Justice At Morgan Mesa. Jenna Night

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      “Hello?” she called out. “Anybody there?”

      Nothing.

      And then, from among the trees, a mocking, exaggeratedly falsetto voice repeated her words. “Hello? Anybody there?”

      Goose bumps dimpled the surface of Vanessa’s skin. It was time for her to leave.

      She had to go through the woods to get away from the edge of the mesa. So she started walking quickly, trying to aim herself away from the direction of where she’d heard the voice. She was afraid if she ran it would trigger the person stalking her to run after her.

      She’d just stepped into the dim light of the forest when the strange mocking voice called out again, “Hello? Anybody there?” This time it was directly in front of her.

      Vanessa stopped. Which way should she go?

      Panic clawed up from her chest into her throat. Her heart pounded in her ears.

      She looked down at the phone in her shaking hand. Still no coverage. She hit 9-1-1 anyway and held the phone to her ear. Nothing. Then she looked up and immediately wished she hadn’t.

      A figure stepped out from the shadows. He was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved red-and-white flannel shirt. He’d pulled his black knit cap down low over his face until it nearly covered his eyes and had covered the bottom of his face with a faded blue bandanna. And he carried a claw hammer in his right hand, tapping the prongs against the palm of his left hand. Through the fabric covering his mouth, she could hear the muffled sound of laughter. And then in a raspy, whispery voice he called out, “Get out of town or get buried here.”

      He started stalking toward her.

       Run!

      No longer frozen in place, she took a couple of stumbling steps while trying to decide which way to go. Then she turned right and sprinted farther into the forest.

      Sometimes it paid to be short. Running as fast as she could with her boots sinking into the pine straw and soft loam, at least she could duck under most of the tree branches without needing to slow down. She did a quick mental calculation and figured out if she kept going straight, she’d get to the road. Maybe somebody would drive by and she could flag them down for help.

      Or maybe no one would drive by and running along the edge of the road would just make her an easier target for the lunatic with the hammer.

      She needed a new plan. But what? She knew panic would cloud her judgment. She couldn’t give in to it, even though she wanted to. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But this was not the time. Lord, help!

      Her car was parked in the driveway of Heaton House. It was farther away than the road, but it was a smarter choice. She veered in that direction.

      Heaton House had been the height of luxury when it was built back in the late nineteenth century. Nowadays, the wealthy descendants of Alistair Heaton lived in Lake Tahoe and used it only as an occasional vacation home. Plans were in the works for turning it into a museum.

      Nearly an hour ago, Vanessa had parked in the driveway before hiking out to the mesa. Other than parking on the side of the road, the house’s driveway was the only place to leave a car before coming to enjoy the beautiful view of Torchlight.

      She’d come back to this spot before heading back down to the ranch because she’d been thinking about her dad and missing him. And she always felt close to him up here.

      But right now, her thoughts were one hundred percent focused on avoiding his fate. She would not fall victim to a killer the way her father had all those years ago. And that meant running to her car as quickly as possible and getting away.

      Her lungs burned and she gasped for air as she ran. Stark terror kept her legs pumping as hard and as fast as she could move them, but she was losing speed. The ground beneath her feet was rough and muddy, bogging her down like grasping hands.

      Her pursuer was closing in on her. She could hear him.

      Her phone. When she’d first arrived at Heaton House, she’d used her phone to make a call while she sat in her parked car. The signal had been fine. Maybe she was close enough to that spot to get reception now. Making a call meant slowing down, but she was slowing down anyway.

      She slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She glanced at the screen and saw a solitary bar. Relief poured over her. One bar was all she needed.

      Her toe snagged under a tree root and she fell forward, smacking her chin and cheek hard on the ground. Her phone flew out of her hand. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see where it had landed.

      Her heart sank. The fall had knocked the wind out of her and for a few panicked seconds she couldn’t catch her breath.

      Behind her, she heard laughter. Then whooping and hollering. Her tormentor was enjoying this. He probably could have caught her already if he’d wanted to. He was just dragging it out for fun.

      Despite the pain from her fall, Vanessa felt her face grow hot with fury. Her anger shoved aside her fear. Yet, another strategy for survival became clearer. If dragging things out was what this jerk wanted, why not use his twisted sense of fun against him?

      She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and glanced back. She could see the masked stalker coming after her but he wasn’t running anymore. He was sauntering toward her, loosely swinging the claw hammer back and forth. He was that sure he had her.

       Idiot.

      Vanessa pushed herself up onto her feet and started a staggering jog toward Heaton House, which was now visible through the trees. She added a fake limp to keep her pursuer from chasing her any more aggressively. Let him keep making sport of the whole thing. If her plan worked, the fake limp would help her conserve energy for a final dash to her car.

      If it didn’t work, she was all out of plans.

      When she thought she might be close enough to where she’d parked, she reached into her pocket for her key fob and hit the unlock button. Her car made a beeping sound that betrayed her plan. She hit the alarm button, too.

      Then she ran full bore, no longer faking a limp.

      She heard a howl of rage close behind her and the steel hammer flashed by, smacking hard against a tree just ahead of her and splitting the bark.

      That tree could have been her head.

      She finally reached the edge of the scruffy-looking lawn that surrounded Heaton House. Her only obstacles now were the decorative boulders lining the driveway. Once she was past them, she’d be safe. She could get into her car and tear out of here, down the road into town and directly to the Torchlight Police Department.

      She made it past the decorative boulders and stopped so suddenly she nearly toppled over. Her heart fell to her feet as she looked at her car. All four of her tires had been slashed.

      At least the alarm was still blaring. There were no other houses nearby, but maybe somebody would hear the alarm and call the police. Yet, she hated to count on a “maybe.”

      She turned to the house. It was nearing sunset and СКАЧАТЬ