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Chapter One"Don't do this to me," Evan Harris muttered under his breath.
His sports car lurched one last time, shoving him against the steering wheel, knocking the wind out of him, before it came to an abrupt stop and died.
"C'mon, start." He turned the key and pressed the gas pedal several times, but the motor remained dead.
"Shit!" He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He fished his cell phone from the backpack on the passenger seat and hesitated for a moment. Who could he call? Nobody knew where he was headed. He'd jumped into his car and driven away without even leaving a message for his assistant. He let out a long sigh. Maybe Triple A. He started to punch the numbers when he noticed the No Service Available in the display.
"Great. Just fucking great." He threw his cell phone back in the bag. Leaning back, he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He looked out the windshield to see nothing but a great expanse of shortgrass prairie and scrub vegetation. The sun's weak rays barely pierced through the thick, low hanging gray clouds. At least the hard rain that had followed him since he left the highway had lightened to only a soft drizzle.
What the hell had he been thinking when he took this shortcut? Rubbing his temples, he frowned. But that was exactly the problem, wasn't it? He'd not been thinking. Tension and unease had slowly built inside him for days. But this morning he'd awakened with a sense of restlessness he couldn't explain. The urge to get away from New York--and his work--had grown as the hours went by. This morning, before he'd had time to consider what he was doing, he'd phoned his partner totake over the photo shoot he'd scheduled. Then he'd packed a light bag, jumped in his car, and slammed his foot down on the accelerator like a possessed madman. The car ate up the miles. The need to drive away had been all consuming. Yet, the edginess hadn't eased once he'd hit the highway. On the contrary, it'd grown with each mile. Mixed with a sense of urgency. Until he'd meandered onto the country road.
"Yeah, well, now I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere," he muttered. Opening the glove compartment, he pulled out a road map he kept there for emergencies like this. As he studied the map carefully, his frown deepened. Once he'd gotten out of New York, he'd been compelled to head south, that much he remembered. Yet he couldn't remember exactly when or where he'd gotten off the highway.
Tossing the map aside, he threw his head against the headrest, eyes closed, and swore under his breath. Unbelievable. He was lost. Really lost.
You are not lost.
He opened his eyes and looked around. Had he been thinking out loud? He grabbed the map and focused on it. Gradually a few marks started to become clearer. If his calculations were correct, there should be a town about five miles away. He folded the map and put it away.
He grabbed his backpack and climbed out of the car. A gust of chill October air swirled around him, and he wrapped his jacket tighter. With a last contemptuous glare at the car, he shouldered his pack and headed down the dirt road.
He took a quick glance at his watch. A quarter after four. The sun would set soon. With any luck, he could make it to the town before dusk. He hurried his footsteps, not wanting to be caught after nightfall in these desolate parts.
The heavy rain had turned the road into a mess of muddy sludge and puddles. With every step he took, his leather boots sank deeper in the muck. His breath became ragged with the exertion. Sweat covered his brow. Every now and then he glanced over his shoulder, hoping for the sight of a passing car or a farmer's truck, but he hadn't seen another vehicle since leaving the highway behind. Not even a single house.
The wind picked up, feeling like sharp knives cutting his face. He drew his jacket tightly around him, zipping it all the way up. The light grew dimmer. He shifted his backpack and rubbed the muscles knotted with tension beneath the straps. The urge to keep moving grew stronger with each step he took.
He stopped short at the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. He turned around and stood frozen as he stared in dismay. Big gray-blue clouds darkened the sky, and rain enveloped the land like a blanket, moving fast in his direction.
He weighed the idea of returning to his car to weather the storm, and his glance wandered back in the direction from where he'd come. Did he have time to get back to it? Lightening struck closer. Without another thought, he turned and ran.
The clouds rolled closer, casting shadows with every flash of lightening. The storm would be here any minute. The soft droplets that had accompanied him before were thick now. He couldn't stay out in the open. He needed to find a place to weather the storm--and soon. He looked around desperately in search of anything that could work as a shelter. When a flash of lightning pierced the darkness, he spotted a broken-down picket fence to his left and a faint glow of light beyond.
A house.
Bending double against the bitter wind, he jogged to the other side of the road. A soft mist rose from the ground and swirled slowly around his feet as he reached the fence. His gaze traveled up and down until he found a gravel path leading to the house shrouded by tall weeds. From where he stood, the house looked old and deserted, yet dim lights shone from the lower floor.
He glanced over his shoulder again. The storm raged less than a half mile away, and the gentle drops became thick, slashing at his cheeks. The wetness crept into his shirt, beginning to soak his flesh. Needing no further encouragement, he darted up the gravel path.
The rain picked up. He peered over his shoulder. Behind him the mist turned into a thick fog that rose higher. Unnatural.
Armand...
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