to the
 river. She had to avoid the highway. She would be
 completely at his mercy if he came after her in
 the van. Her best chance was to hide in the belt of
 woods that rimmed the river. She knew them
 nearly as well as she knew the inside of the
 house. There, she would have the advantage and just
 might be able to lose him.
 Freddi stopped for only an instant to let her
 eyes scan the gentle swell of ground that formed a
 natural ridge above the riverbank. The slope
 down to the river was thick with underbrush and dense with
 berry thickets and briers, but she had no
 choice.
 Her back to the road, she strained to see any
 trace of a clearing. Suddenly, the roar of an
 engine exploded out of the night, and a blaze of
 light pinned her in its glare.
 Freddi's mind swung out of control. She
 whipped around, away from the lights, and poised at
 the top of the bank, ready to leap down the slope.
 A car door slammed. Freddi panicked and
 lost her footing on the mud-slickened incline.
 Her hands shot out, flailing wildly in search of
 something to grab, finding nothing but wind and rain.
 "_Freddi!"
 Arms went around her, yanked her backward, and
 held her as she screamed into the night.
 
 THIRTEEN                                                      85
 
 On a dead run, Mitch pulled Freddi
 across the field to the truck, trying to shelter her
 beneath his raincoat. "It's OK; it's OK,"
 he kept saying as they ran. He had left the
 Ranger idling. Quickly he helped her into the
 seat, but when he would have closed the door, she
 continued to clutch his arm. Her eyes were wild,
 glazed with a terror that made Mitch's own heart
 race. He waited, holding her, letting her
 hold him.
 "What happened?" When she didn't answer,
 he prompted, "Freddi? Are you hurt?"
 Freddi stared at him blankly for a moment, then
 shook her head. "He was in the house. ... He
 broke into the house. ..."
 Mitch heard the rising note of 173
 hysteria in her voice. "Who, Freddi? _Who
 was in the house?"
 Her skin was deathly pale. Lunging forward,
 she tightened her hands on his arm. "We have to get
 out of here!"
 She turned toward the house. "_Mitch!
 _Look!"
 Mitch saw a flash of light distorted by the
 rain.
 Headlights. A car was pulling away from the
 house.
 "_Mitch!" Freddi screamed, pushing at him.
 "Hurry!"
 Mitch locked her door, then bolted to the
 driver's side of the Ranger and, throwing himself behind
 the wheel, slammed the truck into gear.
 "Your seat belt," he snapped at Freddi
 as he whipped the truck around. Flooring the
 accelerator, he took off toward the main
 highway.
 At the intersection he braked hard, then veered
 left. He roared down the road toward town,
 tugging his seat belt over his shoulder and securing it
 as he went.
 With one eye on the rearview mirror, Mitch
 pushed the pickup as hard as he dared in the storm.
 Chunks of mud blotted the road, runoff from the
 mountain slopes bordering the highway.
 Wind-driven rain and fog engulfed the truck, and
 he couldn't see more than a few feet ahead.
 He glanced over at Freddi. She was still
 shaking, but she didn't look quite as terrified now.
 "Freddi? You all right?"
 Freddi didn't answer but instead struggled
 against the confines of the seat belt as she tried
 to look out the back window. Automatically,
 Mitch glanced into the rearview mirror again.                 86
 Nothing but dark road behind them.
 With his eyes on the highway, he reached for
 Freddi's hand. "Hey, kiddo, can you talk
 to me? What happened?"
 Slowly, she dragged her gaze away from the
 rear window and fixed her eyes on him. Finally
 she nodded, her expression clearing.
 "It was him," she said in a choked voice.
 "Jennifer followed him this afternoon. He ...
 broke into the house. He shot the lock off the
 front door."
 Mitch twisted to look at her.
 "He thought I was trapped 175
 upstairs."
 He squeezed her hand. "Where were you?"
 "Downstairs. In the kitchen. The storm had
 knocked the power out a few minutes before and--was
 Freddi stopped, her gaze sweeping the road,
 first one side, then the other.
 The highway lights were on.
 "The power's not out, Freddi," Mitch pointed
 out needlessly.
 Her hand gripped his. "I think I knew
 that." Turning in the seat, she clutched his arm.
 "He'll come after us, Mitch. We have to--was
 Mitch saw the wavering glow of headlights in the
 rearview mirror before she did. Expelling a
 sharp breath, he withdrew his hand from hers and gripped
 the steering wheel. His eyes darted back and forth from
 the mirror to the road as he drove.
 Freddi looked at him, then twisted to look out
 the back window. "_Mitch!"
 "Don't worry," he said shortly. "I'll
 lose him." _Please, _Lord.
 The headlights were moving up fast. Too fast.
 Mitch pushed the accelerator almost to the floor.
 "What are we going to do?"
 Mitch heard the panic in her voice, and it
 shook him. It took a lot to rattle Freddi.
 Just knowing she was scared sharpened his own fear.
 The headlights were gaining when he saw the sign
 for Perkins Road just ahead on the right and knew
 what he was going to do.
 Toward the crest of the hill an S-curve
 bent right, then sharply left again. He cut his
 speed so he wouldn't lose control.
 "Mitch--was
 "It's OK," he mumbled, almost on top of the
 turnoff now. He switched off his lights,
 shrouding the truck in the darkness and pounding rain.
 "Mitch, what are you _doing?"
 "Taking the scenic route," he said shortly.
 "Hang on."
 He snapped the truck right, hard, shooting off                87
 the highway onto Perkins Road.
 With his lights off, he bounced down the narrow,
 pitted road, praying there were no new killer
 chuckholes since he'd driven down it last
 week.
 "You can't see!" Freddi cried, her voice
 pitched high with alarm.
 "And neither can _he."
 He felt her watching him. 177
 Finally, he slowed the Ranger almost to a stop,
 keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror.
 Seconds passed. Then, just as Mitch had
 hoped, the van roared by, tearing on down the
 highway. The hunter in search of his prey.
 He looked over at Freddi, unable to see
 her face in the darkness. "Still all right?"
 He heard her catch her breath. "Sure."
 Her voice held a tremor, but she sounded more like
 herself. "I haven't had a ride like that since the
 last time I was in a pickup with you."
 "Missed it, have you?"
 She was silent for an instant. "Are you going
 to take this cow path all the way into town?"
 "That's the idea. Unless you'd rather play tag with
 your friend in the van."
 There was a pause. "Can we at least have
 headlights the rest of the way?"
 "If it'll make you feel better."
 "The only thing that would make me feel better
 right now is an armed escort."
 "City life has made you soft, girl."
 After another moment, Mitch started down the
 road, switching on the Ranger's parking lights
 for the first hundred yards or so before adding the
 headlights.
 When he was sure they were safe, he couldn't
 resist reminding her of her foolishness. "I
 _told you not to come out here alone," he said, staring
 straight ahead at the narrow road, eerily
 distorted in the rain-sheeted haze of the headlights.
 He could almost hear her teeth grinding. "If it
 will make you feel better to say, `I told you
 so,` Mitch, then by all means, go ahead."
 He didn't answer. She didn't need to know
 that he had been terrified out of his mind all the
 way out to the farm, thinking something had happened to her.
 Something terrible.
 She was silent for another moment. "What
 exactly are you doing out here, anyway?" Her
 voice was testy.
 Mitch felt his face heat with irritation.
 "I'd say that's fairly obvious. I was trying
 to save your neck."
 "Oh, _really," she drawled, her tone                          88
 dripping acid.
 Mitch's hands tightened on the wheel. He
 didn't think he'd ever forget the sight of her
 standing out there on the rise of the riverbank, soaked
 to her skin, looking for all the world like a 179
 cornered bobcat.
 Still he refused to let her bait him. "You said
 you'd be back by eight-thirty at the latest. I
 was afraid--you might have had car trouble." He
 couldn't fight with her. Not now. He was still
 paralyzed inside by the thought of what could have happened
 to her if she hadn't made it out of that house. ...
 "What are we going to do?" The sharp edge in her
 voice made him flinch.
 "First, we're going to go to the police." A
 thought struck him. "What was in that fax report?"
 Freddi looked at him blankly. "I
 haven't even opened it yet. I was going to read it
 after I got back to Abby's."
 He switched on the truck's interior light.
 "Maybe you'd better check it before we get
 into town."
 She pulled the envelope from her purse and
 ripped it open. "You're not going to go to Bannon,
 are you?" she asked, scanning the first page.
 Mitch shook his head. "No, there's a new
 fellow on the force who seems pretty savvy.
 Tom Robbins. I've talked with him a few
 times, and I like him. Maybe he can help." He
 paused, watching her as she read. "Anything?"
 She didn't respond right away. Her eyes
 widened as she read until, abruptly, she
 turned to him. "Mitch--is Abby alone? Is
 she still at the cabin?"
 Mitch looked at her, then shook his head.
 "No. I took her down to my place before I
 left. She's with Dan and Jennifer. Why?"
 Freddi nodded shortly, turning her attention
 back to the report. After another moment, she
 caught a sharp breath.
 "Freddi, will you tell me--was
 Her head still bent over the report, she waved
 away his interruption. "In a minute."
 Mitch shot a look into the rearview mirror,
 sinking back against the seat a little when he saw that the
 road was still dark behind them.
 Finally, Freddi looked up. She kept her
 face set straight ahead for a long moment. Then
 she turned to him. "Mitch, we can talk with
 this--Robbins--if you want, but I think we ought
 to call the state police first."
 He swung around to look at her, and she
 lifted the report in a gesture of explanation.
 "Henderson was able to ID the photo I faxed                   89
 him." 181
 Mitch nodded, waiting.
 "The guy's name is Catchside. Floyd
 Catchside." She paused, then added, "Among
 other things, he's most likely a contract
 killer."
 Mitch shot her a startled look.
 "I told you I sent a photo of Abby,
 too--was
 Again he nodded.
 Freddi expelled a long breath. "If
 Henderson's right," she said tightly, "Abby's
 the bottom line on an old contract."
 He held his breath.
 "He's here to kill her, Mitch."
 
 FOURTEEN
 
 Abby hadn't meant to eavesdrop on the
 conversation. It was just that it had been impossible _not
 to listen, once she had heard what they were talking
 about.
 Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Mitch and
 Freddi hadn't come back to the cabin until very
 late--almost eleven. And when they _did finally
 return they were both so--peculiar. Why,
 Freddi had been positively _drenched--and so
 nervous. And Mitch--she had never seen him in such
 a state, pacing the floor, jingling his keys,
 snapping at poor little Pork Chop. He
 wasn't a bit like himself, not at all.
 And the way he'd insisted that they all stay together,
 here in his cabin, for the rest of the night--as if he were
 frightened about something.
 Abby knew that he and Freddi had gone to the
 police. That was one of the reasons they were so late,
 Mitch had explained, rather vaguely. They had
 gone to see a policeman named Robbins, as
 well as the state police. Abby was sure there was
 something else, something he wasn't telling, but of
 course she didn't ask.
 Finally, thinking she might be in the way--young people
 needed time alone, after all--Abby had said good
 night and come up to the bedroom. _Mitch's
 bedroom, where, according to his instructions, she and
 Freddi were to spend the night. He would take the
 couch in the living room.
 Only a moment ago, however, Abby had
 decided to go back downstairs and get Pork
 Chop. The little cocker had been tagging after her
 all evening in Mitch's absence, and his 183
 antics _did help take her mind off
 Peaches.
 She had started to open the bedroom door, then                90
 stopped, her attention caught by Freddi's
 voice. ...
 
 "The widow of _Roger Chase," Freddi said,
 dropping down onto a plump quilted pillow in
 front of the fireplace. "You know--the health
 resort developer. He and his granddaughter,
 Melissa, were murdered a few years ago, on
 his yacht in Virginia, the _Lady _A. The
 case was never closed." She paused.
 "Abigail Chase was the main suspect."
 Jennifer set a tray of mugs of steaming
 coffee on the table in front of the couch.
 Straightening, she turned to look at Freddi.
 "_Abigail Chase?" she repeated softly.
 Freddi nodded, tugging at the legs of the
 warm-up suit Jennifer had lent her.
 "Abigail was Roger's second wife. His first
 wife died of a heart attack in the late
 seventies."
 Daniel leaned over to rub Sunny's ears.
 "You said Abigail Chase was the primary
 suspect. Why?"
 "Because she was the surviving heir after Melissa
 --Roger's granddaughter. Abigail was on the
 yacht the day of the murders, too, but she escaped
 unharmed." Freddi reached for the mug of coffee
 Jennifer handed her and set it on the hearth.
 "Apparently Chase's only child--Melissa's
 mother--OD'D on heroin and died when Melissa was
 still a baby. Roger Chase raised his
 granddaughter, and he adored the girl. The way his
 will was set up, if anything were to happen
 to Melissa, then his wife, Abigail, stood
 to inherit the entire estate--and apparently it's a
 _considerable estate."
 Mitch had been standing at the sliding-glass
 doors, his back turned as he stared out into the
 night. He turned now and came over to the table,
 smiling his thanks to Jennifer as he lifted a
 cup of coffee from the tray.
 Mitch looked weary, Jennifer thought as she
 scooted in beside Daniel on the couch and guided his
 hand to a cup of coffee. Weary and _worried.
 "Was Abigail Chase ever brought
 to trial?" Daniel asked.
 "No," replied Freddi. "There was 185
 a hearing, but shortly after it started, Abigail's
 mind apparently just--snapped. The court dismissed
 the hearing and placed her in a sanitarium for
 treatment. The estate was tied up from that point on
 with one legal maneuver after another. Taylor
 Chase, Roger's brother, tried everything to break
 the will--he was next in line to inherit after                91
 Abigail--but he never got anywhere."
 Daniel stopped Freddi before she could go on.
 "You said Abigail's mind snapped--?was
 Freddi began to shuffle pages. "Yes ...
 wait, it's further on. Here. According to the
 newspaper accounts, early in the hearing Abigail
 became--these are Henderson's words--
 `extremely agitated, incoherent, and
 irrational.` It seems that she kept raving about
 a white-haired stranger." Freddi paused.
 "A white-haired stranger with no eyes."
 "No _eyes?" Jennifer shuddered at the
 description. Beside her, Daniel touched her arm
 as if he sensed her uneasiness.
 Nodding, Freddi elaborated. "When they
 took her out of the courtroom for the last time,
 Abigail was screaming something about her husband and
 Melissa being murdered by a man with white hair
 and no eyes. That's all she could remember."
 Jennifer put a hand to her throat. __White
 hair ... the stranger in the woods had white
 hair ... and dark _glasses ...
 Freddi's voice was laced with disgust. "His
 name is Floyd Catchside. He's thought to be
 a hired assassin--very professional, very ruthless,
 and _very weird. Unfortunately, he seems to be
 as elusive as he is dangerous. He was
 court-martialed for some kind of trouble in
 Vietnam but got out of it. Henderson said he
 bounced around Central America for a couple of
 years as a mercenary. Off and on he's done some
 drug running. You name it. If it's illegal,
 Catchside has done it." Her eyes darkened.
 "But his specialty," she said grimly, "seems
 to be murder--contract killings. And from what
 Henderson has been able to learn, he thoroughly
 enjoys his work. He's also smart. _Very smart."
 "Sounds like a real creep." Mitch's voice
 was as hard as his eyes.
 "The worst kind," Freddi agreed.
 "Incidentally, Catchside is an albino.
 White hair, pale eyes. He has some vision
 problems--and several allergies. For 187
 reasons of his own," she said, glancing up from the
 report, "he always wears black."
 A net of tension stretched over the room, and
 Jennifer suddenly felt extremely cold.
 "Then he's the one Abigail Chase was talking
 about--the one who killed her family."
 Freddi dropped the report into her lap,
 nodding. "He's also the man in Abby's
 nightmare," she said. Wiping a hand across her
 eyes in a gesture of fatigue, she described
 Abby's dream in detail.                                       92
 "Freddi--was Daniel leaned forward on the
 couch, his elbows braced on his knees. "Is there
 any doubt whatsoever that Abby _is Abigail
 Chase?"
 "None, Daniel. Henderson made a
 positive ID from the photo I sent. You'd have
 to know him. Henderson probably has a complete
 mental file on every unsolved murder in the
 country over the past twenty years. The guy's a
 walking database." She took a deep breath,
 then let it out. "Anyway, he said Abigail
 Chase walked away from a sanitarium in
 Virginia early last fall and just--disappeared.
 There was a search, of course, but she was never
 found."
 "That would have been about the time that Abby showed up
 here," Mitch put in.
 Daniel leaned back and crossed his arms over
 his chest. "So ... if Abby is really
 Abigail Chase, and if Catchside is the one
 who killed her family, then there isn't any question
 as to why he's here, is there?"
 "That's right," Freddi said quickly. "As long as
 she's alive, there's always the chance she might
 recover--was
 "And cause a whole lot of trouble for whoever
 murdered her family--or whoever had it _done,"
 Daniel finished for her. "Any ideas on who that
 might be?"
 "Roger's brother," Freddi answered without the
 slightest hesitation. "Taylor Chase.
 Henderson checked on the will. Taylor is next
 in line to inherit the estate if both Roger's
 granddaughter and Abigail are deceased. But,"
 she pointed out with a meaningful look, "the fact that
 Abigail is missing doesn't constitute a
 legal death. The estate could be tied up for years
 unless Taylor can prove that she's dead."
 "I don't understand how she managed 189
 to get off that yacht alive," Jennifer said.
 "She went overboard," said Freddi. "The
 Coast Guard picked her up a couple of hours
 later. Apparently her husband must have lived long
 enough to get off a Mayday. Anyway, Abigail
 was critically ill with pneumonia for weeks
 afterward; that's one of the reasons the hearing was
 delayed."
 "And there was no sign of this ... Catchside
 ... when they rescued her?" Daniel asked.
 "None. It was as if he didn't exist.
 That's why no one would believe Abigail's
 story. I figure he probably had a boat
 waiting for him--someone dropped him off and picked
 him up."                                                      93
 "How do you suppose Abby made her way
 _here from Virginia? And why has it taken so long
 for this--Catchside--to find her?" Jennifer
 asked.
 "Sometimes it's the people who aren't really _trying
 to disappear who actually are the most successful,"
 Freddi replied. "Their movements are so
 completely unplanned that it's next to impossible
 to trace them. A real pro can almost always track
 down a person who's predictable, but Abby
 probably just walked off the grounds and kept right
 on moving. No logic, no destination, no
 predictable pattern."
 "Psychogenic fugue," Daniel said
 thoughtfully.
 Freddi looked at him. "That has something to do
 with amnesia, doesn't it?"
 Daniel nodded. "People suffering from certain kinds
 of amnesia sometimes just--disappear. They wander off,
 start new lives--nobody really knows what
 motivates them. In Abby's case, even though
 she can't remember events prior to the trauma that
 brought on the amnesia, she probably has some
 degree of residual memory, a type of
 subconscious record of what happened to her.
 She may have wandered away from the sanitarium because
 she was unknowingly looking for something--or some-_one."
 "We _do know she came here on a bus,"
 Mitch offered. "She had been in Ashland and
 Huntington--she remembered the names of those two
 cities but nothing much before that."
 "There's something I don't understand," Jennifer
 said abruptly. "If _Abby is the reason for
 this--Catchside--being here, then why did he show
 up at Freddi's farm tonight? Why did 191
 he terrorize _Freddi when Abby's the one
 he's after?"
 There was a long silence before Freddi answered
 quietly. "I'm afraid we're all targets
 now, Jennifer. Catchside is like a
 search-and-destroy weapon. Abigail Chase is
 his target, and he's going to go straight for her,
 eliminating anything or anyone that gets in his
 way. For all Catchside knows, Abby may have
 remembered what happened that day on the yacht and
 confided it to one--or all--of us." She stopped,
 then added, "We're probably in as much danger
 as Abby is, just because we're a part of her life."
 "Mitch in particular," Daniel said
 quietly.
 "That's right," Freddi agreed heavily.
 "Mitch in particular."
 "What can we do?" Jennifer asked,
 instinctively moving a little closer to Daniel.               94
 "The state police are going to give us as much
 help as they can," Mitch replied. "They've
 already put out an APB on Catchside. And
 Tom Robbins--he's new on the city police
 force--jumped right in, too. He promised
 to make extra runs by both cabins and patrol the
 Ridge as closely as possible. Meanwhile--was
 He paused, making eye contact with each of them
 for a moment before going on. "We all stay together.
 Freddi had a close call tonight. I think
 we'll find more safety in numbers."
 
 Abby stepped back inside the bedroom,
 closing the door as quietly as possible.
 The room seemed to sway around her. Her vision
 blurred, and she reached for the edge of the bureau,
 clutching at it with a trembling hand. Her blood
 surged; bile rose in her throat, and she
 pressed a hand to her mouth. Her mind went racing
 backward, tumbling out of control down a dark,
 slippery corridor to the past. ...
 _Roger ... _and _Missa ...
 Dead. Both of them, dead ... on the yacht.
 She had been below deck, starting up the stairs
 when she heard Missa's panicky screams.
 She began to run. ...
 She had seen Roger first, struggling with an
 enormous man in black clothing, a giant of a
 man wearing dark glasses ... and holding a
 gun.
 Her own screams had drowned out 193
 Missa's. The big man's head swung around,
 long enough for Roger to force the hand with the gun
 backward. The man staggered, then righted himself,
 aimed the gun at Roger.
 Missa threw herself in front of her grandfather.
 ... There were shots. ... Missa fell first, then
 Roger.
 "__Get off the _boat," he cried out as he
 fell. "_Jump, _Abby! _Jump!"
 The man turned toward Abby, and she flew at
 him, screaming, pounding at him. He was like a wall
 of granite. She clawed at his eyes, knocked
 the dark glasses from him as she raked her nails
 across his face. He threw a hand over his eyes
 to shield them, then lowered the same hand to strike
 her.
 But his eyes ... they were like nothing Abby had ever
 seen. Nightmare eyes, with a monstrous, unknown
 evil staring out at her from some vast, cold chamber.
 She saw Roger move. He was still alive!
 She made the decision to go overboard, to lure the
 mad giant away from Roger and Missa, to give
 them a chance. ...                                            95
 The man hesitated a moment before diving in after
 her. The water was cold, so cold and dark. Abby
 went underneath the yacht as he circled above her.
 She moved, grabbing air whenever she could. He
 seemed awkward in the water, clumsy and
 disoriented.
 Using what little strength she had left, Abby
 began to swim out, away from the _Lady _A,
 staying below the water as much as possible, putting
 distance between them.
 But he came after her--awkwardly at first, but
 then closer ... closer. Her arms were lead, her
 legs had weights on them, the water sucked her
 down. Her ears were pounding, her heart hammering.
 She fought to go on, pushed her head above water.
 There was a noise, a loud churning, like the sound
 of an engine.
 Then nothing ... nothing but dark water.
 Abby opened her mouth to scream, but the only
 sound that came out was a soft cry of despair.
 Slowly, blankly, she looked around the room.
 The dark water was gone. But Catchside was
 back.
 This wasn't the first time she had remembered
 fragments, pieces of a horror she wanted
 only to forget. Sometimes in the middle of the day
 while she was working in the cafeteria or 195
 cleaning for Mitch, a puzzle would form in her mind
 and something would try to nudge a piece into place,
 close enough that she could almost feel her memory
 touching it. But then it would slip away, disappearing
 before she could fit it back where it belonged.
 Now the pieces were all coming together at once, and
 it was too much, too fast.
 Abby began to cry. She cried as she had never
 cried before. Tears boiled up in her throat,
 spilled from her eyes, poured down her face.
 Tears for the family she had loved and lost, for the
 time that had been torn away from her. Tears of
 remembered grief--and renewed dread.
 
 FIFTEEN
 
 "Daniel, is Abby going to be all right?"
 Jennifer whispered in the darkness of the bedroom. Still
 dressed, Daniel sat on the side of the bed,
 absently stroking Sunny's head. "I think so.
 She'll probably need some professional help
 for a while, but once she comes through the shock of
 getting her memory back, I believe she'll
 handle everything else all right."
 Jennifer propped herself up on her pillow,
 studying his shadowed profile. He rubbed a hand
 down one side of his face in a gesture of                     96
 fatigue, and she reached to touch his arm. "Shouldn't
 you try to get some sleep? It's almost two."
 Shaking his head, he stretched his arms out in
 front of him, then dropped his hands to his
 knees. "I just came in to see about you. I've
 been worried about you all day, after what happened
 on the hill. Do you think you can sleep now?"
 "My scare was nothing compared to Freddi's.
 I'm all right."
 "Then I think I'll go sit with Mitch.
 He's wired pretty tight."
 No one was getting any sleep tonight, Jennifer
 thought wearily. Just after midnight she and Freddi
 had decided to turn in. Upstairs, however, they
 had found Abby crying her heart out, on the verge
 of hysteria.
 From then on the focus of everyone's attention had
 been Abby. Daniel had been so good with her.
 At one point, everyone had been trying a little
 _too hard to help the distraught woman, and she
 had seemed to become even more distressed. Daniel
 had finally stepped in, suggesting that perhaps he could
 help her if Abby wouldn't mind speaking 197
 alone with him.
 He had stayed with her for well over an hour,
 and finally Abby had drifted off to sleep.
 Which was more than any of the rest of them had managed
 to do. Jennifer sat up in bed, hugging her knees
 to her chest. "I can't even begin to imagine what it
 must be like for Abby," she said. "Not only did she
 have to endure the horror of seeing her family
 murdered once, but now it's almost as if she's
 reliving it _again." Her heart ached for the small,
 sweet-natured woman who had so quickly endeared
 herself to all of them.
 "That's probably more accurate than you think,"
 Daniel said. "My impression was that her
 memories are almost as ugly and as terrifying as
 what she witnessed firsthand."
 Jennifer rested her head on her propped-up
 knees. "No wonder her mind blocked it out for
 so long. Maybe it was the only way she was able
 to survive the whole ordeal."
 "I'm not so sure it was altogether the trauma of the
 murders that triggered Abby's amnesia,"
 Daniel said, leaning back and bracing himself on
 one elbow. "I think her feelings of helplessness
 may have played a part in the memory loss. One
 of the things I sensed in her tonight was a certain amount
 of frustration. And possibly some guilt as
 well."
 Jennifer looked at him. "_Guilt? But
 why? There was nothing she could have done--was
 "But she thinks she _should have been able to do              97
 something," he pointed out, "and that's probably been
 gnawing at her all this time, even if she wasn't
 aware of it." He turned toward her. "Worse
 yet, she now believes she may have jeopardized
 someone else she loves--Mitch--and perhaps the rest
 of us."
 "Poor Abby," Jennifer murmured. "Were
 you able to help her?"
 He was quiet for a moment. "I tried. But I
 understand her feelings, Jennifer. I've felt them
 all myself, at one time or another."
 Jennifer touched his arm as he went on. "It's
 going to take more than words to give Abby any real
 peace. She needs to see an end to her nightmare.
 She needs to feel safe again and to know that Mitch
 is safe, too."
 Jennifer sank back against the headboard.
 "There's no way Abby or Mitch--or any of the
 rest of us--can possibly feel safe 199
 until this ... madman is stopped." She
 sighed. "How do we manage to get ourselves into these
 situations anyway, Daniel? It seems as
 though every time we leave home, we end up in
 trouble."
 Daniel shrugged and attempted a weak
 smile. "I suppose it's just a case of being in
 the right place at the right time."
 "I certainly don't see anything _right about
 any of this," Jennifer muttered. "It seems like
 the wrong place at the wrong time."
 "Don't be too sure," he said quietly.
 "The Lord has a way of putting us where he
 wants us, even if it isn't exactly where
 we'd like to be. Things may not look so great to us,
 or even make a lot of sense--but that's because we
 can't see the entire picture. He can."
 He reached for her, wrapping her snugly in his
 arms. When she burrowed her head gratefully
 into the warm strength of his shoulder, he pressed a
 gentle kiss against her hair.
 "Don't worry," he said softly. "We're
 going to come out of this all right. You'll see."
 Jennifer wished she shared his optimism. For that
 matter, she wondered if he was really as confident
 as he sounded.
 After a moment, Daniel gently brushed his
 lips across her forehead, then eased her out of his
 arms and back onto the pillow. "I'll take
 Sunny out to the living room with me. You get some
 sleep now."
 "You need to rest, too, Daniel--was
 "I'll doze in the living room," he said,
 getting up from the bed and tucking the blanket around
 her shoulders.                                                98
 As she sank down into the pillows, Jennifer
 realized that neither Daniel nor Mitch had any
 intention of going to sleep. To the contrary, they were
 going to stand guard.
 
 The ringing of the telephone was distant but demanding.
 Squinting into the darkness of the bedroom, Jennifer
 waited out another three rings before sitting up.
 A web of light from the pole lamp outside the
 cabin seeped into the room. Glancing at the
 clock on the nightstand, she saw that it was two
 forty-five; she had been asleep only a few
 minutes.
 She thought she could hear Mitch talking in the
 kitchen. After another moment, she heard 201
 him go down the hall toward the living room and
 call upstairs. With a sigh Jennifer turned on
 the lamp, swung her feet over the side of the
 bed, and shrugged into her robe.
 By the time she walked into the living room,
 Freddi, still dressed in Jennifer's red warm-up
 suit, was halfway down the stairs. Right behind her
 came Abby, also dressed but looking slightly
 dazed. Both Daniel and Mitch were standing in the
 middle of the room.
 Freddi started firing questions at Mitch as soon
 as she cleared the steps. "It's the river, isn't
 it? Did it go over?"
 He nodded grimly. "It's already up about two
 feet downtown, more in the south end."
 Freddi twisted her mouth to one side. "I
 thought we had until afternoon anyway."
 Mitch shook his head. "I've got to get
 down to the campus. They'll start bringing people in
 soon."
 Freddi nodded, then turned to Jennifer. "The
 campus is the main shelter in a flood. It's
 high enough to be safe. There are only a couple of
 others--a church at the north end of town and the high
 school."
 Jennifer felt the first stirring of fear. "Then
 there _is going to be a flood?"
 Freddi smiled thinly. "Welcome to springtime
 in Derry Ridge. But you don't have to worry about
 it up here, Jennifer. The town takes the worst
 of it."
 Jennifer glanced at Abby and saw that her
 expression was pinched and frightened as she wrung her
 hands at her waist.
 Apparently Mitch, too, had sensed Abby's
 agitation. He went to her and put a hand on her
 shoulder. "It's all right, Abby. Remember,
 I told you what it would be like in case of a
 flood. We'll be fine."                                        99
 Abby looked up at him. "How high will the
 water get, Mitch?"
 He shook his head. "There's no way of knowing.
 But it won't bother us up here." He turned
 to Freddi. "That was Tom Robbins who called.
 The police want everyone who can help to meet
 at the student center. Do you want to go with me?"
 "We'll all go," said Daniel. "We can
 take the Cherokee."
 Mitch looked at him, then met Jennifer's
 eyes over the top of Abby's head. 203
 "I ... thought maybe the two of you could stay here
 with Abby," he said uncertainly.
 Daniel frowned. After a moment, his
 expression cleared. "Whatever will help most,"
 he said evenly.
 Jennifer swallowed hard at the look of
 regret on her husband's face. Obviously the
 feelings of helplessness he had described to her
 earlier were stirring once again. It was only
 natural that he would want to go with Mitch, to help
 however he could. Instead, he was being asked to stay
 here with two women. Just as certainly, she knew that
 he would assume that Mitch had made the suggestion
 because of his blindness.
 But Freddi's perception and acute sense of
 timing turned the situation around. Darting a
 sharp-eyed glance from Daniel to Mitch, she said
 bluntly, "I thought you said we should all stay
 together, Mitch. Besides, they're going to need all the
 help they can get at the campus, aren't they?"
 Mitch opened his mouth to say something, but Abby
 didn't give him a chance. "Freddi is
 absolutely right, Mitch," she said, her voice
 unexpectedly firm. "Why, I can't just sit
 up here when there's so much to be done! My goodness,
 think of the food they're going to need. I should go right
 now."
 Mitch frowned, obviously surprised by the
 strength of Abby's reaction. "But, Abby, you'll
 be safer right here," he insisted. "You won't have
 to worry about the flood up here--was
 "I won't have to worry about the flood down
 _there, either," she announced briskly, leveling
 her blue-eyed gaze at him. "I'll be much
 too busy. You young people can deal with the flood;
 I'll help take care of the food."
 Jennifer looked at Daniel. Standing with his
 arms crossed comfortably over his chest, he was
 grinning openly.
 "Abby, you and I _could use some clothes,"
 Freddi told her. "Why don't you let
 Daniel and Jennifer take you up to your place
 in their car and collect some things for both of us?         100
 While you're doing that, Mitch and I can go on
 down to the center in the truck. We can all meet
 there."
 As if he were determined not to give anyone a
 chance to nix Freddi's suggestion, Daniel
 jumped in. "Sounds good, Freddi. We
 probably ought to have both vehicles down 205
 at the campus anyway. Abby, is that all right
 with you?"
 Abby had already started for the stairs. "I'll
 only be a minute, Daniel. Just let me get
 my purse."
 Suddenly Jennifer realized that she was still in her
 bathrobe. She started for the bathroom. "I can't
 go _anywhere until I get dressed."
 "You're not going to do your hair, are you?"
 Daniel asked.
 She stopped, turning to look at him. "What
 do you mean?"
 He raised one eyebrow. "Just that we may not
 have forty days and forty nights for this one."
 
 SIXTEEN
 
 It took no more than fifteen minutes in the
 crowded student center for the dull stomach pain
 Freddi had been fighting most of the night
 to develop into a full-blown ulcer attack.
 Her stomach burned as the acids flared,
 undoubtedly aggravated by the news of the flood and
 all the commotion in the lobby.
 Both she and Mitch had been put to work the
 instant they arrived. A Civil Defense
 volunteer stopped Mitch in the parking lot.
 Inside, someone thrust a clipboard and a pencil
 into Freddi's hands with vague instructions about the
 need for a list of the evacuees already on the
 premises, as well as those yet to come.
 As she pencilled in her most recent entry,
 she stood near the entrance to the cafeteria, letting
 her gaze scan the scene in the lobby. The entire
 center was teeming with noise and confusion. With
 evacuation already in progress in several parts of
 town, dozens of families were milling about the
 building. Crying children tugged at the legs of
 worried-looking mothers, who were trying to follow the
 instructions of those in charge. Several
 tired-looking men with rain-slicked hair and
 dripping jackets paced the length of the lobby,
 snapping curt orders or clearing obstacles out
 of the way. A police officer threaded his way through
 the crowd, his radio crackling with static as he
 separated those who genuinely needed shelter from those
 who had come out of mere curiosity.                          101
 Students and faculty members from the college
 were hurriedly outfitting one entire wing of the lobby
 with sleeping bags and blankets. At the 207
 opposite end, aluminum tables and chairs had
 been arranged to serve as an information center for
 rescue workers and displaced family members.
 Parting a huddle of teenagers in the middle of the
 room, Mitch approached. He was still in his rain
 slicker, his hair soaked. "Dan and Jennifer
 haven't shown up with Abby yet, have they?" he
 asked, his eyes roaming over the room.
 Freddi tucked the clipboard under one arm and
 shook her head. "They'll probably be another
 half hour or more, I imagine, by the time
 Jennifer changes and they get up to Abby's."
 "I hope Jennifer doesn't have any trouble
 driving down here," he said. Several spots
 along the road had been slick with mud on their
 way in, and twice Mitch had stopped to clear
 fallen tree limbs and other debris out of the
 way.
 "Have you been outside all this time?" Freddi
 asked him.
 "We were trying to get most of the cars off the
 parking lot," he answered, slipping out of his
 dripping raincoat, "in case we need the
 space later."
 Static hissed nearby, and police officer
 Tom Robbins appeared. He shot Freddi a
 quick smile before turning to Mitch. "They tell me
 you're the man to see for some answers."
 "Only if the questions are easy. What do you
 need?"
 "I _need about six more men and eight hours'
 sleep, but I'll settle for a little information. This
 is my first flood situation. Are we dealing with
 anything major here?"
 Mitch paused, then nodded. "Anytime you've
 got a river the size of the Derry spilling over
 its banks--and a dam that's kept the whole county
 looking over its shoulder for more than twenty years
 --I suppose you need to think in terms of something
 major."
 "I was hoping you'd tell me not to worry."
 Robbins raked a hand through his salt-and-pepper
 hair as his gaze surveyed the congested lobby.
 "Any estimate as to how many people may end up here
 over the next few hours?"
 "That depends on how high and how fast the water
 rises," Mitch answered. "I can tell you this
 much: we have only three shelters, and they've never
 been enough. Last time we had to put tents up
 outside to handle everybody. We also 209
 ended up with a few who were injured and couldn't make       102
 it across town to the hospital."
 Robbins looked at him with the hint of a grim
 smile. "I sure feel a lot better about
 things now that I've talked with you, Professor.
 Maybe I'll look you up again later." He
 lifted his hand in a parting wave as he answered a
 call on the radio and moved through the lobby.
 Mitch watched Robbins walk away before
 turning back to Freddi. "Does that fall under the
 heading of creative writing?" He inclined his head
 toward the clipboard.
 "It's as creative as I'm going to get for
 now. Do you suppose they have coffee made yet?"
 "Should have. I'd rather wait for some of Abby's, but
 I'm cold and wet enough to drink just about anything
 hot. Let me get rid of this raincoat, and
 we'll see--was
 The shriek of a police whistle pierced the din
 in the lobby and cut Mitch off midsentence. Tom
 Robbins yelled for quiet, then turned up the
 volume on a nearby portable radio. Within
 seconds, even the children had quieted enough that the
 radio announcer could be heard.
 "__This is a special bulletin for Derry
 Ridge and surrounding areas: Waters of the Derry
 River and Vision Lake are rising at the rate
 of almost a foot an hour. Both the Derry and
 Vision Lake are overflowing their banks.
 Worsening the problem is the fact that the Ryder
 Bridge collapsed only moments ago, jamming
 Vision Lake and causing the water to rise even
 faster.
 "__There are reports of smaller bridges out
 and roads closed throughout the county. Residents in
 several communities are being evacuated as quickly
 as possible. Anyone residing in a flood-watch
 district is advised to stay tuned for further
 bulletins and to be prepared for immediate evacuation if
 necessary.
 "__In response to the numerous inquiries this
 station has received regarding the condition of Derry
 Dam, please be advised that no updated information
 has been communicated to us by county officials.
 Attention has focused over recent months on
 the effectiveness of the existing discharge system, as
 well as a rumored dishing of the dam at its
 middle, but to date we are aware of no revised
 reports on either of these _conditions. ..."
 The rest of the announcer's statement was 211
 lost, overpowered by the sudden, repeated screaming of a
 siren. With a sharp clutch of fear, Freddi
 recognized the sound of the valley's disaster-warning
 system.
 She turned to Mitch, and their eyes met. The                 103
 only time the siren ever sounded was to alert
 residents to a life-threatening situation. Both of
 them were acutely aware that the flood conditions had
 obviously just been escalated from "potentially
 dangerous" to "disaster" level.
 Total quiet reigned in the center--an
 unnatural, sudden, and strangely oppressive
 quiet. Slowly, almost as if on signal,
 everyone began to move toward the large, wide
 windows at the front of the building in an
 attempt to look outside. It was an orderly
 procession. _Too orderly, Freddi thought, her
 own tension swelling at the sight of so many numb
 expressions and wooden movements.
 It was too dark to see anything, and after a few
 hushed moments, people began to disperse, a few at a
 time, wandering aimlessly back to the lobby or the
 cafeteria.
 "Still want that coffee?" Mitch asked, taking
 her arm.
 "Desperately--but I think I'll try
 to find some milk instead." The truth was,
 Freddi was beginning to feel ill. She'd had no
 dinner before her harrowing experience at the farm--had,
 in fact, put nothing except decaffeinated
 coffee into her stomach since lunch.
 "I hope Abby gets here before long," she said
 as they started toward the open doors of the
 cafeteria. "I could do with some food."
 "They probably have some sandwiches made up
 by now." Mitch looked at her. "That's right, you
 didn't have any dinner, did--was
 He stopped at the sound of his name. From the
 information center at the end of the lobby, Tom
 Robbins was holding a cordless phone to his ear with
 one hand while gesturing for Mitch with the other.
 Tossing his raincoat over a box that had been
 pushed to one side, Mitch started across the room.
 Freddi followed.
 The policeman clicked off the phone just as they
 reached him. His eyes went to Freddi, lingering on
 her face for an instant before he turned to Mitch.
 "It's the dam," he said, his voice low and
 tight. "The commissioners say it may not hold."
 How strange it was, Freddi thought 213
 dimly, to finally hear those words, words she had
 grown up dreading yet half anticipating over
 the years. Now that somebody had finally voiced them,
 they sounded unreal, impossible to grasp.
 She looked at Mitch, saw one shoulder
 lift and fall in a tense jerk. "Who called?"
 "Coates. He and one of the county engineers are
 up at the dam now. He said they've got all the
 spillways and guards open, but there's debris                104
 piling up too fast to clear--it's clogging the main
 screens and gratings."
 "What about an alternate spillway?" asked
 Mitch tersely.
 "Apparently they've already cut one through.
 Coates said they have men digging a second one a
 few feet away from the breast of the dam and one more
 at the west end."
 Mitch waited, saying nothing.
 "They don't think it will help," Robbins
 added.
 Freddi turned from Mitch to the police
 officer. "Isn't there anything else they can
 try?"
 Robbins seemed to struggle with his reply. "There
 _is one thing. They want to cut through one end of the
 dam and let part of the water out. It'll divert some
 of the pressure, and if the dam _does break, at
 least the water will go out slower than if it breaks
 through the middle all at once."
 "They're that sure it won't hold?"
 Mitch's voice was steady, but his face was ashen.
 "That's what it sounds like to me. At this point,
 I think they're looking for a way to save the
 town." He stopped, glanced down, then raised his
 eyes to Freddi's. "It would mean that your farm would
 be completely wiped out, Miss Leigh. They said
 I should tell you."
 For a moment his words seemed to hang between them.
 Certain she must have misunderstood, Freddi stared
 at him. "Wiped out?"
 Robbins gave a short nod, then looked
 away. "Your place and the entire bottoms land will
 take the worst of it." He turned back.
 "I'm sorry," he added quietly.
 Overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness,
 Freddi was vaguely aware that Mitch had moved
 closer to her side. "Does she have anything to say
 about this?" he asked sharply.
 "I'm afraid not," replied Robbins. "There
 are other farms involved, too, but the 215
 decision has to be made by the county officials."
 "It sounds to me as if it's already been made,"
 Mitch snapped.
 "Don't, Mitch," Freddi said quickly.
 "He's right. They have to do whatever will save the
 town." She looked at him. "And the campus. You
 know what it will mean if the dam blows all at
 once. It'll wipe out everything in the valley."
 Swallowing thickly against the painful lump in her
 throat, she again faced Robbins. "When?"
 "They're starting right away. They hope to cut
 through within the next hour."
 __An hour ... within one hour the only real                  105
 home she had ever known--her yesterdays, her
 history, her roots--would all be lost to _her.
 ...
 "Her car's still out there," Mitch's voice
 broke into her thoughts.
 "It doesn't matter," Freddi said, meaning
 it. What difference did a car make when her
 entire past was about to be washed away?
 "A Mercedes doesn't matter?" The look
 Mitch turned on her was both skeptical and
 incredulous.
 "Maybe I could get somebody to drive it in
 for you, Miss Leigh," Robbins offered.
 "The tires are all flat," she told him.
 "Besides, it's insured and no one has time to bother
 with that now. There _are some things, though, that I--was
 She stopped and turned to Mitch. "I had several
 photograph albums and some other keepsakes
 stacked up, ready to store upstairs. Maybe
 I could still save them if you'd take me or if
 you'd let me use your truck."
 Mitch turned a questioning glance on Robbins.
 The policeman hesitated. "It takes a
 good fifteen minutes just to drive out there."
 Freddi touched Mitch's arm with appeal. "That
 would still give us at least half an hour. It
 won't take that long. I have everything ready; all
 we'd have to do is carry it outside."
 His eyes went over her face. "All right.
 But we go _now. Right now. You get your things out of
 my office while I call Abby. If they
 haven't already left her place, I'm going
 to tell them to stay put. They'll be better off
 up there, especially with us gone."
 Freddi nodded and began to look around for someone
 to continue the evacuee list she'd begun.
 "Is she alone?" Robbins asked 217
 abruptly.
 "Abby? No, the Kaines are with her," Mitch
 answered. "Why?"
 "You might want to check on the power situation
 up there. It's out in several places across town.
 I've got a couple of fellows from the faculty
 checking the auxiliary generators downstairs, so
 we can at least keep minimal power here. And,
 Professor--was The policeman's good-natured
 expression hardened. "You and Miss Leigh need
 to get going. Don't cut yourselves too close,
 all right?"
 Mitch nodded grimly. "Give that clipboard
 to one of the Red Cross workers," he told
 Freddi as he headed toward the phone, "and let's
 get out of here."
                                                              106
 Other than an occasional comment from Mitch about the
 water that was already creeping across the road in some of the
 lower places, they were silent during the first few
 minutes of the ride out to the farm. Freddi limited
 her responses to a nod or a muttered sound of
 acknowledgment. The slow-burning fire that had
 ignited in her stomach earlier was now flaring in
 earnest. She had all she could do to keep from
 moaning aloud.
 She cast around for something--anything--to take her
 mind off the pain. "Abby _did promise to stay
 at the cabin until we get back, didn't
 she?"
 Mitch nodded, whipping the steering wheel sharply
 right to avoid a large clump of mud near the
 middle of the road. "I talked with Dan, too.
 They're going back down to my place to stay there
 until they hear from us. That way, if the power
 goes out, they can use my generator and still have
 _whht. Just to be safe, I asked Tom Robbins
 to give them a call at my place in half an
 hour or so." He glanced over at her. "You
 realize, don't you, that Abby will be glad to have you
 stay with her as long as you want?"
 Freddi managed a smile. "Abby's going
 to want her living room back eventually. I can
 stay at the Lodge until I find something, I
 suppose."
 "Freddi?"
 She looked at him.
 "I'm sorry about the farm," he said
 quietly. "I wasn't sure it would ...
 matter that much to you. But I can see it 219
 does."
 She turned her face away, unable to deal with the
 kindness she had seen in his searching gaze. Longing
 for the privacy to weep, she instead tried to square
 her shoulders and inject a note of firmness into her
 voice. "I suppose I didn't realize
 myself how much it mattered until now," she
 answered honestly. "It does hurt ... a
 lot. But I'll be all right."
 "You'll always be all right, won't you,
 Freddi?" It was more statement than question.
 She looked at him, trying to weigh his words, but
 weakness gripped her, making his features appear
 hazy for an instant. She had been lightheaded
 ever since leaving the campus, fighting against the pain
 radiating hotly from her stomach. She wiped a
 hand over her eyes and fought for a deep breath. "You
 could never accept that, could you, Mitch?"
 He frowned, not understanding.
 "You always did resent my--independence--
 isn't that what you called it? Why, Mitch?"                  107
 He studied her for a moment, slowing for the turnoff
 to the farm. "Maybe I was afraid," he said
 quietly.
 She shot him a surprised look. Until
 now, he had always denied the possessiveness
 responsible for so much conflict between them.
 "Afraid of _what?"
 "Did it ever occur to you that what you thought was
 resentment was actually desperation?" He kept his
 eyes straight ahead as he started down the muddy,
 deeply furrowed road. "Maybe I thought the
 only way I could keep you with me ... was to make
 you _need me."
 His unexpectedly candid answer pierced
 Freddi's heart.
 "All I ever wanted was to be as important
 to you as you were to me." He suddenly looked very tired
 --tired and defeated. "But you didn't need me.
 You didn't need _anyone. You never did."
 Freddi couldn't deny the truth of his accusation.
 There _had been a time when she had imagined herself
 to be just that self-sufficient. Why should Mitch
 believe she had changed?
 Neither of them spoke again until he parked in
 front of the house. Cutting the engine, he turned
 to her. "Tell me something, Freddi," he said
 quietly. "If I hadn't been so paranoid
 about losing you--if I hadn't tried so
 desperately to keep you here--would you still have 221
 gone away? Did I _drive you away?"
 "_No!" She leaned across the seat toward him.
 It was incomprehensible to her that he would blame
 himself. "No," she emphasized again, sinking
 weakly back against the seat. "It wasn't you. It
 was the _writing."
 A world of bitterness filled his eyes. He
 nodded. "It was _always the writing, wasn't it,
 Freddi? Nothing else was ever quite as important
 to you. You put it first, before everything. Including
 me."
 "Yes," Freddi admitted quietly.
 "That's exactly what I did. And that's what
 _you did with _me." She squeezed her eyes
 tightly shut, then opened them. "Oh, Mitch,
 don't you see? We both made the same
 mistake. I wrapped all my hopes and
 dreams and faith in one thing--my writing. But it
 wasn't big enough. It collapsed under the
 weight. It failed me. But you did the same
 thing, Mitch. You made _me your world. You built
 your life around me. But I wasn't big enough either,
 Mitch. So I failed you."
 As he sat there, unmoving and silent, Freddi
 thought she could sense his anger fading to confusion.       108
 "What I had to face," she said urgently,
 "is that there isn't anyone or anything that won't
 eventually fail us, that ultimately nothing is
 ... enough. Nothing except God." Her voice
 caught, but she went on. "That's one reason I
 came back, Mitch. I knew I couldn't
 really start over again until I faced my past and
 myself--what I used to be. And until I faced
 you ... as I am now."
 His head came up. Freddi moved to touch his
 arm, but something in his eyes stopped her.
 She wanted him to reach for her, to hold her.
 She wanted him to press her head against his shoulder
 and make the world right again, the way he had always been
 able to do when they were younger.
 Instead, he pulled away from her. "We
 don't have time for this," he said, his voice strained
 as he opened the door of the truck.
 Wounded by his rejection, Freddi knew a
 sense of despair like nothing she'd ever felt before.
 She had to press her hands against the seat of the
 truck to keep from flinging herself at him and pleading with
 him to love her again. She ached to tell him now
 what he had wanted to hear years ago, that she
 needed him, needed him just as much as he had 223
 ever needed her ... perhaps even more.
 The problem was that Mitch no longer cared.
 
 SEVENTEEN
 
 Catchside crouched among the trees, watching
 Donovan and the dishy writer leave the cabin a
 little before three. He shook with rage, and his fury,
 combined with the wet, clammy weather, only made his
 rash worse. Savagely he raked his
 fingernails over his arms. It was time to finish this
 job once and for all.
 He had been all set to act before daylight.
 He even had the gasoline can stashed beneath a
 decaying tree stump. Within minutes, he would have
 been inside the cabin. He had to question the old
 lady, but he didn't plan to waste much time.
 It couldn't have been any neater. The five of
 them together like that--he would have had the job done and been
 out of town before dawn. Now he'd have to chase them
 down again.
 __What would run them out in such a hurry at
 three o'clock in the _morning?
 He huddled under the hood of his poncho. A
 few more minutes--that was all. He'd make his
 move, and--
 He jumped when the front door opened again.
 The old woman came out, followed by the blind man
 and the guide dog, then the blind man's wife.                109
 __What was going _on?
 Catchside inched around the tree, watching as they
 all piled into the Cherokee and took off up the
 road, in the direction of the old lady's cabin.
 His rage now white-hot, he growled an oath
 and turned, lumbering back through the woods
 to retrieve the gas can. He took the hillside
 with fast, broad steps until he came to the
 van, hidden behind a dense fringe of pine trees
 near Donovan's cabin.
 Opening the door on the driver's side, he
 reached across the seat, set the gasoline on the
 floor, and jumped in behind the wheel.
 No more messing around. No more delays. No more
 killing time in this stinking wet mudhole. If he
 had to off them one at a time, he'd do it--but
 whatever he had to do, he was going to do it _now.
 He rammed the key into the ignition and, as soon
 as the engine caught, roared out of the clearing and onto
 the road.
 225
 EIGHTEEN
 
 Abby's cabin was quiet, unnervingly quiet.
 The rain had stopped, and Jennifer found the silence
 almost eerie. There was no pounding on the roof, no
 rattling of windowpanes, no sheets of water
 crashing against the siding.
 It should have been a relief, but instead, the
 stillness had put her on edge.
 The three of them were at the front door, about
 to lock up and leave, when darkness suddenly fell
 over the cabin.
 Abby uttered a surprised gasp, and
 Jennifer groaned aloud, instinctively clutching
 Daniel's arm. "There goes the power."
 Daniel and Sunny stopped, waiting.
 "Abby, do you have a flashlight handy?"
 Jennifer asked, straining to focus her eyes,
 unable to see anything except shadows. "We may
 need it to get to the car."
 "A flashlight? Yes ... yes, there's one
 in my bedroom and another in the kitchen, I think.
 I'll find one, dear. You stay right here with
 Daniel."
 "Be careful that you don't trip over something,"
 Jennifer cautioned as the older woman started
 toward the hallway. Still gripping Daniel's
 arm, she turned back to him. "I'm glad
 Mitch warned us this might happen."
 "He's right; we'll be better off at his
 place. I hope I can get the generator going.
 He told me what to do, but you and Abby may have
 to help."                                                    110
 Jennifer shifted from one foot to the other. "I
 hope Mitch and Freddi get back soon."
 He didn't answer.
 "Daniel?"
 "They don't have much choice," he finally
 answered. "A hole's being cut through the dam
 to relieve some of the pressure on it. In another
 hour or so, Freddi's farm will be under several
 feet of water."
 "Oh, _Daniel--no!" Jennifer moved a
 little closer to him. "Is that why they're going out
 there? Are they going to try to get her car out?"
 "No," Daniel said quietly after a moment.
 "Mitch said Freddi wanted to get some things out
 of the house--her grandmother's Bible, photograph
 albums--souvenirs, mostly."
 Somehow Jennifer wasn't surprised 227
 that Freddi was more concerned about family keepsakes
 than a luxury car. This was the woman she had come
 to know and respect this week--a woman who had her
 priorities in order.
 Daniel's hand covered hers. "They'll be
 all right. Mitch isn't about to take any chances,
 not with--was
 He broke off when Sunny barked. "It's
 all right, girl," Jennifer reassured her.
 Abby walked up behind them in the hall, and
 Jennifer took the flashlight from her and aimed its
 beam at the door.
 The retriever barked again, straining
 impatiently at her harness.
 "Sunny, what is _wrong with you?" Jennifer
 muttered, glancing at the retriever. "I think
 she has to go, Daniel," she said, opening the
 door. "Maybe you'd better take her harness
 off before we--was
 She froze. The flashlight shook in her hand,
 its wavering light illuminating a huge,
 black-clad man as he mounted the steps of the
 cabin. He was wearing a black cap and some sort
 of goggles.
 He had a gun leveled directly at them.
 Jennifer screamed, and, behind her, Abby cried
 out. Sunny went rigid, then flew into a rage,
 barking and roaring like a wild thing.
 It was impossible to tell what happened next,
 whether Daniel loosened his grip on Sunny's
 harness in the confusion of the moment, or whether the
 retriever tore herself free. With one powerful
 lunge she leaped at the man with the gun, hitting
 him hard, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
 The man reeled, shouted, and fired the gun into the
 air. The bullet went wild, and Sunny went
 crazy.                                                       111
 But he was too big and strong for the small-boned
 retriever. With the gun still in his hand, he ripped the
 dog away from his body, hammering one large fist
 at her head. With a shout of rage, he hurled the
 retriever out into the yard, where she fell with a thud
 into the wet grass. She squealed when she hit,
 then whimpered and lay still.
 Daniel shot forward at the sound, but Jennifer
 threw herself in front of him. "__No,
 Daniel! Stay _back!" She tried to slam the
 door, but the man's leg shot forward, forcing the
 door open with one massive, boot-clad foot.
 "Inside," he snapped, shoving all 229
 of them back as he moved through the door.
 Ashen-faced, Daniel stumbled as the man
 gave him another hard shove. "I've got
 to get my dog--was
 "I said _move, jerk! The dog's dead!"
 Reaching across Daniel, the man yanked the
 flashlight out of Jennifer's hand.
 The gun never wavered as he kicked the door
 shut behind him. Backing all of them into the living
 room, he trained the flashlight on Abby. His
 mouth spread into a cold smile, and Jennifer
 thought she was going to be sick. In the backwash from
 the flashlight, his goggle-masked face looked
 almost demonic.
 _Evil. It was strong enough that Jennifer took a
 step backward.
 The man tossed a pack of matches from his
 shirt pocket to Jennifer, aiming the flashlight
 at an oil lamp on the table. "Light it."
 Jennifer's hands shook so violently that she
 used three matches before she got the wick
 to catch. When she returned to Daniel and Abby,
 the older woman looked gray and ill, as if she
 might lose consciousness at any moment.
 "Sit down," the giant growled, waving the
 gun toward the couch. Jennifer reached for Abby's
 arm but found her rigid and resistant.
 "I said sit _down!" he roared again, tossing
 the flashlight across the room.
 Jennifer pushed Abby gently onto the couch,
 then sat down beside her.
 Daniel started to follow them, but the man shoved
 him roughly into a chair by the window. Choking back
 a cry of dismay, Jennifer half rose to go
 to him. The man whirled around, turning the gun on
 her, and she sank back onto the couch.
 Daniel's face was a mask of anger, but he
 merely gripped the arms of the chair, saying nothing.
 The man flung his cap onto a nearby table,
 then reached to pull the goggles up on his forehead.
 Abby gasped, and Jennifer clutched her arm,                  112
 cringing at the small, pale eyes staring at her.
 Red-rimmed and moist, they looked ... diseased.
 Diseased and empty.
 He seemed to fill the room with his enormous,
 intimidating frame. Daniel was a big man,
 tall and thickly muscled, but Jennifer could see
 that this ... lunatic ... would top Daniel
 by several inches and probably outweighed him by almost
 a hundred pounds. He was _immense. 231
 The man turned his gaze on Abby and stared at
 her for a long, tense moment. "Remember me,
 Abigail?" he asked in a deceptively soft
 voice.
 For the first time, Jennifer saw Abby look
 directly at him. Abby's wide, frightened
 eyes fastened on the man's face in a silent
 look of horror.
 He let out a jarring laugh. "Well, now, you
 couldn't be expected to remember, could you? I
 don't exist. I'm just some figment of your
 imagination. A phantom you invented to take the
 heat off yourself--isn't that what the newspapers
 said?"
 The macabre rictus of a smile widened as
 he lowered the gun slightly. "Well, guess
 what, Abigail: you weren't dreaming after all."
 
 NINETEEN
 
 After they had loaded Freddi's things into the
 truck, Mitch left her alone for a few
 minutes. All the way out to the farm, he had
 sensed that she was grieving. She had some good-byes
 to say, and he felt she would want to be alone
 to say them.
 But it was past time for them to be leaving, and he was
 getting edgy. He was worried about leaving Abby with
 Dan and Jennifer, in spite of the fact that he
 had asked Tom Robbins to check on them. The
 police had their hands full already; there would be
 precious little time for anything other than what was
 happening in town. What if that maniac came
 looking for Abby? Dan was amazing, but he _was
 blind.
 Closing the tailgate of the pickup, he
 looked at his watch, then glanced toward the house.
 He couldn't give her much longer.
 Dawn was finally beginning to fight its way over
 the ridge, a reluctant daybreak struggling past
 the heavy, leaden skies. He leaned against the
 side of the truck for a moment, staring out over the
 vast, deeply shadowed farmland.
 He had a few of his own good-byes to say to this
 place, he realized. Before he was old enough to hire         113
 on at the Lodge, he had worked part-time for
 Freddi's grandfather. This farm was almost as familiar
 to him as his own place on the mountain. And the
 memories it held for him were even dearer.
 He almost felt that if he looked 233
 long enough he would see Freddi racing across the
 field, her hair tucked under the ever-present
 baseball cap as she dared him to try to catch
 her. Or maybe he'd catch a glimpse of her
 perched on the tire swing in the old maple down
 by the dairy barn, urging him to push her higher.
 Or sitting on the top step of the front porch
 on a Saturday night, waiting for him to pull
 up in his truck and take her to town.
 He closed his eyes in an effort to shut out the
 memories, unwillingly replacing them with the words
 she had spoken on the way out here--words she had
 seemed so desperate for him to understand. Somehow the
 truth of what she had said to him repeated itself over
 and over again in his spirit. ...
 "... __I wrapped all my hopes and
 dreams and faith in one thing. ... But it wasn't
 big enough. ... It failed me. But you did the
 same thing, Mitch. You made me your world, you
 built your life around me. But I wasn't big
 enough either. ... So I failed you. What I had
 to face is that there isn't anyone or anything that
 won't eventually fail us, that ultimately
 nothing is ... enough ... except _God. ..."
 Mitch opened his eyes. How was it, he
 wondered, that she had been able to accept something he
 had known but had managed to suppress for so long?
 For years he had blamed her. Then, for a time,
 he had hated her--or tried to. Finally, he
 had enshrined her, turning her into a monument, something
 only his memories could contain. But always there had
 been that unspoken, uncomfortable awareness that he
 had somehow distorted the order of things, that he had
 made her _too important, had placed her where
 no human being had a right to stand--between him and his
 God.
 Freddi had accused him of making her his world, of
 building his life around her.
 And he had. To the exclusion of almost everything
 else. He had loved her too much, always too
 much. More than life, maybe even more than his
 God.
 How could she have lived up to such an obsessive
 love? How could _anyone?
 Freddi had been through ... something, that much was
 evident. And whatever it was, it had brought her
 face-to-face with her own crisis of faith: the
 weaknesses, the stumbling blocks, and, yes, the
 _pride that had been part of her nature for years.           114
 But what about _him? Hadn't Freddi 235
 been _his stumbling block ... his "weakness" all
 this time? He had spent years blaming her for not being
 bigger than life--
 __When all the time I should have realized that nothing
 ... and no one ... is bigger than life
 except you, _Lord.
 It seemed that Freddi had learned the truth
 long before he had. Suddenly, he desperately
 needed to talk with her, to hear for himself whatever it was
 that had brought her to this place--back to the Ridge,
 yes, but more important, brought her to a new
 walk of faith.
 With a stab of frustration, he realized that the
 answers to his questions would have to wait until later.
 The first thing he had to do was to get both of them
 safely back to campus.
 When he didn't find her inside, he thought
 he knew where to look. He went around to the back
 of the house, and, sure enough, she was down at the
 gazebo.
 The small, white latticework building--
 another indulgence of her grandfather's--stood atop
 a gentle swell of ground facing the ridge. It
 had been her playhouse, then her "dreamhouse,"
 as she'd called it. She had gone there to write
 her stories on summer afternoons. Later the two of
 them had gone there to talk and plan their future
 together.
 Mitch wondered if she remembered the first time
 he had told her he loved her. It had been
 inside that gazebo in the middle of a spring
 rainstorm.
 As he got closer, he saw that she was leaning
 forward, both hands pressed palms down on the
 narrow, scrolled banister. Her back was to him,
 and for a moment he thought she was ill. His heart
 lurched, but then he heard her and realized she was
 praying. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she was
 also weeping.
 He hesitated, wondering if he should walk
 away and leave her alone. Then he took another
 step toward the gazebo, listening, despite his
 reluctance to intrude on what was obviously a very
 private moment.
 "__I know I told you I'd give it all
 up, if that's what it takes. And I will, Lord--
 the writing, the career, the farm--_everything. ..."
 Mitch's heart started to break. She was hunched
 over even more now, her thin shoulders--too thin, he
 noted--heaving slightly with her words. 237
 "... __But you understand, don't you, that right now
 I feel as if I'm being torn to pieces? It
 isn't the farm, Lord, although losing it will be like        115
 losing a piece of my heart. But I'll get
 over that in time, and I know you'll help me put
 my life back together again eventually. I know you
 _will. ..."
 Mitch choked back tears, as if her words were
 being ripped from his own throat.
 "... __But I don't think the pain of losing
 Mitch will ever be over, Lord ... not really. I
 didn't know it would hurt this much; I didn't
 _think anything __could hurt this _much. ..." She
 faltered, then went on. "__Oh, Lord, he was
 your gift to me ... and I think you meant me to be
 your gift to him, but we got things all mixed up
 and ended up putting the gift before the _Giver."
 Mitch squeezed his eyes shut, letting the
 import of her words roll over him. Wearily,
 he rubbed his hands down his face, thinking for a moment
 that the moisture on his fingertips was rain. Only
 when he opened his eyes did he realize that the
 wetness spilling down his cheeks was from his own
 tears.
 He moved now, closing the distance between them,
 stepping up into the gazebo and putting a hand on her
 shoulder.
 For a moment he didn't think she was even aware
 of his presence. But, finally, she straightened and
 turned to face him. Mitch's gaze traced the
 tears down her cheeks; then he touched his fingers
 to them as he searched beyond the pain in her eyes for
 something else, something he had ached to see throughout
 all the years between them.
 "I'm sorry, Freddi-Leigh," he said
 softly, remembering another lifetime of moments like
 this, when he had teased her or hurt her feelings
 in some foolish, unintentional way. "I didn't
 mean to make you cry."
 Her eyes lifted to his, questioning, seeking.
 Mitch trapped her hand in his and tugged at it,
 drawing her closer. His other hand went to her damp
 hair, then to her cheek. "When there's time, I
 want you to tell me the rest of your story."
 Her look was puzzled, but when she would have questioned
 him, he pressed a finger to her lips, stopping
 her. "I want to be sure I understand what you were
 trying to tell me on the way out here. All of it.
 But not now. There's no time. I'm going to ask you
 just one question, and then we have to leave. All 239
 right?"
 She nodded, tilting her head even more as she
 waited.
 Calling forth another memory, Mitch took
 both of her hands in his. "Will you be my girl,
 Freddi-Leigh?" he whispered. "For always?"
 Freddi went deathly still, searching his eyes.               116
 Mitch was aware of her trembling as his hands went
 to her shoulders. "Will you, Freddi-Leigh?" He
 kissed her gently at the corner of her mouth.
 __It was yesterday _again. ...
 With a small cry, she came into his arms.
 Mitch kissed her once more, returning his heart
 to her, asking once more for the gift of her love.
 He looked at her, saw her smiling at him
 through lingering tears. "Say it," he urged, gently
 stroking her hair, pushing it back from her
 temples.
 "I'll always be your girl, Mitch
 Donovan. For as long as the river runs,
 I'll be your girl."
 _She _remembered. ...
 When he kissed her this time, he was promising
 her what she had just promised him. _Forever ...
 Daybreak rose in his heart at the same time it
 came up over the mountain.
 
 "I wish we had left sooner," he said
 worriedly as the pickup bumped onto the dirt
 road leading away from the farm. "We're cutting
 it too close."
 He went on, talking mostly to himself, trying
 to give vent to the swell of anxiety that was about
 to choke him. Freddi was sitting close to him, as
 she had years before when they were teenagers. He put
 his arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little
 closer. He felt better. Just having her back
 in his life made everything better.
 "First thing when we get back to town, we'll
 get a Civil Defense boat and go up to my
 place. I want to get Abby and the others out of
 there, down to the campus where they're not so
 isolated."
 "You think we'll need a boat this soon?"
 He veered sharply left to avoid a deep
 pit in the road. "Probably not," he answered
 distractedly, straightening the steering wheel. "But
 I don't want to chance getting stuck on the other
 side of the glen."
 "You're not worried about the campus?" 241
 He shook his head. "Even if the dam blows,
 the extra spillway will slow the water down enough
 to save the campus. It won't have the momentum
 to climb that high. It's the town and the bottoms that
 will take the worst." He paused, then added, "I
 just hope we did the right thing, leaving them at my
 place."
 When Freddi didn't answer, he looked at
 her. Her face was sickly white, her mouth
 contorted with pain. She was hugging her midsection as
 if she feared she might break in two.                        117
 "Freddi? What's wrong?"
 She shook her head, saying nothing. Moving
 away from him, she reached for her purse and fumbled
 inside it until she pulled out a small white
 bottle.
 "What's that? Are you sick?"
 "I'm all right," she grated between clenched
 teeth.
 He watched her open the bottle and take
 three deep swallows before replacing the cap.
 "What is that stuff? What's it for?"
 "It's just ... Mylanta," she admitted
 grudgingly. "I have an ulcer."
 Keeping his eyes on the road, he frowned.
 "An ulcer? Is that serious?"
 She uttered a choking laugh. "Mitch, you are
 probably the only person in my entire world who
 doesn't know all about ulcers."
 "I know about ulcers," he said, with a trace of
 defensiveness. "I just don't know how serious they
 are."
 "Mine ... was better. As long as I avoid
 junk-food binges and stress, I can live with it.
 I guess I haven't done so well with either this
 week."
 No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she
 jerked against the seat, moaning softly.
 Freeing one hand, Mitch touched her forehead.
 Her skin was cold, yet clammy with perspiration.
 "Can I do anything?"
 She shook her head weakly.
 "Is it always this painful?"
 "No. Not always," she said, gritting her
 teeth.
 Watching the road, he skimmed a kiss over
 the top of her head. "You just need some good
 old-fashioned country living," he said. "That'll
 take care of the stress."
 "Right. This week has done a lot 243
 to eliminate the stress in my life."
 "Well, you'll see. We'll get some
 weight on you and--was
 He broke off, interrupted by several loud
 booms--like thunder or a series of explosions.
 His eyes went to the rearview mirror and
 locked on the sight of an enormous wall of
 water bearing down on the valley.
 It took a few seconds for reality to pierce
 his panic. "Here it comes," he choked out, yanking
 his arm free to grip the wheel with both hands.
 "Get over there and buckle up--now!"
 At first it looked like a dark, dense layer of
 fog rolling in over the valley, treetop high.
 Mitch rolled down his window a little so he could            118
 hear, only to be jolted by the thundering noise.
 White-faced, Freddi slid toward the door
 and snapped on her seat belt, then whipped around.
 He heard her gasp, felt her clutch his
 shoulder. "Mitch ..."
 "I know ... I know ... just hang on."
 He slammed the accelerator to the floor, his
 eyes on the rearview mirror. Behind them,
 churning waves of water several stories high
 pushed shapeless masses of debris in front of
 them, flinging trees and chunks of earth as if they were
 nothing.
 When they reached the intersection of the main
 highway, Mitch's eyes made a frenzied
 sweep in all directions; then he shot left
 onto the road.
 He tilted the rearview mirror a fraction.
 The wall was closing in on them. It had to be
 moving twenty miles an hour or more, sucking up
 everything in its path, grinding it up, tossing it out,
 gaining momentum with every second.
 "Are we going to make it?" Freddi's voice
 was oddly quiet, even steady. She had never been
 the hysterical type, but Mitch wouldn't have blamed
 her if show md opened her mouth and started to scream.
 He wasn't all that far from it himself.
 "We'll make it," he said tightly. He
 wished he felt even half as confident as he
 tried to sound.
 Her hand still clung to his shoulder as she again
 turned to look behind them. He heard her catch a
 sharp breath.
 "We'll be all right," he reassured her.
 "We're going to make it." He could feel her
 fear and was nearly choking on his own. 245
 In another quarter mile they would reach the
 bridge over Job's Trace, the lowest point
 of the bottoms where the valley began to narrow, then
 merge and climb upward until it became one with the
 ridge. If they got that far, he could outrun the
 rolling monster behind him.
 It was coming down on them fast now, unleashing
 total destruction on everything in its path. He
 stabbed again at the accelerator, but it was already to the
 floor.
 They were on the downhill run.
 Then he saw the bridge--or what had been the
 bridge before the swollen stream had pushed it up
 into the air. Pieces of steel and concrete
 littered both sides of the road, and part of a narrow
 pillar stood upended in the roiling water. Nothing
 else.
 Mitch sucked in an enormous gulp of air,
 gripping the wheel until pain shot through his               119
 knuckles.
 Beside him, Freddi reared back hard against the
 seat, her knuckles pressed against her mouth.
 Mitch grabbed one last look in the rearview
 mirror and knew he had to go for it.
 "_Hang _on!"
 With one mighty rebel yell, he hunched
 forward over the wheel. The Ranger lifted off,
 bouncing them up off the seat, throwing them hard against
 their seat belts as it leaped across the stream and landed
 front end first on the other side. The bumper
 scraped asphalt for a good ten feet until the
 lighter back end of the pickup finally touched down.
 He took the hill full tilt, swallowing
 down the taste of raw panic that threatened to choke
 him. Fishtailing up the mud-washed hill,
 Mitch shot a frantic glance at the rearview
 mirror. The wall of water, like a monster whose
 rampage had been temporarily thwarted, had
 crested only feet below them and was now surging
 madly over the fields, gathering new power as it
 continued on its death route toward the valley.
 Mitch's heart pounded painfully against his chest.
 But he couldn't ease up now. The town was only
 seconds away from destruction. He had to get
 to the campus.
 But Freddi was with him, and they were safe. He
 couldn't let himself think of anything beyond this moment.
 "Didn't I tell you we'd make it?" he
 said in a woefully unsteady voice.
 When she didn't answer, he looked 247
 over to see her draining the upended Mylanta
 bottle in one continuous gulp.
 
 TWENTY
 
 Abby's face was blank, her eyes dull.
 Catchside had been grilling her for nearly an
 hour, hammering away at her with relentless
 cruelty that made Jennifer want to scream at
 him in rage.
 Despite his tenacity, Abby had told him
 nothing. In fact, so convincing was her blank
 bewilderment that Jennifer could almost believe she had
 somehow been drawn back into the depths of the
 amnesia. More likely, though, Abby's
 attempts to mislead her interrogator were
 motivated by a desire to protect everyone
 else.
 Jennifer no longer believed it would make the
 slightest difference. With dreadful certainty, she
 felt they were all doomed, no matter what they
 did or didn't know about Abby's past.
 By dawn, the intimidating giant was growing                  120
 noticeably frustrated and impatient. As he
 stood in the middle of the living room, he seemed
 to fill every inch of open space with a scarcely
 contained, malevolent energy. If possible, he
 was even more menacing in the gray light of morning
 than he had been in the shadowed glow of the oil
 lamp. The man was obviously deranged, a
 volatile psychotic whose actions were hopelessly
 unpredictable. One minute he would be
 soft-voiced and unnervingly calm, the next,
 crude and almost savagely irrational.
 Abby's composure under fire astonished
 Jennifer. Other than the repeated pulling of her
 hands in her lap and the cast of horror in her
 eyes, she seemed isolated, almost invulnerable
 to her tormentor's verbal abuse.
 "All right, Abigail, if that's the best
 you've got for me, we might just as well get this
 over with." He was back to his quiet-voiced
 calm, which somehow frightened Jennifer even more than his
 raving.
 "It's a real shame about your ... _amnesia,
 Abigail. I was kind of hoping to find out why
 old Taylor hates your hide the way he
 does."
 When Abby gave him a blank look, he
 went on, goading her with a mocking 249
 smile. "I never did believe it was just the
 money, not that he isn't a hungry old bird.
 It occurs to me that maybe it was you who tipped his
 brother off about the scam Taylor was running on
 the side."
 He watched Abby as if to measure her
 reaction.
 When there was none, he continued to ramble, his tone
 deceptively low, his words quick and detached.
 "Yeah, when that righteous hubby of yours found out about
 old Taylor using some of his fancy resorts
 to front a drug operation, that's when he started
 making noises about changing his will, right?"
 With what appeared to be genuine confusion, Abby
 merely stared at him.
 He glanced at Jennifer, then Daniel.
 "Say, that's right. If Abigail here is
 telling the truth about not knowing who she is or
 anything about her past, that means you don't know either,
 right?" He grinned. "Well, let me
 introduce you. This is Abigail Chase, one very
 wealthy widow. Old Abigail here, she did
 all right for herself. Went from running her own dinky
 little catering business to managing the entire food
 operation for Chase resorts. And then topped it
 off by marrying the boss."
 He fixed a hard glare on Abby. "I think                      121
 you must be a lot smarter than you look,
 Abigail. You couldn't lose, could you? And old
 Taylor, he couldn't win. First, you cheat him out
 os =ig chunk of his inheritance by marrying his
 brother, then Roger decides to cut him out of the will
 altogether. Nice and neat."
 "And that's where you came in, isn't it?"
 Daniel said from his chair by the window. "You were
 supposed to make sure the will never got changed--
 and get rid of Abby and Chase's granddaughter in
 the process."
 Catchside turned to him. "Ding-ding, blind
 man, you figured it out. And if you got that much, you
 probably know why I'm here." He looked at
 Daniel with a trace of scornful amusement.
 "So Taylor Chase can collect on the will.
 Which he can't, until Abby's ... death ... is
 legally established," Daniel said grimly.
 "But just how do you intend to go about proving she's dead
 without implicating yourself?"
 The contempt in Catchside's expression
 deepened. "Simple. The rest of you get this--was
 He hefted the gun. "And a trip down 251
 the river. But Abigail, she gets special
 treatment--a quick, clean drowning. Later, someone
 will find her washed up on the riverbank, with
 proper identification--which I just happen to have with
 me." He sneered, tapping the pocket of his
 black shirt. "And I'll go back to being the man
 who never was."
 Suddenly his mood did an abrupt shift.
 "I thought you said the other two would be back
 soon," he growled at Jennifer.
 When she nodded grudgingly, he stared at her for
 another few seconds. "Get up," he
 snarled. "Maybe by the time I'm done with the three
 of you, they'll be here."
 Jennifer didn't move. Her gaze went from
 his face to the gun.
 "I said _move! Now! We're all going for a
 little walk down by the riverside."
 Clutching Abby's hand, Jennifer helped her
 up from the couch. Her own hands were shaking
 violently, but she made herself face
 Catchside. "What are you going to do to us?"
 "You want to know what I'm going to do?" He
 gave her a contemptuous smirk. "See this
 gun?" He pointed it directly at her head.
 "Bang-bang."
 Jennifer jumped back, her heart thundering as
 he leveled the gun at Daniel and silently
 mouthed the word again.
 "Then you'll just get ... washed away. Fish
 food. And when Donovan and the writer show up,               122
 they'll join you. Well, Donovan, anyway."
 He paused and gave a leering smile. "I may
 want to talk to the lady writer a while first."
 "_No!" The sudden wail of protest came from
 Abby.
 Catchside looked at her. "Sorry,
 Abigail, but that's how it is. Come on, now,
 let's get moving. I'm sick of this mudhole
 town. The sooner I can split, the better."
 "Just how do you expect to get out?" The quiet,
 deliberate question came from Daniel, who had
 risen from his chair and was standing near the window.
 Catchside whipped around, staring at him.
 "What do you mean, how do I expect to get out?"
 he mimicked nastily. "The same way I
 came in, jerk."
 Daniel shook his head. "Wrong. There _is
 no way out." His voice was unnaturally soft as
 he went on. "All the roads are 253
 closed by now. Most of the town is under water. And the
 dam's expected to collapse any minute.
 You're trapped. Just like the rest of us."
 Jennifer stared at her husband in confusion. He
 sounded ... peculiar. He was almost smiling--a
 baiting, scornful smile that wasn't at all like
 Daniel.
 Catchside's eyes darted to the window.
 Licking his lips nervously, he snapped,
 "Shut up, blind man."
 "It's true. You're not going anywhere."
 Enraged, Catchside took a step toward
 Daniel. "_I'm going anywhere I want to,
 jerk! _You're the one who's going down the river."
 Daniel uttered a short, explosive laugh
 of contempt. With a roar of fury, Catchside
 lunged for him.
 "__Jennifer--get out! You and Abby, get out
 of _here!"
 Suddenly the reason for Daniel's odd
 behavior crystallized in Jennifer's mind. This
 was what he wanted, to goad Catchside
 into jumping him so she and Abby would have a chance to get
 away.
 She felt Abby sway, then break free.
 Before Jennifer could stop her, Abby threw herself
 at Catchside, grappling for the gun. The
 madman turned, and Daniel pitched forward,
 slamming against the giant's back.
 Catchside staggered, then planted himself in
 place, firing the gun in the air.
 With an inhuman fury, he attempted to throw
 Abby off, but she clung to him, clawing at his
 face as she tried to wrench the gun free.
 Jennifer lunged to help just as the gun                      123
 exploded again.
 Abby reeled, then fell. Screaming,
 Jennifer dropped to her knees, watching in
 horror as blood spread across Abby's shoulder,
 soaking the fabric of her dress.
 Frantically Jennifer looked around for something
 to stop the blood. Seeing nothing, she ripped the
 cloth belt of her slacks free, tore the
 lace curtain from the window, and tied a piece of
 it around Abby's shoulder.
 She turned around in time to see Catchside
 throw Daniel off and level the gun at his chest.
 "_No!" With Abby still in her arms, Jennifer
 screamed a cry of warning. Daniel stopped, and
 Catchside swung the gun toward 255
 Jennifer.
 "Try it again, blind man," he said in a menacing
 growl, "and I'll kill you and your woman right
 here, right now."
 Daniel lifted both hands in the air, palms
 outward, in a gesture of surrender, then stood
 without moving.
 Catchside trained the gun on Jennifer.
 "Get up."
 "She's hurt, I can't--was
 With one step, he moved to yank the
 semiconscious Abby roughly out of Jennifer's
 arms as if she were a rag doll. "__I said ...
 get ... _up!"
 Unwilling to let him see her cower, Jennifer
 struggled to control her shivering.
 "We're going to the river," Catchside said
 almost tonelessly. "You take him." He motioned
 Jennifer toward Daniel with the gun. "The two of
 you do exactly what I tell you to do, or I'll
 finish the old lady now."
 Jennifer took a step toward Daniel, then
 another. Touching him with a trembling hand, she felt
 the muscles of his forearm tense. "Just do what he
 says," he warned her, his voice hard and
 angry.
 They left the cabin, Jennifer and Daniel in
 front, with Catchside behind them, dragging Abby
 lifelessly along at his side.
 When they reached the bottom of the steps,
 Jennifer stopped, choking out a cry of despair.
 Sunny was still sprawled limply in the wet
 grass, her eyes closed.
 As if he had seen, Daniel again squeezed
 her hand. "Sunny?" he asked in a whisper.
 "Yes. Oh, Daniel ..." She broke
 off, unable to finish.
 "She's dead, isn't she?" he asked
 dully.                                                       124
 Jennifer's eyes burned with unshed tears as
 she turned to Catchside. "Please ... let
 me see about the dog."
 "The dog's dead! Now move!"
 She had never seen the kind of anger that
 surfaced in Daniel at that instant, an anger
 she knew was fed as much by grief for his beloved
 Sunny as by his fury toward Catchside. She
 felt him press her arm. "Don't give up,
 Jennifer," he grated under his breath. "We'll
 get out of this." 257
 "Oh, Daniel ... there's nothing we can do,"
 she whispered. "He's _huge--was
 "The Lord's bigger. And he's on _our
 side."
 "_Shut _up--both of you!" Catchside
 punched Jennifer in the back with the pistol, and she
 stumbled.
 Fear and hopelessness washed over her as the
 gunman prodded them down the thickly wooded
 hillside to the riverbank. Once she started
 to pray that Mitch and Freddi would return in time
 to help, but her prayer faltered. She no longer
 believed that even all of them together could stop this
 insane monster.
 At the bottom of the hill, Catchside
 stopped, motioning them toward an immense ash
 tree.
 Keeping the gun trained on them, he began
 to drag the now unconscious Abby closer to the
 edge of the riverbank. The ground sloped down
 several inches toward the water, but the swollen,
 turbulent river was spilling across the bank,
 shooting up and over the small rise of
 mud-slicked ground as it gathered strength for its
 descent to the valley.
 Hauling Abby to the very edge of the bank,
 Catchside stooped and grasped her by the waist.
 He started to drag her into the water with the clear
 intention of drowning her.
 Unexpectedly, she roused and twisted in his
 arms, throwing him off balance. He stumbled in the
 mud, shoving Abby toward the water as he
 slipped.
 Jennifer cried out as she saw Abby stagger and
 reel backward, clutching wildly at
 Catchside to save herself. The force of her weight
 pulling at him on the slippery bank was enough
 to dislodge the giant. He staggered, then pitched
 forward, dropping the gun as he toppled over and
 crashed into the water.
 "Daniel--they fell in!" Jennifer
 screamed. "Abby will drown! She's barely
 conscious!"                                                  125
 Daniel was already moving. Ripping his shirt from
 his body and tossing his shoes aside, he groped
 for Jennifer's hand.
 "I'm going in--you'll have to guide me from
 here!"
 "No, Daniel, you can't--was
 "Just take me to the edge of the bank!" 259
 Jennifer hesitated. When he started to step out
 on his own, she reluctantly guided him to the
 water's edge.
 He stood listening for a long, tense moment.
 "Where are they?"
 Jennifer looked from Daniel to the river.
 Already drifting out away from the bank, Abby
 seemed to be just barely keeping herself afloat.
 Only a few feet away, Catchside, his
 face set in a look of shock, bobbed heavily
 in the water.
 Jennifer turned to Daniel. His face was
 taut, his breathing shallow. He was poised,
 obviously waiting for her to prompt him.
 She glanced down at the cotton slacks she
 was wearing. Making her decision, she pulled her
 blouse free from the waistband and kicked off her
 shoes.
 "I'm going in with you." The steadiness of her
 voice amazed her.
 Jennifer wasn't a good swimmer. It was a
 family joke, her lack of prowess in the water
 contrasted with the skill of her Olympian husband.
 But Daniel needed her eyes. And Abby needed
 Daniel.
 "__The Lord has a way of putting us
 exactly where he wants _us. ..."
 As Daniel's earlier words echoed from somewhere in
 a distant recess of her mind, Jennifer
 suddenly saw the truth. At this moment, she was in
 the right place at the right time.
 In that instant everything around her seemed
 to freeze and hang suspended, and Jennifer saw
 herself from an entirely different perspective.
 Without understanding why, she realized that the Lord was
 giving her this moment, this brief blink in time
 to catch a glimpse of herself as he viewed her
 ... standing where he wanted her to stand, being what he
 wanted her to be, doing what he wanted her to do.
 Standing in his will ... standing where he had placed
 her.
 __I understand now, Lord, I really do. I
 don't have to do anything great or newsworthy or
 world-changing. I don't have to be a celebrity or
 a headline-getter. I only have to be the person
 you made me to be and live the life you've given
 me to live ... today, right where I am, just as I            126
 _am.
 She took a deep breath and gripped her
 husband's hand, then stepped out. "Now, 261
 Daniel!"
 He hesitated only an instant, then sucked
 in a breath and went off the bank, surging left as
 soon as he hit the water. Jennifer followed
 him, determined, in spite of her fear.
 "Stay to my right if you can," Daniel told
 her, pulling easily through the turbulent water.
 "Does Catchside still have the gun?"
 "No--he dropped it when he fell in!"
 Jennifer had all she could do to stay with him. The
 water was cold, dangerously cold for a poor
 swimmer, and the current seemed to be picking up
 momentum every second. Her legs felt sandbagged,
 and her arms were already beginning to ache.
 "Are you all right?" Daniel was pulling away
 from her.
 "I can't keep up with you!"
 He slowed his stroke. "How far away is
 Abby?"
 Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut against the sting
 of the water, then opened them. "Not far. I can reach
 her."
 She shot a look at Catchside,
 surprised to see that the behemoth didn't seem
 to be doing as well in the water as _she was. He
 was still several feet away from Abby, swimming
 haltingly, awkwardly, as if something were pulling
 him under. Those heavy boots couldn't be helping.
 The water was full of wood, stones, and other
 debris being carried by the current. Jennifer
 screamed when a large, heavy limb caught Abby
 on the side of the head. The older woman's arms
 swept out once, then went limp.
 Seeing his chance, Catchside pulled through the
 water until he reached her.
 "_He's _got _her! Daniel--I think
 Abby blacked out!"
 "If I can pull him off her, do you think you can
 get her out of the water?"
 "I'll ... try." Jennifer was gasping for
 air now. She was already tired, more tired than she
 wanted Daniel to know. And the raging current was
 quickly forcing all of them downhill and farther away
 from the bank.
 Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an
 enormous chunk of wood rolling toward her. She
 swerved and cut right. It hurtled by, missing her
 by only inches.
 "Glide as much as you can," Daniel warned.
 "Don't try to fight the current. Just 263
 keep moving toward the two of them and let the water         127
 carry you. I'll try to get behind him, but you'll have
 to guide me."
 Jennifer's lungs felt seared, and pain shot
 down the entire length of her body. She couldn't
 answer him.
 They were almost on top of Abby and Catchside
 now. Catchside tried to turn and pull away,
 pushing Abby's head under water as he moved.
 "_No-o-o!" Jennifer fought for the strength
 to reach Abby. "Daniel--to your right! __He's
 to your _right!"
 Turning, Daniel shoved off, circling behind
 Catchside as smoothly as if he could see.
 Like some kind of immense sea monster,
 Catchside bobbed up, then down, his eyes bugging
 when Daniel grasped him around the neck from behind.
 This was her chance. Jennifer summoned all the
 strength she had and surged toward Abby.
 Daniel had the giant by the throat, kneeing
 him in the back. Although Catchside had an
 obvious size advantage, he was clumsy and
 uncertain in the water. Daniel was clearly in
 control.
 Jennifer grappled for Abby's arms, ducking
 Catchside's fist as he tried to shove her
 away with one hand and throw Daniel off with the other.
 Wrapping Catchside with both arms, Daniel
 shouted, "Take her, Jennifer!"
 Jennifer wrested Abby free and pulled her
 into a headlock. "I've got her, Daniel!"
 "Get out of here! Hurry!"
 Jennifer bobbed uncertainly. "I'm not leaving
 you--was
 "You've _got to! _Do _it, Jennifer!
 While you've still got the strength! Don't try
 to swim against the current--go downriver and float
 toward the bank!"
 Jennifer knew with sick certainty that she had
 no choice if she didn't want to risk both
 her life and Abby's. Reluctantly, she
 began to swim. "I'll come back, Daniel!"
 she called out as she turned. "Just as soon as I
 get Abby out of the water, I'll come back!"
 "_No!" Daniel roared, his face contorted
 with the effort of trying to keep Catchside subdued.
 "You'll be too tired! I won't be able to find
 you in this current! Stay on the bank!"
 Still, Jennifer hesitated, watching with fear as
 Daniel fought to keep Catchside from 265
 breaking free. Finally, with one last look at her
 husband and the madman in his grasp, she began
 to pull right, letting the current carry her as she
 struggled to tow the unconscious Abby to safety.
                                                              128
 It was like trying to uproot a mountain. A
 mountain in the sea. For the first time in his life,
 Daniel felt small. This lunatic was going
 to kill them both unless he could somehow knock him
 out.
 The guy was _enormous--and crazy! Daniel
 knew an instant of raw panic when the enraged
 giant pulled them both under water, hurling them
 against the torrential current of the river.
 His own strength was beginning to drain when he finally
 managed to surface, still clinging to the struggling
 Catchside. Shooting upward, Daniel crashed
 down on the giant, riding him as if he were a
 sea animal, trying to push his head down into the
 water at the same time.
 His own head felt as if it might explode
 any second. The roaring in his ears swelled to an
 almost unbearable pitch, and he gasped for air as
 he tried to keep Catchside's face in the
 water.
 ... __Save me, O God, for the waters have
 come up to my neck. ... I have come into the deep
 waters; the floods engulf _me. ...
 The colossus beneath Daniel began to buck in
 the water, trying to throw him off. Like a crazed
 bull, Catchside pitched and lunged, but
 Daniel held on, afraid even to try to throw
 a punch for fear he'd lose control.
 ... __I am worn out calling for help. ...
 deliver me from those who hate me, from the deep
 waters. ... answer me quickly, for I am in
 _trouble. ...
 He _was in trouble. His legs were cramping, his
 arm muscles knotting, his lungs rebelling against
 the torturous pressure in his chest. He could
 feel the increasing sweep of current as wood and
 other debris rushed past them in the water. This end
 of the river was swelling from the effect of the extra
 cut-through at the dam. He had all he could do
 to hang on to the madman beneath him.
 Then, dimly, Daniel became aware of a
 difference in the cacophony of the river. The roar in
 his head had changed. It wasn't in his ears at
 all but seemed to be rising from the water. His head
 snapped around, and a fresh burst of energy 267
 swept him upward.
 For an instant he thought he might be about
 to lose consciousness, that he had only imagined the
 sound. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
 __No ... it was _real.
 The thunder in his head had become the sound of a
 powerboat.
 "Hang on, Dan! We've got you!"
 somebody yelled.                                             129
 _Mitch?
 He was hearing not one engine but _two. Both
 close by.
 A different voice yelled out. "__This is the
 _police! There's a gun on your head, mister.
 Give it up! You're under arrest!"
 Daniel felt somebody grab him under his arms
 and start to haul him up out of the water and into the
 boat. He tried to help but couldn't seem
 to move his arms or legs. Finally, he felt
 himself pulled aboard, then gently lowered to the
 floor of the boat.
 "Easy, Dan ... easy ... we've got
 you." It _was Mitch.
 A gunshot crashed over the roar of the river.
 Closer now, the unfamiliar voice again shouted.
 "I said, give it _up! You don't get more than
 one warning!"
 There was an ominous quiet, about the pause of a
 heartbeat, then, "They've got him, Dan!"
 "Mitch--was
 "It's all right." Mitch grasped his arm.
 "The police have Catchside! It's over."
 "The police ... how ..."
 "When Freddi and I got back into town,
 Tom Robbins was just getting ready to come up here.
 He had been trying to call you, and when he couldn't
 get an answer at my place or Abby's, we
 grabbed a boat and started up the river. A
 couple of state policemen followed us."
 Daniel heard Mitch catch his breath.
 "They've got Catchside in the other boat.
 Everything's OK, Dan."
 Daniel tried to push himself up.
 "_Jennifer--was
 "She's fine. She and Freddi are on the
 bank with Abby."
 "Is Abby ...?was
 "Abby's all right. She's lost some blood,
 but she's OK. Thanks to you and Jennifer."
 "You're sure Jennifer is all 269
 right? She's not very strong in the water--was
 "She's _fine, Dan. Honest. She's
 exhausted, but she's fine." Mitch stopped, then
 added, "Jennifer saved Abby's life."
 "They made it. ..." Daniel could feel
 himself slipping, drifting off. ...
 Then he heard it--a sound as familiar to his
 ears as his own voice. He forced his mind to focus
 --there! He _had heard it.
 "_Sunny?"
 Again came the bark. From a distance that could have been
 inches or miles, he heard her bark again.
 "... Sunny ..."                                              130
 "Sunny's OK, Dan." Mitch's voice
 was no more than an echo, as if he were calling out from
 the other end of a long tunnel. "She's going to be
 fine. She's with Jennifer."
 Daniel smiled and started to mumble words of
 thanks but found his lips were numb.
 
 
 
 
 
 EPILOGUE
 Friday evening
 
 The entire hillside--above and below the campus
 --was covered with people and flickering lanterns.
 From the platform that had been erected for the
 benefit concert, Jennifer could look out past the
 crowds thronging the mountain to see the town of Derry
 Ridge--what was left of it. The flood had
 left in its wake only mud, debris, and
 devastation. The additional spillway cut through the
 dam at the last minute had been enough to save the
 valley from annihilation, but even those who had been
 fortunate enough to escape total loss had suffered
 some degree of damage.
 And yet they were here. _Everyone was here tonight,
 gathered for a concert designed to give encouragement
 to the audience while collecting vital funds
 to help rebuild the town.
 Mitch and the festival committee, with
 Daniel's cooperation, had put together this
 last-minute concert, turning it into a benefit
 event for the entire community. Much prayer and
 hurried planning had gone into the evening--with
 incredible results.
 Jennifer had long stood in awe of 271
 Daniel's ability as a musician and a
 performer, but never before tonight had she seen him
 capture an entire audience quite so quickly and
 completely. It seemed as if God had reached
 down in a special way tonight to empower and bless her
 husband's music ministry--a ministry that had
 already reached countless hearts throughout the country.
 As she watched, both Daniel and Mitch
 came back onto the platform for the conclusion of the
 concert. Along with the other singers and musicians,
 Jennifer stepped forward, then went to stand beside her
 husband.
 She exchanged smiles with Freddi and Abby,
 both seated as close as possible to the makeshift
 stage. Abby's arm was in a sling, but she looked
 wonderful.
 Abby's recently reacquired fortune was                       131
 apparently going trougke little difference in her
 lifestyle. Just that morning she had revealed her
 plans to all of them: to remain right where she was,
 in the cabin she loved, continuing with her work in the
 campus cafeteria. Her only concession to the
 Chase legacy was a suggestion to Mitch that she
 might want to add an extra room or two
 onto the back of the cabin.
 "... So my grandchildren can spend weekends with me
 as often as they want," she had explained.
 "You have _grandchildren, Abby?" Mitch had questioned with a
 startled look.
 "Well, not _yet, dear." Abby's glance had
 darted to Freddi. "But I should imagine I will
 _eventually."
 Jennifer let her gaze drift to Freddi,
 fancifully imagining her in bridal white,
 since that was most likely what the stunning young
 author would be wearing when they next met. The
 wedding would take place early in the fall,
 Mitch had announced just before the concert. "_Very
 early in the fall." He had thrown a challenging
 look at Freddi, who merely grinned a silent
 assent.
 Jennifer's smile faded for an instant at the
 fleeting, unpleasant thought of Floyd
 Catchside. He would never murder anyone else
 once the courts were finished with him, she thought with
 grim satisfaction. Not only was he being held
 for the murders of Roger and Melissa Chase, but
 law enforcement agencies throughout the country--throughout
 the _world--were lining up to question him about numerous other
 unsolved killings. 273
 The sound of Daniel's voice roused her from
 her thoughts, and she turned toward him as he
 spoke.
 "I know there are hundreds--_thousands--of you out
 there tonight who have lost everything: your homes, your
 material possessions, all that you've worked for
 over the years."
 Jennifer moved a little closer to him. She could
 sense the burden on his heart as he hesitated.
 But when he spoke again, his voice was firm and
 strong.
 "As we were trying to put together this concert, I
 asked the Lord to give me some word of hope, some
 message of encouragement for those of you who might
 need it most. Just this morning, I remembered
 something Mitch Donovan said to me our first day
 here, something that many of you may have already heard." He
 paused, then went on. "It's a truth that once
 sustained me through a loss of my own--the loss of
 my sight.
 "Tonight, I pray that the Lord will write it on              132
 my heart--and yours--so we can draw on it throughout
 the days ahead, whenever we need to be reminded of
 our legacy in the Lord."
 The mountain was hushed as Daniel's voice
 rang out strong and clear. "Sometimes," he said,
 smiling with love at the people he could see only in his
 heart, "sometimes you have to get to the point where
 Jesus Christ is all you _have ... before you
 realize that Jesus Christ is all you _need."
 The words drifted off into the night fog now
 softly enveloping the mountain. After a moment,
 Daniel began to sing, softly at first, then with
 rousing reassurance. Soon the night rang with
 thousands of voices lifted in faith and hope.
 ...
 
 "__On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand,
 All other ground is sinking sand,
 All other ground is sinking _sand."
 
 THE END
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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