After a few moments of listening to the wind soughing through the branches and her own rapid-fire heartbeat, Becca relaxed a bit, forging onward, ears attuned.

Wet shoes slipping slightly, she rounded a final corner and was suddenly in the center of the maze with its ghostly white statue of the Madonna. The ground was torn up and Becca shivered at sight of the large, wet hole at Mary’s feet and the statue tipped on its side, pressed into the dirt and covered with white pellets of hail. Were the bones that had been buried here really Jessie’s?

She gazed through a curtain of rain at the remains of the grave and shuddered inwardly to think that Jessie had been buried in this dark hole all these years. Or had she? Sometimes Becca felt sure the body discovered was that of her sometime friend; other times she wondered if she was just looking for a logical explanation to a mysterious disappearance.

Nothing was for certain.

“Help me,” the wind seemed to sigh.

She froze.

Surely she was imagining things…

Then she felt it; that slight change in the atmosphere.

The hair on the back of her arms lifted. She blinked against the icy rain.

Her head pounded, as if she were about to have another vision, yet she remained awake and alert. Too alert. Anxious. As if she were about to jump out of her skin.

A shadow fell over her and she sensed another presence, something else in the maze with her. Throat tight, she whipped around, bracing herself for another ghostly image. “Jessie?” she whispered.

Wet laurel leaves shivered, moving.

Not ten feet from her.

Becca’s mouth opened on a silent scream.

Her heart thundered.

She felt faint and slightly sick.

She expected Jessie to materialize in front of her.

Readied herself for it.

Waited for the ghost to appear.

Moments passed and she counted her heartbeats.

Nothing happened.

The wind dissipated, dying.

The slapping rain seemed to dissolve into mist.

No one was there. Not Jessie…no one.

And yet…

Becca felt an undeniable presence. Something with a malevolent purpose. Crouching in the thick umbra. Something that wanted to do her harm.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice a whisper.

A frigid drop of rain slid onto her collar and down her neck. Shaking as if from a fugue, Becca tried to concentrate on Jessie, but it was impossible. Something was breathing down her neck. Something dangerous. Something threatening.

And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a looming shadow. Huge. Dark. Threatening. Oh, God. She turned quickly and the beast shrank back. But she felt its eyes on her.

With a cry stuck in her throat, Becca bolted from the maze, racing unheedingly through the shrubbery, feeling tiny branches claw and scratch her face. Feet slipping as she rounded several corners, she ran as if the devil were on her heels, her breath fogging in the air, fear spurring her on.

Who had followed her into the maze?

Not who: What? What had stalked her through the overgrown hedges and berry vines?

Fumbling for her keys in her pocket, she ran on, tearing out of the maze and across the overgrown lawn and potholes of the parking lot to her little Jetta.

She dropped the keys at the door, then scraped her fingers over the broken asphalt as she dived for them. Quaking, dripping rain, she managed to unlock the car. Only when she was inside, throwing the locks with trembling fingers, staring through the partially fogged windows toward the black maze did she feel almost safe.

“Who are you?” she asked the shifting branches dancing and waving in front of her. “Who the hell are you?” She flicked on her headlights and there was nothing there. With shaking arms, she turned the car around and pointed toward the exit. In her rearview mirror a figure emerged from the maze.

Becca hit the accelerator, blinking hard. In that second the image was gone.

But someone was there! Someone had followed her!

Someone who hated her.

A sob edged across her lips and she drove down the long, bumpy lane of the campus. A rabbit caught in the headlight’s glare hopped quickly through the brambles. Becca sped by. Barely hitting her brakes, she charged into the traffic of the main road, determined to get as far away from St. Lizzie’s as possible.

Sometimes it’s easy to find them. Sometimes it’s child’s play.

I watch the taillights of her car disappear into a blanket of rain.

Rebecca, wicked girl, you are predictable. Of course you would come to the maze. Of course you would follow her footsteps.

Frightened, aren’t you? You know you’re different. That you’re one of Them. You sense it, like I sense you.

Have you guessed it yet?

I see you shiver and quake and tremble. I hear you cry out. Do you know I’m here? Watching. Waiting.

Do you know your fate, devil’s spawn?

And now you run…RUN…

Go ahead…run as fast as you can, Rebecca.

I watch the taillights of your car disappear as you flee and I can’t help but smile through the rain. Your escape is futile and you know it.

I will catch you.

When it is time.

“Detective…”

Mac, who’d had a telephone pressed to his ear waiting for the county prosecutor to answer, looked up to see Lieutenant Aubrey D’Annibal give him the high sign from his office, a glass-walled cubicle at the end of the squad room. Dropping the phone, Mac headed into the lieutenant’s office without a word, and D’Annibal closed the door behind him.

D’Annibal had smooth, silvery white hair, piercing blue eyes, and a love for Armani suits that was paid for by his wealthy wife’s substantial trust fund. He was also damn good at his job, and he expected excellence from all members of his staff. Mac watched as he hooked a leg over the corner of his desk and folded his hands together.

Lecture time. Not a good sign.

“Just got off the phone from the lab,” he said with only a trace of his West Texas drawl audible. “They’re sending PDFs on a couple of pictures of those bones you’re so interested in.”

“Yeah?” At long last. It had been nearly a week since the body had been located, but the lab had been “backed up.” Which was nothing new. In the meantime, Mac had been forcing himself to be patient.

D’Annibal rubbed his jaw slowly, a gesture that meant he was deliberating on how to deliver his next news. Mac braced himself, and after a moment, the lieutenant said, “You know, I wasn’t here when that girl disappeared. I hadn’t moved to the great state of Oregon from Texas yet. I was making my way through the ranks, proving myself, following the path, keeping my aim in sight. Meanwhile, you were out here stirring up a heap of trouble for yourself. Claiming murder without a body. Accusing the students at a private school, some of whom were quite well heeled and whose families were well respected, of killing a young girl-a runaway. From what I understand, you were a regular town crier about it all. That about right?”

“There’s some truth in there,” Mac admitted, though he could feel how rigid the cords in his neck had become.

“You really tore up the turf. Lots of people didn’t like your ways. High-handed. Bullish. Misconceived. Obsessive. Lots of words were bandied about. None of them too complimentary.”

Mac nodded, wondering how long this was going to take. He, above anyone else, remembered what had come down. And yes, he’d been too gung-ho, too convinced on too little evidence, he thought now, in this glassed-in office that suddenly felt stuffy. “Has the lab nailed down the girl’s age from the bones?”

“Give me a moment,” D’Annibal said. “I’ve got to get some things straight. I’ve got to hear a few things from you.”

Mac held back his frustration as best he could but was having a helluva time with it. Mentally counting to ten, he asked, “What do you want to hear?”