forgiven him immediately when heâd pulled her into his arms and theyâd made love all over again.
Her life had been perfect. She was getting good grades, having a wonderful time, and she was madly in love.
Until, out of the clear blue, heâd told her that he was changing his life, that he didnât really love her, that he was leaving right after he graduated.
She had been stunned. Sheâd spent a week drinking and crying, and nearly flunked out. Sheâd gone to his graduation, hopingâ¦But he hadnât even shown up.
Sheâd been mean to her parents and ignored her brothers. Sheâd spent what now seemed like half her lifetime wallowing in self-pity. But finally sheâd pulled herself together, refusing to allow herself to self-destruct over a guy who had turned out to be a jerk.
And nowâ¦here he was again. She could barely believe it.
He had justâ¦walked out. On her, on his life. And why? To become a criminal?
Had he just woken up one morning thinking, Wow, it would be great to befriend the dregs of society and start robbing people, maybe kill a few?
She realized suddenly that if she stayed where she was much longer she was going to start suffering from hypothermia, even though sheâd put on the warmest clothes in her bedroom. She had to move. She was pretty certain she could slip back into the house through the basement windowâthe same way she had left.
Numb, she made her way to the back doorâwhich squeaked, which was why she hadnât dared to use itâand slipped back through the window. She made a mental note to tell her father that a robber could easily break in that way, then laughed at herself, given that theyâd let robbersâor worseâin through the front door tonight.
She shivered and hugged herself, trying to both warm her body and thaw her mind, and looked around in the dim light filtering in from the stone stairway leading down from the pantry.
The basement had seemed full of promise when she first headed down. Sheâd been certain there would be something down there that she could use as a weapon. The yardman was always leaving his tools behind.
But not this time. The basement offered nothing but the Ping-Pong table, paddles and balls. It was swept clean. There wasnât even a broom.
But, if sheâd found something, what good would it have done? There were two of them. Or three, if Craig regained a semblance of strength.
No! her mind raged. Craig knew this was her family. He would never hurt her, and he would never hurt them. Or would he? What the hell did she know about him anymore? She hadnât seen him since he had coldly broken things off and walked away.
Had he become a dope addict? Was that what had changed his life? He hadnât looked like he was on anything out there in the car. He had just looked injured. Had one of the others hurt him? Or had he been injured while attacking an earlier victim?
She crept up the stone stairs that led to the pantry and the servantsâ stairway in the back of the house.
They didnât have any servants, of course, but the house had been built back when there was huge money in Western Massachusetts. The size and isolation of the placeâand the cost of heating itâhad been the reasons her family had gotten such a good deal on the house years ago.
She had hoped to escape to the neighborsâ house for help, but her nearest neighbors were at least half a mile away. In the storm, she wasnât sure that she could find her way through the forest between the properties, but if she went by the road it would be more like two miles, and she knew she couldnât last that long in this weather.
And she wasnât even sure the Morrisons would be there or that she could get in. Artie Morrison had told her father that he was buying a condo in Boca where he could head for winter, now that he and his wife were retired and the kids had moved away.
After that, the
Her life had been perfect. She was getting good grades, having a wonderful time, and she was madly in love.
Until, out of the clear blue, heâd told her that he was changing his life, that he didnât really love her, that he was leaving right after he graduated.
She had been stunned. Sheâd spent a week drinking and crying, and nearly flunked out. Sheâd gone to his graduation, hopingâ¦But he hadnât even shown up.
Sheâd been mean to her parents and ignored her brothers. Sheâd spent what now seemed like half her lifetime wallowing in self-pity. But finally sheâd pulled herself together, refusing to allow herself to self-destruct over a guy who had turned out to be a jerk.
And nowâ¦here he was again. She could barely believe it.
He had justâ¦walked out. On her, on his life. And why? To become a criminal?
Had he just woken up one morning thinking, Wow, it would be great to befriend the dregs of society and start robbing people, maybe kill a few?
She realized suddenly that if she stayed where she was much longer she was going to start suffering from hypothermia, even though sheâd put on the warmest clothes in her bedroom. She had to move. She was pretty certain she could slip back into the house through the basement windowâthe same way she had left.
Numb, she made her way to the back doorâwhich squeaked, which was why she hadnât dared to use itâand slipped back through the window. She made a mental note to tell her father that a robber could easily break in that way, then laughed at herself, given that theyâd let robbersâor worseâin through the front door tonight.
She shivered and hugged herself, trying to both warm her body and thaw her mind, and looked around in the dim light filtering in from the stone stairway leading down from the pantry.
The basement had seemed full of promise when she first headed down. Sheâd been certain there would be something down there that she could use as a weapon. The yardman was always leaving his tools behind.
But not this time. The basement offered nothing but the Ping-Pong table, paddles and balls. It was swept clean. There wasnât even a broom.
But, if sheâd found something, what good would it have done? There were two of them. Or three, if Craig regained a semblance of strength.
No! her mind raged. Craig knew this was her family. He would never hurt her, and he would never hurt them. Or would he? What the hell did she know about him anymore? She hadnât seen him since he had coldly broken things off and walked away.
Had he become a dope addict? Was that what had changed his life? He hadnât looked like he was on anything out there in the car. He had just looked injured. Had one of the others hurt him? Or had he been injured while attacking an earlier victim?
She crept up the stone stairs that led to the pantry and the servantsâ stairway in the back of the house.
They didnât have any servants, of course, but the house had been built back when there was huge money in Western Massachusetts. The size and isolation of the placeâand the cost of heating itâhad been the reasons her family had gotten such a good deal on the house years ago.
She had hoped to escape to the neighborsâ house for help, but her nearest neighbors were at least half a mile away. In the storm, she wasnât sure that she could find her way through the forest between the properties, but if she went by the road it would be more like two miles, and she knew she couldnât last that long in this weather.
And she wasnât even sure the Morrisons would be there or that she could get in. Artie Morrison had told her father that he was buying a condo in Boca where he could head for winter, now that he and his wife were retired and the kids had moved away.
After that, the
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