The instant he moves toward me, I drop the flashlight and bolt for the Bronco. He’s too fast. Before I can yank the door open he grabs me by the arm, spinning me back. My fist connects with his nose.

He staggers and I run, but I haven’t stopped him. I hear the crunch of his steps behind me, gaining speed. I veer for the trees, toward the lights of the closest house, shouting for help.

When he tackles me, I go down hard. He rolls, pulling me around to stare at the sky, but even as I claw at him my lungs have turned to iron. My vision prickles over.

“Breathe,” he says. I can’t. I kick my heels into his shins, slam my head back. I connect, but not nearly hard enough. He’s got at least sixty pounds and half a foot on me, and at this point, I genuinely believe I’m on the verge of getting kidnapped or worse.

“Listen to me,” he hisses when I’m finally sucking air.

I can’t fight him, so I go limp. If he’s going to get up and try to get me to the car, he’s going to have 125 pounds of deadweight on his hands until I can find a tree to grab, some leverage—anything—to get away.

“Luka isn’t who you think he is!”

“I don’t even know him!”

“No. But you did.”

I go completely still, heart banging against my ribs.

“I know what you’ve done,” he says, urgently, near my ear. He’s got an accent heavier than Luka’s, European, but different. “Your memory’s gone and now you don’t even know who to trust! Don’t you wonder why he’s here? Or why he was in such a hurry to leave before I saw you at the bar?”

He’s not making sense. Nothing he’s saying makes sense.

“He knew you were in the area. Why do you think he’s working at the grocery? Because he knew you’d show up there eventually!” He shakes me a little with each statement. “Why do you think he’s trying so hard to draw you out, get you alone?”

“I don’t know!” I shout. But his last words strike something inside me. The offer to deliver my groceries. Paying for them, knowing any decent person would come back to reimburse him. The spontaneous lunch and weekend invite, each interaction assuring another. I took them for come-ons—aggressive, sure, a little desperate maybe . . . but only marginally creepy.

Faintly, from up the road: tires on gravel. The man tenses against me.

“We have to go. Now.” His hold loosens. I instantly roll, but before I can get my feet under me he grabs me and shouts in my face.

“He’s going to kill you, Audra!”

I blink at him in the darkness.

Audra?