She didn’t have much time, probably not enough. Her heart in her throat, she thundered down the stairs as fast as she could. On the final step, she turned, slipped, and twisted her ankle as she fell. “Shit!” she hissed. She got to her feet. Pain shot up her leg. She sucked in her breath. No matter what, she couldn’t be caught. Not here!

Scraaape!

The damned tree branch.

Had to be.

Willow shoved back the horrid feeling that still lingered. The sensation that someone was watching her. Following her.

Get over it! It’s just your nerves. For God’s sake! Move! James is coming. And he’ll have his stupid dog.

Oh. Jesus, oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus!

Frantic, she hobbled through the kitchen and out the back door, turning the lock swiftly. Pain burned through her leg as she worked her way down the long, dark porch and down a step into the woodshed. No windows. Just a dirt floor, dry, dusty air, and cobwebs in total darkness.

Hurry, hurry!

Lurching forward, her ankle throbbing, she ran a hand along the rough wood siding, her gaze fixed on the door at the far end of the shed. She’d left it ajar and caught a glimpse of white snow through the crack.

Good.

If she could just get outside—

Bam!

Her shin crashed into something right in the middle of her path.

Pain shimmied up her leg.

She cried out, then bit back the scream.

What the fu—?

The chopping block! A stump James used to split wood. An axe imbedded in the top.

She caught her breath. Heard the ever-nearing roar of a big engine as James’s Explorer got closer.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

She couldn’t be found out.

Not now. It would ruin everything!

Limping and flailing her hands in front of her in the darkness to prevent another injury, she half ran to the door and threw it open.

Cold air slapped her in the face.

She ignored it and ran, slipping and sliding, aching and mentally cursing as she followed the path through the orchard, where bare branches swatted her face, the same path she’d broken earlier.

Bright beams bore down on the buildings.

Willow flattened herself against the far side of an equipment shed. Heart thudding, she silently prayed she wouldn’t get caught.

The shed was less than fifty feet from the garage!

Panicked, she searched for another escape route, her eyes scouring the surroundings.

Oh, God, was there movement in the hedge of fir trees?

A shadow out of place beyond the pump house?

Her heart skidded.

It’s nothing. Just your imagination.

But the snow-laden branches appeared to shift a bit, as if someone were passing by in the night.

All the spit dried in her mouth.

Stop it! If you have to worry, worry about James.