“Come on, come on.” Again she tried, and again. She couldn’t see out of the snow-covered windshield, couldn’t imagine how long she’d have to wait for a tow truck. She could call Lester, but he’d have to leave the kids alone or bundle up eight-year-old Cliff to come and get her…maybe Lou would give her a ride. She tried one more time and finally gave up. It was no use. The car was dead.
Perfect, she thought sarcastically as she threw open the door and stepped outside.
Then she saw him.
Striding purposefully up to her.
She felt a second’s fear before she recognized his build and the way he walked. A regular at the diner. As he neared, even in the dim light she noticed the blue of his eyes beneath his ski cap and caught his smile. A familiar face! One of the regulars. Someone she could trust in this isolated lot. “Hey!” she said, climbing from the interior. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Got a problem?”
So he wasn’t Sherlock Holmes. But he’d do. He’d have to.
“Yeah. My car won’t start. Deader’n a doornail.”
“Why don’t you let me try?”
As if she was too stupid or clumsy or feminine to know how to turn on her own car. Men! But she pasted a smile onto her face as she stepped into the crunchy, ankle-deep snow again. “Be my guest,” she invited, sweeping her hand wide toward the open door as the force of the storm took her breath away. “If you can get it started, I’ll see that Lou gives you the ten-percent-good-guy discount for the rest of your life.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, leaning close to her and placing something hard against her jacket. Before she could say a word, a white-hot blast jolted through her body. Pain shot through her system. Panic exploded in her brain. She tried to scream, but his gloved hand was over her mouth. She smelled something sickeningly sweet and cloying and she coughed, unable to breathe…What was he doing? And why? Oh God, she thought crazily, he’s going to rape me…or worse…No, oh God, no, she silently screamed, trying to kick and fight, though her limbs wouldn’t react, her legs and arms disjointed and weak. No! No! No!
But she couldn’t fend him off. Couldn’t scream. Muscles, hard as steel, wrapped around her and she sagged against him, flailing uselessly. Her body seemed to be melting and was unresponsive. Fear cut through her and she thought disjointedly of her children. This couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t!
“Don’t fight it, Faye. There’s nothing you can do,” he whispered.
Faye? I’m not Faye! He’s got the wrong woman…oh, please. She tried to tell him that he was making a horrible mistake, but the rag over her nose and mouth made her woozy, her tongue wouldn’t work, the words forming in her throat came out as mewling pleas. I’m not Faye! Don’t you understand? Please look at me! I’M NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM!
Her head lolled back. She tried to focus on him, to will him to read her mind, but it was too late. Through the pelting beads of ice and snow, the world spun eerily. Huge, looming, ice-covered eighteen-wheelers, tall street lamps, and the Christmas lights strung on the eaves of the diner blended and blurred in her vision. Her weak, impotent thrashing stopped and her legs finally gave out completely. Blackness pulled at the edges of her vision, taking her under.
As she let go of consciousness, Sonja Hatchell knew she was doomed.
CHAPTER 13
The bedside phone blasted at 4:15.
Carter, dragged from sleep, reached over and knocked the hand-held from its base. “Damn,” he muttered as he grabbed the receiver and jammed it to his ear. Whoever was on the other end didn’t have good news. Not at four in the morning. “Carter.”
“Hey, Sheriff, it’s Palmer with Dispatch.”
“What’s up, Dorie?” Carter said as he ran his free han
d over his face and tried to wake up.
“Just got a call from Lester Hatchell, and I thought you’d want to know about it. Sonja didn’t show up after her shift. He just called in. Really upset. Her car isn’t at the diner; he already checked. He also drove her usual route and didn’t find her anywhere. I sent Hixx out to the diner to check, but it’s not like her.”
“Any accidents reported on surrounding roads?” Carter was suddenly wide awake. Lester Hatchell was a friend of his.
“Yeah. One since midnight. Single-car, one driver, a male taken to a hospital. The accident was ten miles north of Falls Crossing.”
“Hell.” He threw off the covers, his bare feet hitting the cold wood floor.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“I do, Dorie. Thanks.” He slammed the receiver down, walked to the small bathroom off his bedroom, and turned on the hot water in his shower. By the time he’d stripped out of his boxers and run a toothbrush over his teeth, the water was hot enough and he walked through the shower. Ten minutes later, he’d shaved and dressed and was hurrying down the stairs from his sleeping loft.
The woodstove had burned to nothing and he let the fire die. No telling when he’d get back, and the furnace would keep the place from freezing. The remains of last night’s dinner—the crust of a frozen pizza and two empty beer cans—mocked him, but he didn’t have time to clean up.
By the back door of the small cabin he clipped his Glock into his holster, threw on his jacket and hat, then let himself into the garage, where he pulled on his gloves and felt the first bite of the raw morning. He’d heard the weather report last night. More of the same. No sign of a break in the cold front. Snow, snow, and more snow had been predicted and the meteorologists were gleefully talking about ever-lowering temperatures, enough that the falls and river might freeze.