Chapter 2

Her hand jerked, and the hot coffee in her cup sloshed, threatening to spill onto the tiled floor. She slammed the mug on the kitchen table. More coffee slopped out and puddled on the oak table. She smoothed the palms of her damp hands on her pants as anger burned through her veins.

“You’re certain you saw a bearded man packing a rifle out there in the woods?” Detective Breacher studied her, a bored expression on his fleshy face. “It wasn’t a deer or a moose or a tree’s shadow?”

She bit hard on her bottom lip to stop the sharp retort threatening on the tip of her tongue. Past experience with the prickly man had taught her he didn’t react well to criticism. “I know what I saw. I heard two gunshots, and minutes later, the man appeared, holding a rifle. I called out to him, but he didn’t say anything; he just stood there watching me, smiling.” She shuddered and rubbed the goose bumps prickling her arms. “There was a storm approaching, and it was getting dark, but I saw him as clearly as I see you.”

He cast a surreptitious glance at his watch and frowned, making it clear she was wasting his time. “And yet, my men and I didn’t find any tracks, any sign of this man, nothing to indicate what you allege happened.” He reached into his coat pocket and dug out a pair of light-blue gloves and tossed them onto the table. “We did find these buried under the snow. Yours, by any chance?”

She nodded. “I took off my gloves right where I saw the man.” She shot the detective a frustrated look. “You didn’t find any tracks. How could you when it snowed all night? Any footprints the man left would’ve long been covered.” After she tore out of the park’s parking lot, she’d called the cops the second she had cell reception. The officer she spoke to requested she come to the police station and provide a statement.

She’d spent hours in the stuffy, overheated building, being shuffled from one police officer to another until she’d ended up at Breacher’s desk. He’d run through the same questions all the other cops had asked, and then he’d assured her the police would look into the incident as soon as possible. He told her to go home and wait for his call.

As soon as possible turned out to be hours later when the sun rose, hours during which six inches of fresh snow blanketed the town and surrounding countryside.

Breacher had shown up at her townhouse that afternoon to tell her what he and his men hadn’t found. And now he was acting like she’d made up the entire incident. She wasn’t surprised. She’d faced the same stubborn resistance from him and other police personnel countless times in the past. Why had she thought this time would be different?

“Nope. No sign of him at all.”

She bit her lip and stared out the kitchen window at the falling snow. A headache throbbed. She hadn’t slept the previous night. Aside from it being the anniversary of The Incident, every time she closed her eyes, the terrifying image of the bearded man rose before her. Even worse, was the sickening feeling she’d seen him somewhere before. She couldn’t put her finger on why he was so familiar, but whatever the connection, his very presence filled her with fear.

She lifted her cup, pleased her hands weren’t shaking, and gulped the steaming liquid, relishing the tendrils of warmth spreading throughout her body. She hadn’t felt warm since she’d roared out of the dark parking lot in a panic. “Look, Officer Breacher—”

“Detective Breacher.” His hooded gaze fixed on her.

She’d forgotten he’d been promoted years ago, though how he’d advanced in the police department was beyond her. “That man was up to no good. Just before I saw him, I heard two rifle shots.” She heaved a sigh. “Surely you and your men found something…footprints, shell casings, blood?”

He shook his head. “We located the trail you were on, and we found your gloves and a few impressions of your running-shoe prints in the snow under the trees where the snow hadn’t covered them, but there weren’t any other signs. No indication anyone else was out there, that’s for sure.” He scratched his beard-shadowed chin. “If this man was in the park yesterday, there’s no sign of him.”

She set down her cup and rubbed her throbbing temples. “What about the bare footprints in the snow? And the blood?”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “Right. The footprints. You say you saw footprints in the snow…bare, bloody footprints.”

His patent disbelief stoked her fury, but she reined in her anger. Telling him off would feel good—okay, it would feel great—but it wouldn’t convince him she was telling the truth, and it wouldn’t help find whoever had left the footprints. “Look, I know what I saw—four, or maybe five, human footprints were impressed in the fresh snow, indicating someone followed the path along the ridge and headed into the forest. A smear of what I’m sure was blood stained the snow where the left heel impressions were.

“It’s pretty clear someone’s out there, hurt and needing help. I mean, why else would anyone be in the park at this time of year walking in the cold snow in their bare feet?” She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s why I called the police. Someone needs help. The footprints were small, so probably a child. The man I saw is involved. I know it.”

Once again, he glanced at his watch, and made a poor job of suppressing a yawn. “My men and I spent all morning traipsing through that forest. We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, nothing unusual, and especially no bare footprints.” He smirked. “And no blood or injured child either.”

He might as well have added that they hadn’t found green aliens lurking in the forest for all the weight he put on her description of the frightening events of the previous evening. Her fight drained, deflating like the air fizzling out of a balloon. “You think I made this up.” She spread her arms. “Why would I do that? Why would I waste your time?”

“You tell me.” His bushy, gray eyebrows quirked. “It was a full moon last night. That always brings out the crazies or the delusional.” His thick lips curled, making clear what category into which he lumped her. Setting down his coffee cup, he stood, his knee joints popping with the effort. He stuffed his notepad into his coat pocket. “Don’t get me wrong. I believe you saw something, but it wasn’t what you thought. The temperature was pretty cold yesterday, and by your own admission you were near the end of a long, arduous run.”

Buttoning up his trench coat, he faced her. “Overexertion happens all the time. A person gets tired, dehydrated, and the mind plays tricks. You thought you saw footprints in the snow, and you thought you heard rifle shots, and you also thought a man was lurking in the trees watching you.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you heard a branch snap under the weight of the snow. Or maybe you saw an elk and mistook it for a person. You wouldn’t be the first.” He wrapped a black-and-white striped woolen scarf around his thick neck. “Lots of elk out in those woods.”

“What about the blood? Did I imagine that too?”

“All I can tell you is we didn’t find any signs of blood to corroborate your story.”

She jumped to her feet. “So that’s it? You’re done? You’re not going to investigate further?”

“What’s to investigate?” He blew out an aggrieved breath. “Look, I’ll keep my ears open. If I hear anything, if any other visitors to the park report seeing this guy or—” He didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “—bloody, bare footprints in the snow, I’ll let you know.”

Yeah. Sure, he would. The second he walked out her townhouse door, her complaint would be buried under a stack of nuisance complaints.

“Thanks for the coffee, Ms. Cooper. I’ll see myself out.” He strode down the short hallway to the front door.

“Detective Breacher, wait.”

He grasped the door handle but turned back to her. The furrows in his brow deepened. “What is it?”

“What about missing persons reports? Has anyone disappeared from the area recently? A child or a woman?” She blinked. Missing persons? She was reaching for straws. But she wasn’t imagining things, and she wasn’t crazy. Someone had made those tracks in the park. Someone had walked on his or her bare feet through the cold snow and left bloody footprints in their wake. She couldn’t shake the certainty that same someone was in serious trouble. And somehow, the bearded man was involved.

“Is anyone missing?” He chuckled. “It’s a big state. Our county alone encompasses almost seven thousand square miles. There’re about a half-dozen or so individuals reported missing every year. Most show up, but—” He shrugged. “—one or two are never heard from again.”

“Didn’t a young girl go missing upstate a few weeks ago? The story was on the news.” She should have thought of the missing teen when she saw the footprints, but with the anniversary of her sister’s kidnapping and all the angst and guilt that came with that fateful date, and seeing that man in the forest, she wasn’t thinking straight. “The footprints were small, probably those of a young woman or older child. Could they belong to the missing girl?” Her heart chilled. “Is it possible the man with the beard is involved?”

He opened the door. For a brief second, compassion shone in his faded blue eyes. “Look. I know what the date is, and I know what you went through with your sister. I was there. Remember?” He huffed out a breath. “But this isn’t the same thing, not by any stretch. The girl who’s missing?” His lip curled. “She’s a runaway. No one’s out in the woods abducting young girls and holding them hostage. You can take that to the bank.” The fleeting warmth faded, and he stepped through the doorway and onto the front porch. “Have a nice afternoon.” He strode down the sidewalk to his tan-colored, police-issue sedan.

Her headache ramped up to a four-alarm blaze, and she closed the door, secured the dead bolt, slid the security chain into place, and latched the heavy-duty metal lock. She plodded down the hall to the bathroom and fumbled in the cabinet over the sink for her antianxiety pills.

Cursing, she fought with the child-protection cap. When the lid finally popped off, she dropped the plastic bottle, and tiny blue pills scattered across the bathroom tiles.

She fell to her knees as sobs shook her, and then she collapsed onto the cold tiles.