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the backwoods of Vermont。 She was hoping she wouldn't see anyone in the
week she was here。
Pretty reclusive for a former socializer； she mused without a hint of
remorse。
From the hearth； the sudden crumbling of an ash…split log startled her。
She whirled from the window； eyes wide in alarm。 When she realized what
the sound was； she took a breath and uncurled fingers from fists。 After
months of being bitten to the quick； her nails had grown into nicely
tapered tips。 And there was her wedding band； wide and gold； gleaming
with deceptive brightness； on the third finger of her left hand。
When the fire spoke again； cackling for a feeding； she knelt before the
warm stone。 Taking a piece of dried birch from the large wood basket；
she laid it over the broken embers。 The log heated； then burst into
flame。 It was an omen； she vowed； as she picked up her book from the
floor by her chair。 Slipping large tortoiseshell glasses over the bridge
of her nose； she settled back between the chair's wide wings。 They were
a fort； these wings； serving to keep her sights on the fire before
her； rather than on the darkness behind。
Her ticket to freedom lay in her lap。 Ever an avid reader； Anne had
escaped into books in recent months； when all else failed to calm her。
As a friend； a book had advantages over the human variety。 It was there
whenever she needed it； it vanished as easily； and it never asked
questions； expected witty replies； made awkward suggestions； or
otherwise overpensated for its own inability to right the wrongs of
the world。 She had packed a friend…a…day supply for this trip。 That was
all the pany she needed。
The hardcover in her hand was a biography。 She opened it now； and was
suddenly caught up in the same world she was trying to flee。 On the
inside cover of the volume was an inscription that she hadn't noticed
earlier。 It brought back a storm of memories。
〃To my favorite sister…in…law。 Have a marvelous vacation and be sure to
spend a week with us when you get back。 Maryellen。〃
From the first； Jeff's family had adored her。 They had always insisted
that they would hold Jeff personally to blame if the marriage ended。 In
that spirit； they had stayed so close to Anne's side that she had to
finally beg them for space。 They had eased off； but with reluctance。
Anne's parents had persisted； urging her to give up the apartment and
move back home； but she refused。 She knew that as crammed with reminders
of Jeff as the apartment was； it was better than the Westchester home
where she had grown up。 To return there would be an admission of
failure…failure to make the kind of happy life her parents had。
A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her lips。 Her childhood had
been happy indeed； even those awkward adolescent years when she was an
ugly duckling； by modest accounts。 Oh； her parents denied it； but the
mirror didn't lie； and； anyway； the ugly duckling became a swan well
before the Senior Prom。 By that time she was quiet and graceful；
thriving academically； socially； and emotionally。 Nothing in her rosy
first twenty…seven years had even remotely begun to prepare her for the
heartbreak at the start of her twenty…eighth。
Brought back to the present by a pang of hunger； she closed the
untouched book and went to the kitchen。 She flipped on a single light；
mixed tuna into a salad； put a pot of coffee on to perk； and toasted rye
bread。 With the sandwich plate in one hand and a coffee mug in the
other； she retraced her steps； flipping the light off with a nudge of
the elbow。
Her hunger surprised her。 Unusual for her； she finished the sandwich。
Revived； she sat back in the chair； the mug warming her hands as the
fire warmed her feet； and it suddenly struck her that she was beginning
to feel。 It had been months since she had smelled coffee brewing or felt
the barefoot plushness of a carpet。 But the coffee did smell good。 Same
with the burning logs and the pines outside； and her feet did feel；
albeit smooth sanded oak planks rather than the thick carpeting of home。
Pushing the glasses up on her nose； she stared at the biography； but it
wasn't a biography kind of night。 Jumping up； she returned to her room
for a replacement。 Mystery or romance…the choice was easy。 A romance
might appeal to her later in the week； when she was feeling stronger。
She took the mystery and set off。
The addition of several logs brightened the blaze in the hearth。 Edging
her chair closer； she read from its light； and the book drew her in。
Within a chapter； she was the heroine。 She was only marginally aware
that the rain was ing harder； beating with increased force against
rooftop； windowpane； and clapboard。 It was a fitting backdrop for the
story of a young woman stranded in the deep woods in a cabin not unlike
her oparison； debated switching to
the romance after all； but was inexorably drawn back to the tightly
written piece。 Burrowing deeper into the chair； she gave herself up to
the plot。
She read for two hours； pausing only for more coffee。 The gold watch on
her wrist read eleven； but she was wide awake； stimulated by caffeine；
her new surroundings； and the riveting edge of the story。 As Chapter
Four became Five and then Six； the mystery deepened。 Accidents were
neither accident nor coincidence。 Someone was after the heroine。 No；
something was after her； or so it appeared from the bizarre markings
left by footprints； paw prints； or whatever in the winter snow。 Terror
slowly mounted。 The woman was trapped； hunted； doomed。 As Chapter Seven
ended and Eight began； she hatched her escape plan against seemingly
insurmountable odds。 Then； plicating an already desperate situation；
came the blizzard。 Gale force winds； blinding snows； chilling
temperatures conspired to keep her at the mercy of the wild beast that
stalked her。
With a thud； Anne put the book facedown onto her lap； heart pounding in
vicarious fright。 Mystery； my foot； she mused with regret； this book is
sheer horror！ It wouldn't have been so bad if she'd picked it up last
night or last week in New York。 Here； though； she was alone； isolated
from the familiar； a good three miles from a shred of civilization。
Spooked； it took her a minute to realize that what she'd assumed to be
the thundering of her pulse was the thunder outside。 Lightning followed
quickly； brightening the dark side of the room for a shocking instant；
its blue…white gleam icy in parison to the warm orange glow of the
fire。
Hastily she added several more logs； desperately needing to put the book
down； desperately needing to read on； knowing that she wouldn't be able
to sleep until the last page had been turned and the mystery solved。 She
raised the book again to another deafening clap of thunder。 It vibrated
through the house along with tongued bolts of lightening。
Anne's nerves prickled then； because； in the thunder's wake came another
noise。 This one was more human and threatening。 A car was approaching；
ing nearer； loud enough to be heard above the storm。 It reached her
front door and stopped。
Huddled in the chair； she held her breath。 It was twelve thirty…five；
well past normal calling hours even in the city。 Perhaps one of the
villagers wanted to warn her about the storm。 Perhaps someone was lost。
Perhaps 。。。 perhaps 。。。 A furious pounding came at the door。 Had it
been a gentle knock； Anne might have dared answer it。 But this knock was
angry； clearly no neighbor expressing concern。 At least the door was
locked； though she wished fervently for the dead bolt she had in New
York。
〃Open up！ It's wet out here！〃 The voice was deep； gruff； and angry。
〃Open the damn door！〃
Anne didn't budge。 This was her cottage for the week； and she had the
papers to prove it。 She didn't have to open the door。
But the banging went on； hard knuckles on wood。 〃e on； whoever you
are； open the door！ I'm getting soaked and I can't reach my key。〃
His key？ Was this a mon visiting place？ Had the realtor forgotten to
tell her something？
Feeling vaguely guilty at being warm and dry while someone was out there
wet and cold； she approached the door。 〃Who is it？〃 she yelled； resting
her forehead against the smooth oak。
〃It's Mitch； dammit。 Open up！〃 An impatient hand jiggled the doorknob
from the outside。
〃I don't know any Mitch；〃 she shouted over the storm。 〃What do you
want？〃
What came back was a menacing growl。 〃I want to get dry。 For God's sake；
open up。 I do have a key； but if I have to put these bags down to get
it； I'll be madder'n hell when I get in there！〃
Assuming she could believe him； he had a point。 If he did have a key and
would eventually open the door whether she liked it or not； she could
save him the effort and spare herself his anger。 Cautious； she reached
for the knob。 She opened the door a few inches； leaving her weight
against the wood in case she didn't like what she saw。
Without warning； a heavier weight thrust it full open； throwing her back
into the room。 Startled by the unexpected force and cursing herself for
her nerves； Anne lost her balance and tripped； falling backward onto her
bottom with a thud。 From that vantage point she watched； wide…eyed； as a
huge man entered； savagely dripping water。 He tossed in several large
bags before slamming the door shut and leaning against it。
The fire had begun to die； leaving only the faintest glow to light his
face； but it was enough to show a tight jaw； sneering lips； and eyes
that impaled her。
〃You bitch！ What took you so long？ Why didn't you open the door？
Can't you see what the weather is like？ And who sent you anyway？ Was it
Joe？〃 Narrowed eyes gave her an insolent once…over。 〃No； it must have
been Lennie。 He goes in for the plain； scrawny type。〃
Anne was dumbstruck by the sudden turn of events。
〃What？〃 he went on。 〃No denials？ No coy protestations？〃 He unbuttoned
his heavy wool jacket； shrugged it off； and tossed it onto an empty
chair。 Even without its bulk； with only snug denims and a dark
turtleneck； he was imposing。
To her horror； he advanced until he towered directly over her。 〃Well？
Don't you have anything to say？ Or are you just going to lie there； all
helpless and inviting？〃
Anne found her tongue。 〃You shouldn't be here。 Get out！〃
A coarse laugh filtered through the sounds of the storm。 〃Ah； having
second thoughts； are you？ Reneging on your little deal so fast？〃
Anne slid backward on the floor。 〃I think there's been a
misunderstanding。〃
〃Right in one！ I don't know who you are； but I don't want you or any
other woman up here。 So〃…he lowered his voice but failed to relax his
jaw…〃I'd suggest you pick up your little carcass and get out。〃
Anne was incredulous。 〃I will not。〃 Her eyes didn't leave his for a
second； though she inched farther away。
Suddenly he was crouched before her； steel…muscled shins imprisoning
hers and making movement impossible。 〃What did you say？〃
Willing a strength she didn't feel； Anne held his gaze。 〃I said that I
wouldn't leave。 I'm here for the week。 If anyone is leaving； it's you。
Now！〃
She practically shrieked the last。 Between frustration and fear； she was
losing posure。
But her order had the opposite effect。 The man moved forward； resting
his weight on his right hand； on the hard floor inches from her hip。 〃So
this is a new kind of game；〃 he taunted。
〃I don't know what you're talking about；〃 she said； but her voice fell
to a whisper when his face came closer。 〃This is no game。〃
Lit by the pale orange cast of the fire； his lips were firm and grinning
wryly。 His eyes narrowed again； homing in now on her mouth； which
quivered。 She couldn't move。 Terror rose up from the pit of her stomach。
〃No game？〃 he echoed as she struggled to pull herself free of his
leghold。 With the grace of an athlete and the power of a lion； he
stretched fully over her； flattening her onto the cold floor。
Panic hit then。 〃Let go！ Get off me！〃 Futilely she pushed against him；
but his body weight was awesome； stealing her breath。 Gasping for air；
she continued to push as his mouth lowered。 〃No！〃 she cried and wrenched
her head to the side。
He brought it back with a firm hand。 〃No game； you say？ We'll see about
that。〃 His lips seized hers with a st