Page 2 of Obsession

What was wrong with her tonight? If Brooke Danvers were here, she would have a ball teasing Emma. But Emma was thefirst to admit she wasn’t as brave as her best friend. A tree frog seemed to agree as he serenaded her with his song and then was joined with a chorus of other males, each one vying to outdo the other. Poor things were singing for nothing. The last two weeks of warm weather had them confused and singing to the female frogs who were not in the mood to answer them in the middle of January.

Another sound overrode the frogs, and Emma cocked her head toward it. Someone was operating machinery. Had the maintenance supervisor come back after supper and started some of the road equipment? She doubted it, since the noise appeared to come from the inn area, not the tractor shed or the maintenance building.

Maybe it was those kids she’d run off earlier. Just before closing time, she’d caught three teenage boys pulling up the flags she’d staked out where the slave cabins used to be. Had they come back and hot-wired one of the backhoes?

“Stay here,” she said, as if the cat would. After she set the backpack beside the door, she flipped on her flashlight and walked up the brick path that led to the inn, which was really just a four-room log cabin with a dogtrot in the middle for ventilation in the summer. If it was the teenagers, this time she would get names and call the parents.

Instead of remaining behind, Suzy followed her to the deserted log structure, and they climbed the steps together. Emma walked through the dogtrot to the back porch and cocked her ear again. The sound had quit. She swept the light toward the maintenance building. The equipment looked untouched. Then she flashed the light against the trees, revealing only stark trunks and bare limbs except for the occasional live oak.

Wait. On the other side of the trees in the slave cemetery, the light revealed a yellow backhoe. Yep. Had to be those kids, since the maintenance supervisor wouldn’t have moved the equipment. While she wasn’t afraid of the teenagers, there was such a thingas common sense, so she checked her cell phone for service. One bar and it looked iffy.

She would try 911 anyway and let whomever the dispatcher sent deal with the boys. Preferably anyone but Sam.

When the operator answered, Emma could only make out a couple of words. She identified herself and asked for a patrol ranger to come to Mount Locust, hoping the operator understood the call.

When the operator didn’t respond, she checked her phone again. The call had dropped. She’d have to walk either to her office or the visitor center for better reception.

A rifle report split the night air as Emma hopped off the porch. She froze as a bullet splintered the wooden post where she’d just stood. Then she dove for the ground and scrambled under the house. Her heart stuttered in her chest as another report sent a bullet kicking up dirt a few yards from her hiding place.

Why was someone trying to kill her?

Like that mattered at this moment. She had to move or be trapped in the crawl space under the house. Frantically she looked for the cat. If it had any sense at all, it had high-tailed it back to the visitor center.

Emma scanned the area, looking for a way to escape. She couldn’t go back the way she’d come—it was too open—but there was ground cover from the side of the house to the edge of the woods only thirty feet away. Emma belly-crawled to the nearest tree, scraping her hand on a rock.

A dry twig snapped to her left.

Emma hoisted the rock and flung it away from her before she darted in the opposite direction toward the tractor shed. Another shot rang out, and the bullet embedded in a nearby tree.

With her heart exploding in her chest, she ducked under a live oak limb that dipped down to the ground and pressed against the huge trunk. Her lungs screamed for air. Heavy footsteps stomped through the dead leaves, and she pressed closer to the trunk, biting back a cry as the bark gouged her back.

A faint siren reached her ears. The 911 operator had understood her!

The footsteps halted. The shooter had heard it as well. But where was he? She dared not peer around the tree and remained absolutely still, surprised that he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart. Seconds later, footsteps retreated toward the service road. Then a motor roared to life, and the car sped away.

Emma’s knees buckled, and she braced against the tree, her fingers shaking as she dialed 911 again.

2

Sam Ryker wheeled the Ford Interceptor off the Trace into the Mount Locust entrance. His heart had almost stopped when the 911 operator contacted him. If anything had happened to Emma ...

His headlights flashed across an older-model Toyota pickup parked in front of the locked gate to the visitor center. He recognized the truck that had been her brother’s back in the day. Emma must have walked from the gate to the building, but why? Surely she had a key to the gate. He turned right on the road that led to the well-lit maintenance building and beyond it, the tractor shed. Behind him, his field ranger, Clayton Bradshaw, made the same turn.

Sam’s radio crackled to life.

“Ranger Winters indicated the suspect is escaping on Chamberlain Road,” the dispatcher said.

Sam released the breath trapped in his chest. If Emma had called in the report, at least the suspect didn’t have her. “You want to take that, Clayton?” he asked, speaking into his radio. “I’ll check on Emma and then provide backup.”

“Roger,” Clayton said. Seconds later his junior officer’s SUV reversed direction and sped toward the other side of the entrance.

Since Emma would not be happy to see him, he probablyshould have gone after the car and let Clayton handle Emma. And he would have, but Clayton was more familiar with the roads around Mount Locust.

Sam scanned the woods, catching the beam of a flashlight. He scrambled out of the Interceptor and flipped the strap off his service semiautomatic. A figure ran toward him, but he couldn’t make out whether it was male or female. “Halt! And drop your light!”

“Sam, it’s me! Don’t shoot!”

Emma. He would know her voice anywhere, even after ten years. “Anyone with you?”

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