And then Daniel was gone, and all the dreams and hopes seemed to be gone with him. Adam had changed after that. In the six months that preceded him leaving, he’d spent more time away from Charlotte than with her. When he’d been home, they’d tiptoed around each other, afraid to break the silence that had filled the cottage since Daniel’s death.
She shivered, pulling her thoughts back to the present.
River had taken a position outside the car, his back to Charlotte. She looked past him, watching as the windows in the cottage lit up. There were no gunshots, no loud warnings. Just the silence of the lake at night, the soft sheen of moonlight reflected on the water, the swish of the breeze through the trees.
Beside her, Clover panted quietly, his head resting on her thigh, his body relaxed. If someone were lurking outside the car, he’d know it. She wanted to relax, too, but the night seemed as still and silent as it had been the night she’d heard Bethany scream.
That scared her.
She got out of the car, restless and worried and not sure why.
“You should probably get back in the vehicle,” River said without glancing her way.
“There’s no one out here but us,” she countered. “If there was, Clover would let me know.”
As if on cue, Clover jumped out of the car, his head bumping her hand as he moved in close. His attention was on the lake, his nose pointed to the air as he sniffed several times.
He whined and would have darted away, but she caught his collar and pulled him back.
“Down!” she commanded, and he dropped onto his stomach, his nose still in the air.
He’d caught the scent of something or someone, and that was enough to make Charlotte back up. She hadn’t survived a gunshot wound to the chest to die in her front yard because she hadn’t heeded her dog’s warning. She planned to get in the car, pull the door closed and wait for Adam and his associates to deal with whoever might be out there, but Clover barked, the sound the same high-pitched greeting he offered when friends came to visit.
If someone was out there, it was someone he knew.
“Who is it, Clover?” she asked as if the dog could answer.
He barked again, his tail swiping back and forth across the pavement. His scruff wasn’t raised. He wasn’t growling. He sensed a friend, and the only one who lived anywhere nearby, the only person who would possibly be out at this time of night, was Bubbles.
“Bubbles!” she called, her voice echoing loudly in her ears.
“Get back in the car,” River said, taking her arm and trying to urge her into the vehicle.
“I think Bubbles is out there,” she responded, shrugging away. Clover was still staring at the lake, his tail wagging, his tongue out.
“Maybe it’s Bubbles. Maybe it’s not. How about you let us figure it out?” River edged into her space, and she found herself stepping backward, her calves knocking against the door frame.
She would have gotten in and let him close the door, but Clover jumped up and sprinted away.
“Clover!” she shouted, brushing past River as she ran after the dog.
She could see him racing toward the lake, his red coat black in the moonlight, his tail high.
She sprinted after him, her legs weak from too many days in a hospital bed, her body aching from trauma, surgery and over a week of being sedentary. She was used to moving. She ran, hiked, biked and camped. She’d always been fast, but after Daniel’s death she’d become faster. Running had been her escape. Now she had other things. Clover and dog training and her visits to the hospitals and Alzheimer’s facilities. She still ran, though, because expending herself physically was sometimes the only way to quiet her thoughts.
Despite the training, despite the hours that she’d spent running, she felt like she was moving through mud, her pace slow and uneven, her breath shallow and labored.
“Clover!” she called again as the dog splashed into the winter-cold lake water.
“Come!” she commanded, but he was on a scent, and he didn’t stop.
She had no idea what he’d seen, smelled or heard. All she could see was his dark head bobbing as he swam. The inky water stretched out in every direction, Bubbles’s ancient dock jutting out toward the center of it. If someone was there, they were well hidden.
Or they were in the water on the other side of the dock.
The thought filled her head and wouldn’t leave it.
Before Daniel drowned, she’d spent hours every summer swimming in the lake. She’d gone canoeing and fishing there. Since his death, she’d avoided it. She didn’t swim, and when she wanted to canoe, she drove to another section of the lake. She knew she was being irrational, the lake and the water were no different than they’d ever been, but she still hated the undulating waves, the dark surface, the sooty root-filled bottom. The thought of even sticking her toe in it filled her with dread. She couldn’t imagine jumping in, allowing her head to go under and water to surround her.
She ran toward the dock, hoping to cajole Clover out of the water. Her foot hit an old tree stump, and she tripped, flying forward so quickly she’d have landed on her face if River hadn’t grabbed the back of her sweater.
“Thanks,” she panted, catching her balance, her focus still on Clover.
“Anytime,” Adam replied.
Surprised, she stumbled again, and he hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.
“How about you don’t fall and break something while we’re out here?” he muttered as he helped her onto the dock. “I don’t think either of us wants to spend any more time in the hospital.”
“I don’t intend to break anything. I intend to get my dog out of the lake before he drowns.”
“Isn’t he some sort of poodle mix?” he asked, moving cautiously out onto the rickety dock.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m sure he can get himself out.”
“The water is freezing, and—”
“He’s a dog,” he said calmly, “and you’d have been wiser to get back in the car when River told you to.”
“He’s more than a dog. He brought me out of the depression I was in after Daniel died. He filled up some of the empty space that was left after—” You walked out.
She didn’t finish.
“What I meant is that most dogs can swim and most won’t stay in freezing water for very long. Once he gets cold, he’ll head back.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said, turning her attention back to Clover. He was still swimming, his head bobbing above the water a dozen yards away. She tracked his trajectory, trying to figure out where he was heading and why he’d be going there. He did love water, but it wasn’t like him to refuse a direct command.
“Clover, co—”
The words choked off as she spotted something a few feet in front of Clover. White fabric floating languidly. White hair drifting on the black water. A white hand beneath the surface.
Her brain wouldn’t put words to what she was seeing, but her body knew. Someone was in the water. Facedown. Lifeless.
She was in the lake before she realized what she was doing, swimming toward the prone figure. By the time she reached it, Clover was there, his mouth filled with the gauzy fabric as he tried to tug the person through the water.
“Good boy,” Charlotte said, her teeth chattering, her fingers nearly numb as she wrapped her arm around a scrawny chest and tugged the person’s head out of the water.
She saw the face, the hair, the bright red lipstick smeared across the wrinkled lips.
“Bubbles,” she murmured, sliding her nearly frozen fingers to her friend’s jugular and praying she’d find a pulse. Her fingertips seemed frozen, but she was sure she felt Bubbles’s heart beating.
“Pulse?” Adam asked, and she realized he was right beside her, standing shoulder-deep in water.
&n
bsp; “Yes. Faint, but there.”
“Is she breathing?” He slid an arm under Bubbles, taking her weight from Charlotte.
“I don’t know.”
Or maybe she just didn’t want to know.
She’d been watching Bubbles’s chest, waiting to see it rise and fall. She’d seen nothing but soaked cotton fabric lying still against her friend’s narrow sternum.
“We need to get her back to shore,” he said, supporting Bubbles’s neck as he maneuvered through the water.
Charlotte glided through his icy wake, her muscles cramping from cold. She tried not to think about what she was doing, tried not to focus on the water or the way it lapped against her arms and legs as she moved. Since Daniel’s death, the lake had become almost a living thing to her, its attributes evil and ugly.
Her feet touched the bottom and she waded toward shore, Clover paddling beside her. He seemed content to stay there now that he’d found what he’d been looking for.
By the time they reached the pebbly beach, Adam was performing CPR, Wren beside him, her fingers curved around the delicate bones of Bubbles’s wrist.
Charlotte dropped down near Bubbles’s head, brushing wet hair from her cheek.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said, as if her words could make it true. “Is she breathing?”
“Not yet,” Wren responded, shrugging out of her coat and laying it over Bubbles. “River called for an ambulance. He’s gone back to the road to flag them in.”
“I don’t understand how this could have happened. She swims three seasons out of the year. Almost every day.”
“She’s in her eighties. No matter how good of shape she’s in, her reflexes aren’t what they used to be. She was probably on the dock, tripped and fell in. The water is cold. It wouldn’t have taken long for her to lose some muscle function,” Wren replied, nudging Adam to the side. “I’ll take over rescue breathing. You take Charlotte back to the house and get her warm.”
“I’d rather stay here.” She could hear sirens. She knew the ambulance was on the way.
He didn’t argue, just dropped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. If he’d been a stranger, it would have been a totally inappropriate thing to do. She was aware of that. Just like she was aware of the warmth that seeped through her soaked sweater, of the way her pulse leaped at his touch.
He was her ex-husband, but he’d once been her best friend.
When he was this close, when his warmth was seeping into her, chasing away the chill, she could almost forget that he wasn’t anymore.
She eased away, touching Bubbles’s hair again.
Clover barked, the sharp quick warning making her jump. She swung toward him, saw that he was staring toward Bubbles’s house, his nose in the air, his hackles up.
“What—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish.
Something flashed in the darkness, and Adam tackled her to the ground with so much force the air left her lungs. She was flat on her back, Adam pressing her into the rocky ground as the earth exploded, bits of sand and rock raining down on her face.
* * *
They should have expected this.
Adam should have expected it.
He hadn’t, and it had almost cost Charlotte her life.
He raced up the beach and sprinted into Bubbles’s yard, staying in the shadows of the overgrown bushes that lined her property. He knew the yard well. Years ago, he’d been the one to mow it. She’d offered him the job when he was twelve, and he’d taken it because he’d seen his mother’s electric bill and knew their power was about to be shut off. Again.
Once a week, all summer long, he’d walk to Bubbles’s house, take out her old lawn mower and cut the grass. She’d hand him icy glasses of lemonade and crisp ten-dollar bills and tell him that he was going somewhere in his life.
She’d been the closest thing to a grandmother he’d ever had. She’d taught him to value himself and other people. Because of her encouragement, he’d finished high school and he’d attended college. When he was around her, she forced him to be his better self.
When he’d left Whisper Lake and Charlotte, he’d left Bubbles, too. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until he’d seen her in Charlotte’s hospital room. He hadn’t realized how much he regretted not keeping in touch until he’d pulled her body from the lake.
If she died before he had a chance to thank her for all she’d done...
He winced away from the thought, his focus on the gravel driveway that emptied out onto the country road. Sirens were screaming, masking other sounds. The perp could have been crashing through the bushes that edged the property, and Adam wouldn’t have been able to hear it.
He didn’t think that was the case, though.
He thought the shooter was gone, slipping away the same way he’d come—silently.
The Night Stalker was notorious for staying out of sight. The Special Crimes Unit had obtained security footage from several of the hospitals where victims had been abducted. The unit’s tech expert, Honor Remington, had spent weeks poring over images of a hooded man who’d been seen on several of the videos. Despite her best efforts, his face remained hidden, always turned just slightly away from the cameras, his hood shadowing his features.
If the Night Stalker had just fired a shot at Charlotte, he wouldn’t be standing out in the open waiting to be discovered. He’d be running for his lair, going back to the place where he hid with his victims.
Still, Adam moved cautiously, walking along the edge of the driveway, searching for signs that a vehicle had been there. He hit pay dirt, his attention caught by deep gouges in the gravel. Tire tracks. They’d been made by a vehicle that was moving quickly, the tires spinning and spitting chunks of gravel in every direction.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was wet but functional, and he sent a text to River, filling him in and asking him to keep the ambulance and its crew away from Bubbles’s property.
They’d need to get an evidence team out here. One a little better prepared than the local police department.
He doubted there’d be tread marks in the gravel, but the width and depth of the tracks could be measured and inputted into a data bank that would compare them to track marks left by other vehicles. If they were fortunate, they’d get a match that would give them some idea of the kind of vehicle that had been used.
He moved back toward the house, staying parallel to the lake shore. He was certain he knew where the shooter had been standing when he’d fired the shot—the cleared area just beyond Bubbles’s back deck. There were no bushes or trees there, nothing to block her view of the lake. It was the perfect spot to sit and watch the sun set. It was also the perfect vantage point for a sniper.
It seemed odd that the Night Stalker would go to this kind of effort to silence Charlotte. Up until now, he’d stayed a step ahead of law enforcement by kidnapping his victims and holding them prisoner for weeks or months before he killed them. After they were dead, he transported them back to the area he’d taken them from. The victims had all been found beside roads that were close to the hospitals they’d been taken from. Aside from a few synthetic fibers found on three of the victims, there was no evidence leading in any direction, no way of knowing where the victims had been or where they had been murdered. Everything Adam knew about the Night Stalker made him believe that the serial killer would go deep into hiding at the first sign of trouble. Based on that, Adam had assumed that he was nowhere near Whisper Lake. He’d obviously assumed wrong.
But then, the Night Stalker had acted out of character from the very beginning of this case. He’d kidnapped a woman from a small regional hospital. He’d used a chloroformed rag to knock Bethany out, but he hadn’t taken the time to make sure she’d stay out. The rag had been found in the parking garage, dropped and forgotten by someone who’d
obviously been rushing. Finally, after years of stalking and preying on women, the killer had made mistakes. Those mistakes had been the reason Bethany had escaped.
What Adam hadn’t been able to figure out was why the Night Stalker had been in a hurry. Adam had spent a lot of time studying the previous cases. He’d put together a criminal profile that he believed was as close to an accurate picture of the man as they could get without meeting him. The Night Stalker was a confident criminal who believed he was too smart to make mistakes, too intelligent to ever be found out. He planned abductions carefully, stalking his victims until he knew their routines, their vehicles, their schedules.
He’d managed to kidnap nine women from hospital parking garages without anyone seeing or hearing anything. He had his methods down cold. Somehow, though, he’d failed with Bethany. He’d managed to get her into her car and drive her out of the parking garage. He’d transferred her to his truck while she was still unconscious. If he’d followed his normal pattern, he’d have transported her somewhere, raped her, tortured her, kept her until he tired of her and then killed her.
Instead, she’d come out of her chloroform-induced stupor and jumped out of the vehicle when her abductor slowed at a stop sign. It was a huge mistake. One that would, hopefully, lead to his capture.
But why had he made it?
That was the question Adam couldn’t stop asking himself, the one that kept him up at night, that made him pace the hospital room while Charlotte had slept. Something had thrown the Night Stalker off his stride.
If they could figure out what, they might be able to find him.
Adam stepped into the clearing, probing the deep shadows near the corners of the house. He wasn’t expecting to see anyone, but he hadn’t expected someone to take a potshot at Charlotte, either.
If the dog hadn’t barked, if Adam hadn’t glanced toward Bubbles’s house, if he hadn’t seen a shadow moving across the landscape, Charlotte would be dead, and he’d be living with the guilt of knowing that his mistake had allowed it to happen.
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