Thanks, Sheri. You’re a star!

The woman had been hurt that Kayleigh hadn’t even asked her to the event, which she herself had helped put together. But she’d noted the word “when” she came to the luncheon. So the girl hadn’t snubbed her at all. Maybe she’d assumed Alicia had asked her. Or maybe Kayleigh had just assumed all along Sheri would be attending.

Or was the invitation a backhanded apology, reflecting the girl’s cooling anger? The two had had an embarrassing fight at the show in Bakersfield not long ago. It had been minor, stupid, really. But some asshole had recorded a minute or two of their harsh words and the video had gone viral. Sheri had been mortified—even if, in her opinion, Kayleigh had started the fight.

All might be forgiven, though. Maybe Sheri wasn’t doomed to be the Evil Stepmother forever.

The condition of the road improved and she pressed the accelerator of the Mercedes down further, speeding along the deserted highway, groves of trees on either side.

Maybe she should get Kayleigh a present, thanking her. She—

The flat happened so fast she couldn’t respond before the car was careening along the shoulder. Sheri gave a faint scream and struggled to control the heavy vehicle, swerving perilously close to the trees, streaking by at seventy miles an hour.

But Sheri Marshal Towne had grown up in the Midwest and started driving at fourteen. Snow and powerful engines conspired to teach her how to handle skids. She now steered into the swerve, easing off the gas but never touching the brake.

Slower, slower … the car fishtailed, went straight, fishtailed some more, spewing gravel and leaves and twigs from the tires. But she managed to keep it from flying over the thirty-foot cliff to the right or slamming into the row of pines close by the opposite side.

Fifty miles an hour, forty …

In the end, though, the ground was too slippery—gravel and pebbles on hardpack—and she couldn’t quite prevent the crash as the big Merc slid off the road toward the trees, wedging itself into a ditch, and shuddered to a stop.

Her hands sweaty, her heart thudding, Sheri rested her head against the steering wheel.

“Lord, Lord, Lord,” she whispered, thankful she’d been to church that Sunday.

God had looked out for her.

She was thinking about Him when there was a loud crack and the windshield spiderwebbed; fragments of glass hit her in the head.

She blinked, more startled than hurt, and touched the small wound.

How would a rock—

Then again, a crack and flying glass—and this time she heard a loud bang outside.

Oh, God, no … Somebody was shooting at her! These were bullets!

She saw motion from the shadows between a tall stand of trees. Another flash. And the car resounded with a ringing thud. He’d missed the windshield this time.

Hunters?

Or was it that crazy man obsessed with Kayleigh?

Sheri popped the seat belt and slithered down to the floor as best she could, searching for her phone. Where, where, where?