She dug out her membership key-thanks, Cal-to open the door to the fitness area, pressed her guest pass number on the keypad.

The lights were still off, which was a surprise. Normally when she arrived, they were already on, and at least one of the trio of swivel TVs was tuned to CNN or ESPN or one of the morning talk shows. Very often there was somebody on one of the treadmills or bikes, or pumping weights.

She flipped on the lights, called out. And her voice echoed hollowly. Curious, she walked through, pushed open the door, and saw the lights were also off in the tiny attendant’s office, and in the locker room.

Maybe somebody had a late date the night before, she decided. She helped herself to a locker key, stripped down to her workout gear, then grabbed a towel. Opting to start her session with cardio, she switched on the Today show before climbing onto the single elliptical trainer the club boasted.

She programmed it, resisting the urge to cheat a few pounds off her weight. As if it mattered, Quinn reminded herself. (Of course, it mattered.)

She started her warm-up pleased with her discipline, and her solitude. Still, she expected the door to slam open any minute, for Matt or Tina, who switched off as attendants, to rush in. By the time she was ten minutes in, she’d kicked up the resistance and was focused on the TV screen to help her get through the workout.

When she hit the first mile, Quinn took a long gulp of water from the sports bottle she’d brought with her. As she started on mile two, she let her mind drift to what she hoped to accomplish that day. Research, the foundation of any project. And she wanted to draft what she thought would be the opening of her book. Writing it out might spark some idea. At some point, she wanted to walk around the town again, with Cybil-and Layla if she was up for it.

A visit to the cemetery was in order with Cybil in tow. Time to pay a call on Ann Hawkins.

Maybe Cal would have time to go with them. Needed to talk to him anyway, discuss how he felt, what he thought, about Gage-whom she wanted to get a look at-and Cybil’s arrival. Mostly, she admitted, she just wanted to see him again. Show him off to Cybil.

Look! Isn’t he cute? Maybe it was completely high school, but it didn’t seem to matter. She wanted to touch him again, even if it was just a quick squeeze of hands. And she was looking forward to a hello kiss, and finding a way to turn that worried look in his eyes into a glint of amusement. She loved the way his eyes laughed before the rest of him did, and the way he…

Well. Well, well, well. She was absolutely gone over him, she realized. Seriously hooked on the hometown boy. That was kind of cute, too, she decided, except it made her stomach jitter. Still, the jitter wasn’t altogether a bad thing. It was a combination of oh-oh and oh boy!, and wasn’t that interesting?

Quinn’s falling in love, she thought, and hit mile two with a dopey smile on her face. She might’ve been puffing, sweat might have been dribbling down her temples, but she felt just as fresh and cheerful as a spring daisy.

Then the lights went out.

The machine stopped; the TV went blank and silent.

“Oh, shit.” Her first reaction wasn’t alarm as much as, what now? The dark was absolute, and though she could draw a reasonable picture in her mind where she was in relation to the outside door-and what was between her and the door-she was wary about making her way to it blind.

And then what? she wondered as she waited for her breathing to level. She couldn’t possibly fumble her way to the locker room, to her locker and retrieve her clothes. So she’d have to go out in a damn sports bra and bike pants.

She heard the first thud; the chill washed over her skin. And she understood she had much bigger problems than skimpy attire.

She wasn’t alone. As her pulse began to bang, she hoped desperately whatever was in the dark with her was human. But the sounds, that unholy thudding that shook the walls, the floor, the awful scuttling sounds creeping under it weren’t those of a man. Gooseflesh pricked her skin, partly from fear, partly from the sudden and intense cold.

Keep your head, she ordered herself. For God’s sake, keep your head. She gripped the water bottle-pitiful weapon, but all she had-and started to ease off the foot pads on the machine to the floor.

She went flying blindly in the black. She hit the floor, her shoulder and hip taking the brunt. Everything shook and rolled as she fought to scramble up. Disoriented, she had no idea which direction to run. There was a voice behind her, in front of her, inside her head-she couldn’t tell-and it whispered gleefully of death.

She knew she screamed as she clawed her way across the quaking floor. Teeth chattering against terror and cold, she rapped her shoulder against another machine. Think, think, think! she told herself, because something was coming, something was coming in the dark. She ran her shaking hands over the machine-recumbent bike-and with every prayer she knew ringing in her head, used its placement in the room to angle toward the door.

There was a crash behind her, and something thudded against her foot. She jerked up, tripped, jerked up again. No longer caring what might stand between herself and the door, she flung herself toward where she hoped it would be. With her breath tearing out of her lungs, she ran her hands over the wall.

“Find it, goddamn it, Quinn. Find the goddamn door!”

Her hand bumped the hinges, and on a sob she found the knob. Turned, pulled.

The light burst in front of her eyes, and Cal’s body-already in motion-rammed hers. If she’d had any breath left, she’d have lost it. Her knees didn’t get a chance to buckle as he wrapped his arms around her, swung her around to use his body as a shield between hers and the room beyond.

“Hold on, now. Can you hold on to me?” His voice was eerily calm as he reached behind him and pulled the door closed. “Are you hurt? Tell me if you’re hurt.” His hands were already skimming over her, before they came up to her face, gripped it.

Before his mouth crushed down on hers.

“You’re all right,” he managed, propping her against the stone of the building as he dragged off his coat. “You’re okay. Here, get into this. You’re freezing.”

“You were there.” She stared up into his face. “You were there.”

“Couldn’t get the door open. Key wouldn’t work.” He took her hands, rubbed them warm between his. “My truck’s right up there, okay. I want you to go up, sit in my truck. I left the keys in it. Turn on the heat. Sit in my truck and turn on the heat. Can you do that?”

She wanted to say yes. There was something in her that wanted to say yes to anything he asked. But she saw, in his eyes, what he meant to do.

“You’re going in there.”

“That’s what I have to do. What you have to do is go sit in the truck for a few minutes.”

“If you go in, I go in.”

“Quinn.”

How, she wondered, did he manage to sound patient and annoyed at the same time? “I need to as much as you, and I’d hate myself if I huddled in your truck while you went in there. I don’t want to hate myself. Besides, it’s better if there’s two of us. It’s better. Let’s just do it. Just do it, and argue later.”

“Stay behind me, and if I say get out, you get out. That’s the deal.”

“Done. Believe me, I’m not ashamed to hide behind you.”

She saw it then, just the faintest glimmer of a smile in his eyes. Seeing it settled her nerves better than a quick shot of brandy.

He turned his key again, keyed in the touch pad. Quinn held her breath. When Cal opened the door, the lights were on. Al Roker’s voice cheerily announced the national weather forecast. The only sign anything had happened was her sports bottle under the rack of free weights.

“Cal, I swear, the power went out, then the room-”