Rita Herron - In a Heartbeat

He could see hers was off, too, couldn’t he?

“My phone isn’t connected yet,” he continued. “Or else I’d call it in.”

She stood on tiptoe and looked through the peephole. The entire mountain and valley were dark. “I’ll call in the power loss. Someone probably had an accident and hit a transformer.”

“Probably.” A tense second followed but he didn’t leave. A sliver of early morning sunlight illuminated him enough for her to see what he looked like. He had light brown, wavy hair, was probably in his late thirties and wore jeans and a black T-shirt with boots. A scar marred his lower arm, making her wonder if he’d been in an accident. He was big, too, almost six feet, at least two hundred and thirty pounds.

William had been shorter and a mere one-eighty, but he’d crushed her like a matchstick doll.

And something about this man seemed familiar. But she couldn’t think where she might have met him. Then it hit her. “I saw you in town, didn’t I?”

“I think so. At least I recognize your car,” Aiden replied. “But you looked like you were in a hurry so I didn’t introduce myself.”

She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Had he been following her?

“I received some of your mail in my box yesterday.” He indicated a couple of envelopes with a beefy hand, and she froze, wondering if it was a trick to lure her to let him inside.

“You can just slide them beneath the door.”

He fidgeted, then stooped and did as she’d requested.

“Thanks.”

“And here’s your paper.”

“Just leave it on the porch.”

He stuffed wide hands into his jean pockets. “You don’t happen to have any coffee brewed, do you? I forgot to buy some when I went to the store.”

So he’d been grocery shopping. “No. Listen, I really need to go. I’m late for work.”

“Oh.” Disappointment laced his voice, and he peered toward the window. Then a smile tilted his mouth. “Well, if you need anything, I’m right down the road. Since we’re neighbors, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

She doubted it. “All right, thanks.”

“I put my number on one of the envelopes.” He shrugged, a frown pulling at his lips. “Listen, the newspaper mentioned that a woman had been murdered in Atlanta and another one abducted. You being single, living alone, you ought to be careful. We’re not that far from the city.”

Lisa froze, her nails digging into the wooden door. How did he know she was single?

A breeze fluttered the trees, rattling the windowpane, and she shivered, grateful when he finally ducked his head and loped down the porch steps. She slid to the window and watched as he disappeared down the dirt road. But his words rushed back to haunt her.

A woman had been murdered in Atlanta. Another woman was missing.

A wave of pure panic overcame her, making her body tremble.

William White is dead. You’re safe.

But curiosity won out, and she jerked open the door and grabbed the paper. The headlines startled her into shock: The Grave Digger Returns!

Her chest in a spasm, Lisa staggered to the couch, sank onto the fabric and dropped her head between her knees to keep from passing out. No, William was dead. Brad had told her so himself.

It was impossible that he was back.

Her stomach rolled as she lifted her head and skimmed the article. A copycat. He’d killed one woman so far. But the MO was the same. He’d buried the woman alive. And he’d taken a second victim already. Special Agent Brad Booker was working the case.

Her sense of peace shattered. She clutched her throat, the suffocating feeling returning.

Brad Booker’s face materialized in her mind. Handsome, sharp, chiseled features framed a visage that revealed no emotion. He had an almost stoic smile. And cold, whiskey-colored eyes that remained detached most of the time.

He had dragged her from that dark grave with his bare hands. Had been kind to her during the trial. A Rock of Gibraltar.

Yet he’d kept his distance since.

Because he had seen the woman William White had turned her into. Had known what a fool she was for not realizing the truth sooner.

Humiliation flushed her face as she remembered waking in the ambulance, naked and dirty, then looking into Brad’s anxious eyes and seeing the horror of what had happened to her mirrored back.

Brad Booker had seen her shame. He would always look at her with pity.

As William White’s final victim.

Still, sometimes in the heat of the night, when loneliness held her in its icy clutches and her past haunted her, she wished that things could have been different.

She hated William White. He’d stolen something from her that day, something she’d never get back….

AS BRAD DROVE TOWARD Ellijay, the city traffic gave way to winding country roads, lush green farmland, sparsely populated areas dotted with clapboard houses and trailer parks, then rolling hills and mountains. Apple orchards filled the countryside, advertisements for the apple houses painted across barns and on homemade signs. The buzzing traffic sounds faded to a purr, the pace slowing as he put more and more distance between himself and the city.

But the two-hour trek passed in a tense blur, the beauty of the countryside diminishing as the heat wave sucked the life from the flowers and trees, turning green grass and leaves a dull brown.

A deadly kind of brown that reminded Brad of the Grave Digger and the grisly details of his crimes. No wonder Lisa liked living in the mountains. After enduring the grueling months of the trial and media publicity, she must find the serenity of the countryside, the fresh clean air and small-town atmosphere therapeutic.

Before he’d left the office today, he’d reviewed the transcripts of Lisa’s trial, searching for clues that might lead to where the Grave Digger could be holding Mindy. But at the time of the trial, Lisa could only describe the place as dark, cold, a small prison built in a fortress. Maybe a basement, an old warehouse, an abandoned building in the country.

It could have been anywhere. White had beaten Lisa unconscious before he’d stuffed her into that box, put it in the back of his SUV and driven her to an isolated patch of woods between Cumming and Dawsonville. Then he’d dug her grave. He was calculating. Sadistic. Showed no remorse.

He’d known just the right amount of time it would take for the victims to die, exactly how long they could breathe underground before they expired, and had timed his phone calls so the police had arrived too late each time.

Except for Lisa.

Had the man miscalculated? Or had he found a sudden moment of conscience, changed his mind and decided to let Lisa live? Or had Lisa been stronger than he’d realized, able to hold on to life longer?

White hadn’t broken once during the interrogation. He’d been cool. Unemotional. Exhibited sociopathic behavior.

Even during his prison confinement, White had never revealed his secret hiding place, the reason he’d started his crime spree, or admitted to a second party helping him. According to the prison psychologist, White had been abused as a child. Then he’d suffered a head injury when he was a teenager that had caused him to experience a psychotic break in his twenties.

The sun nearly blinded Brad as he wove through the small town of Ellijay. Midmorning, Lisa would be at work at the Love ’N Play Day Care. He passed several small storefronts, an antiques shop, a small, old-fashioned diner, an ice cream parlor and bookstore, along with the town library, courthouse and police station. A beauty shop, an arts and crafts store that sold handmade items on consignment, and a bridal boutique occupied one corner. About a block from the center of town, an old white house had been converted into a day care. A white picket fence decorated with colorful wooden cartoon characters, including a life-size Mickey and Minnie Mouse, encircled the center. Ancient oaks and pines flanked the property, offering privacy and shading the outdoor playground, although the earth looked parched, the ferns and flowers drooping with heat. Squeals and laughter floated through the air as dozens of children built imaginary castles and roads in the sandbox, played on the jungle gym and monkey bars and pushed each other on the swings.