One foot in front of the other. Around the bend and . . . ahead she saw the gate, battered and shut. She raced toward it and felt a sliver of hope. If she could just get to the main road, find someone . . . oh, please. Reaching the gate, she tried the sliding bolt, but it was jammed, then decided to just climb the sucker and get to the other side. She placed the pack of cookies in her mouth, held both cell phone and flashlight in one hand, and scrambled over. As she landed on her feet, she noticed the dog, who had obviously followed her. He stood inside the gate, panting.

“Go home!” she yelled, turning the flashlight on him.

Another bark.

A good thing? Or bad? Maybe someone would come to her aid. But what if the freak’s boss, Myra, was nearby? Or what if the monster had escaped and was making his way to the damned van. If he heard the dog here at the gate, he would know that this was the route she had taken.

“Go away!” she cried. But the hound held his ground and started to bay, sending her into a new panic. “Oh, for the love of God!” She hurled the pack of cookies over the fence. Maybe that would deter him. She didn’t pause to look, but took off again.

Soon she’d reach a main road.

Soon she’d get help.

Soon she’d find Zoe.

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 19

From the couch in his apartment, Jase hit the Send button on his laptop, then set the computer aside and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It was late, after two in the damned morning, but he knew he couldn’t sleep. He was still too hyped up.

He’d missed his deadline for the morning edition, but his story, a piece about Donovan Caldwell, would run the following day. He hoped by then to have a companion piece about the Denning twins, but he needed to interview their parents, and that would happen in the morning. He’d called and left messages for Selma and Carson independently. Selma hadn’t wanted to talk on the phone, but had agreed to speak with him in person at eight in the morning. She wanted the word spread about her daughters, but she insisted on talking with him face-to-face. Probably to make sure he was legit.

Carson hadn’t wanted to talk to him and had said so when Jase had finally connected with the guy on the fourth try. “I’m not interested,” he’d said flatly. “If the girls are really missing, I want the police to handle it.”

No arguments had changed his mind. He wasn’t buying into the fact that the paper with its print circulation, online subscribers, and connection to other news sources could broaden the search for his daughters.