Page 35 of Shiver

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what he wants.”

Riley climbed back onto his horse and continued down the trail. She followed behind him, unable to shake the chill that had invaded her bones, despite the cloying heat of midday. Live oaks stretched their mammoth branches, holding thick bushels of tiny green ferns.

Devra stared absently at the tiny fronds that lightly touched her cheek. A wooden structure hidden high in the branches of one such oak caught her eye. A cascade of deep fuchsia bougainvillea dropped from its wooden roof like the flowing train of a bridal veil.

Amazed, Devra stopped. Riley held a finger to his lips. Hidden beneath the thick layer of pink blossoms, Devra could see the rings of an old ladder.

“It’s the perfect place to hide,” he whispered. “Stay here and stay on your horse.”

She nodded and watched him dismount, then silently approach the tree. He climbed the ladder and disappeared within the branches. A rustling sounded behind her. Quickly, she turned. Her horse snorted a protest, then moved with her. “Shh,” she said to the animal as she searched the area but didn’t see anything. She moved the horse forward a few steps, her gaze searching the bushes, fear ripping down her spine. Something was here, she knew it. She felt it.

Perhaps in response to her apprehension, perhaps not, Babe shifted nervously and blew air loudly out of his nose. “It’s okay,” she cooed. But was it?

She heard a step behind her, turned and gasped. A strong hand pressed against her mouth. Before the deep chemical smell hit her, she felt herself dragged off her horse. “No!” she screamed, but the sound came out a muffled whine. Muscle, hard as rock, pressed into her back as his vise-like grip tightened. In her last few seconds of consciousness, her only thought was of Riley.

* * *

Riley knewsomeone had been up there the moment he entered the treehouse. Nothing was out of place, but everything was just a little…different. The table and chairs by the window. The beat-up old rug on the floor. The baseball bats, gloves and balls in the wooden crate in the corner. All was as it should be, yet somehow, something was different.

Then he saw it. The folded-up newspaper in the corner. An old paper, yellowed and thin. He walked closer and stared at the picture of a young teen on the front page. “Tommy Marshall found dead at Miller’s Creek” was captioned under the picture. Riley picked up the paper. The first thing he noticed was how old it was. The second was the date—almost exactly fifteen years ago.

His jaw stiffened as he stared at the paper. Someone was pulling his strings, playing him along, dropping clues for him to find: the locket, the raspberries, this fifteen-year-old paper—theRosemont Gazette. Rosemont, Washington.

Washington. Wasn’t that where Devra said her parents lived?

Devra. All clues pointed back to her.

He’d left her alone too long. Someone had definitely been up here—someone who wanted him to know about the death of this boy. He tucked the paper into the waistband of his jeans and opened the hatch to climb down from the treehouse, then he saw it. A chill rushed through him, making him stop and stare uncomprehendingly at the picture of his mother sitting on the window’s ledge.

The picture that up until now had sat on his mantle.

Riley grabbed it and flew down the ladder. When he got to the spot where he’d left Devra, he stood dumbfounded.

“Devra?” Where was she? “Devra!” he called, as a thin thread of panic started to wind itself tight in his mind. His horse stood patiently waiting for him, but Devra and Babe were gone.

He tromped through the undergrowth, calling Devra’s name. Had she gone back without him? Had something spooked Babe? Had their intruder found her?

The one suspect they had in Michelle’s murder, the one woman who was going to be able to piece this together for him, was gone. And he had lost her.

If anything has happened…if he were responsible for yet another woman’s… He couldn’t think it. How could he have left her alone? Because he hadn’t believed she was in any real danger. He was so certain she had an accomplice, that she could even be the killer. He hadn’t thought she could end up another victim.

The rude awakening sucker-punched him in the gut. The captain was right. He wasn’t thinking properly. And because of him, Devra could be dead.

Branches scratched his face as he tore through the thicket—calling, searching, hoping. “Devra!”

In the far distance, storm clouds moved across the sky. Ozone was building and he static tingled the back of his neck. He had to find her soon before the storm drove him back.

He heard a soft whinny. Babe? He pushed through a particularly nasty bramble bush and saw Babe tied to a tree. Not just Babe, but Storm, too. Cautiously he looked around for any sign of the intruder, for any sign of Devra.

But there was none.

He checked the horses and they were fine, but where was the person who took them? Where was Devra? He started to untie the horses when he heard something. He rounded a large tree trunk and saw her.

She lay on a thick patch of grass, surrounded and practically buried in a heap of daisies. His breath stuck in his throat. Mac was squatting next to her as “Mac?”

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