The forest, bracken, scraggly trees, scrub bush flashed by in a blur.
From the trail ahead the dog let out a frightened, painful yelp. The cry echoed through the canyons.
And then there was silence.
Deadly, empty silence.
Oh, God. Prescott felt a fear as deep as he’d ever known.
He froze, his ankle screaming in agony. He strained to see through the foggy, smeared lenses. Where was the dog? Where the hell was the damned dog? And the dark figure? Holy shit, where had that devil gone? Maybe it had all been a figment of his imagination. That was it. A trick of gloomy light in shadows? And where had it been—the black image? Higher on the ridge, or had he been turned around with the switchbacks and offshoots on the trail? He couldn’t think, could barely breathe.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!
He had to keep moving!
Deep in his boot, his ankle throbbed. Sweat covered his body. He was half blind. The crest of the ridge seemed hundreds of feet above him, the ravine abutting the trail a deep, dark abyss. How would he ever make it out of here? Why hadn’t he tried to follow that damned old logging road? If only Billy Dean would show up and help him and…
Snap!
Somewhere nearby a twig broke.
He froze.
His pulse throbbed in his ears.
God help me.
Fear sliced through his heart.
Did he hear someone behind him? Footsteps on the blanket of dry leaves?
Prescott spun.
Again too fast.
Agony ripped through his ankle and it buckled.
Pebbles on the path skittered beneath his feet as he slipped toward the edge of the ravine. His arms waved frantically, but it was too late. He lost what frail footing he had. Screaming, he scrabbled wildly in the air, catching only a glimpse of a shadowy, tall man in the trees as he fell backward, pitching headfirst over the edge.
CHAPTER 2
“Come on, Nikki, give it up. Let’s go out for a few drinks.” Trina Boudine paused at the edge of Nikki Gillette’s cubicle, stretching her model-slim black frame over the edge that separated their desks. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“I’ve heard. But I don’t know who ‘they’ are, and they probably weren’t concerned about paying the rent.” She glanced up at Trina. “And, just in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Johnny, and I’m not a boy.”
“Details, details.” Trina’s dark eyes flashed as she smiled and showed off white teeth that were crooked enough to be interesting. She flipped a sleek wrist where half a dozen copper bracelets jangled. “What’re you working on that’s so damned intriguing? Last I heard you were doing a series on the budget cuts to the school district.” She clucked her tongue. “Mighty fascinatin’ stuff, that.”
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.” Nikki rolled her chair away from her computer and hoped Trina didn’t catch any of the text she’d written as her story had nothing to do with money, budget cuts, or public outcry over lack of school funding. Instead, she was writing another crime piece, about a woman fished out of the river two days earlier. It wasn’t really her story. Norm Metzger had been given that assignment, but Nikki couldn’t help herself. Crime fascinated her. It always had and it had nothing, not one little thing to do with the fact that her father was Judge Ronald “Big Ron” Gillette. She frowned at the thought of her father, then glanced up at Trina. “Okay, so I’ll meet you. When and where?”
“Sevenish for drinks and hors d’oeuvres at Bridges. Aimee and Dana will be there. We’re celebrating. Aimee’s divorce and Dana’s engagement. Kind of both ends of the romance spectrum.”
“Sounds fun,” Nikki muttered sarcastically.
“Well, you can see why we need a few more people. I’m hoping maybe Ned, Carl and Joanna can join us—you know, make it a party. Aimee is having some trouble getting enthusiastic about Dana’s engagement, but Dana wants to celebrate.”
“Even though she was married twice before?”
“You know what they say—”