in place, she took a couple of stumbling steps while trying to decide which way to go. Then she turned right and sprinted farther into the forest.
Sometimes it paid to be short. Running as fast as she could with her boots sinking into the pine straw and soft loam, at least she could duck under most of the tree branches without needing to slow down. She did a quick mental calculation and figured out if she kept going straight, she’d get to the road. Maybe somebody would drive by and she could flag them down for help.
Or maybe no one would drive by and running along the edge of the road would just make her an easier target for the lunatic with the hammer.
She needed a new plan. But what? She knew panic would cloud her judgment. She couldn’t give in to it, even though she wanted to. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But this was not the time. Lord, help!
Her car was parked in the driveway of Heaton House. It was farther away than the road, but it was a smarter choice. She veered in that direction.
Heaton House had been the height of luxury when it was built back in the late nineteenth century. Nowadays, the wealthy descendants of Alistair Heaton lived in Lake Tahoe and used it only as an occasional vacation home. Plans were in the works for turning it into a museum.
Nearly an hour ago, Vanessa had parked in the driveway before hiking out to the mesa. Other than parking on the side of the road, the house’s driveway was the only place to leave a car before coming to enjoy the beautiful view of Torchlight.
She’d come back to this spot before heading back down to the ranch because she’d been thinking about her dad and missing him. And she always felt close to him up here.
But right now, her thoughts were one hundred percent focused on avoiding his fate. She would not fall victim to a killer the way her father had all those years ago. And that meant running to her car as quickly as possible and getting away.
Her lungs burned and she gasped for air as she ran. Stark terror kept her legs pumping as hard and as fast as she could move them, but she was losing speed. The ground beneath her feet was rough and muddy, bogging her down like grasping hands.
Her pursuer was closing in on her. She could hear him.
Her phone. When she’d first arrived at Heaton House, she’d used her phone to make a call while she sat in her parked car. The signal had been fine. Maybe she was close enough to that spot to get reception now. Making a call meant slowing down, but she was slowing down anyway.
She slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She glanced at the screen and saw a solitary bar. Relief poured over her. One bar was all she needed.
Her toe snagged under a tree root and she fell forward, smacking her chin and cheek hard on the ground. Her phone flew out of her hand. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see where it had landed.
Her heart sank. The fall had knocked the wind out of her and for a few panicked seconds she couldn’t catch her breath.
Behind her, she heard laughter. Then whooping and hollering. Her tormentor was enjoying this. He probably could have caught her already if he’d wanted to. He was just dragging it out for fun.
Despite the pain from her fall, Vanessa felt her face grow hot with fury. Her anger shoved aside her fear. Yet, another strategy for survival became clearer. If dragging things out was what this jerk wanted, why not use his twisted sense of fun against him?
She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and glanced back. She could see the masked stalker coming after her but he wasn’t running anymore. He was sauntering toward her, loosely swinging the claw hammer back and forth. He was that sure he had her.
Idiot.
Vanessa pushed herself up onto her feet and started a staggering jog toward Heaton House, which was now visible through the trees. She added a fake limp to keep her pursuer from chasing her any more aggressively. Let him keep making sport of the whole thing. If her plan worked, the fake limp would help her conserve energy for a final dash to her car.
If it didn’t work, she was all out of plans.
When she thought she might be close enough to where she’d parked, she reached into her pocket for her key fob and hit the unlock button. Her car made a beeping sound that betrayed her plan. She hit the alarm button, too.
Then she ran full bore, no longer faking a limp.
She heard a howl of rage close behind her and the steel hammer flashed by, smacking hard against a tree just ahead of her and splitting the bark.
That tree could have been her head.
She finally reached the edge of the scruffy-looking lawn that surrounded Heaton House. Her only obstacles now were the decorative boulders lining the driveway. Once she was past them, she’d be safe. She could get into her car and tear out of here, down the road into town and directly to the Torchlight Police Department.
She made it past the decorative boulders and stopped so suddenly she nearly toppled over. Her heart fell to her feet as she looked at her car. All four of her tires had been slashed.
At least the alarm was still blaring. There were no other houses nearby, but maybe somebody would hear the alarm and call the police. Yet, she hated to count on a “maybe.”
She turned to the house. It was nearing sunset and the exterior lights had turned on. The Heatons were so proud of this house and its role in their family history; it had to be connected to a security system. She would attempt to trigger the alarm.
She reached for the handle on the front door and tried to turn it. Of course, it was locked. It looked like there might be a security camera in the shadowy corner of the house on the other side of the front door, but she couldn’t be certain.
She stepped back, grabbed a stone the size of a softball from the ground beside the front step and chucked it through a window. An alarm sounded. She quickly threw a couple more stones until the pane was nearly gone. She yanked off her suede jacket, threw it over the bottom of the windowsill and climbed over it.
She dropped into the house, crouched down and turned to peek out the bottom of the broken window.
She didn’t see anyone. The man chasing her was out of sight. She let out a sigh. The blaring car and house alarms must have scared him away.
Something slammed into the front door beside her and she jumped. It hit again and again, and it didn’t stop. It was the guy who was chasing her. If the psychopathic creep took a second to look around, he’d see the window she’d just broken and climb through it right after her. If he just kept pounding with that stupid hammer, he was bound to eventually break through the wooden door.
Either way, he had her.
Vanessa leaped to her feet and ran farther into the house. She’d never been inside before and didn’t know which way to go. Just past the kitchen, she spotted an open door to what looked like a den and she ran for it. She slammed the door shut just as she heard the front door splinter and break open. There was no lock on the den door. She shoved a heavy end table in front of it as a barricade, fully aware it wouldn’t keep the attacker out for long.
Then the hammer started pounding on the den door. It would break any second. And the psycho would get in.
* * *
Most likely a couple of bored high school kids had busted a window at the Heaton House and set off the alarm again.
Normally, some fresh-out-of-the-academy patrol officer would have been sent to respond, but Lieutenant Levi Hawk of the Torchlight Police Department had been in the neighborhood. So when the call came in, he keyed his radio mic and let dispatch know he’d respond himself.
He followed the main road across the back of Morgan Mesa as it wound through a stretch of forest dotted with modest houses and trailers. It wasn’t as bustling as the town, but there were plenty of employees from the nearby O’Connell ranch who chose to live up here, along with a few other people who preferred the quieter setting. Property