PROLOGUE

        Someone was following her.
        The mosquitoes and gnats didn't matter anymore, nor did the  blisters  on  her feet,  nor the fact  that her car had broken down and she was stranded out here, in the middle of nowhere, all alone.
        The only thing that mattered was that someone was following her, had been following her for miles, and she was probably going to be raped, or killed, or both, simply because she had been too frightened to trust her intuition not to leave the safety of her car behind.
        Somewhere along the grassy shoulder of Route 11, Anna Hartsoe stopped, searching the darkness for her stalker, and found she was unable to tell one shape from another. Heart fluttering, it dawned on her that someone--or something--could be standing right beside her, and she would never even know it. Not until it was already too late.
        Clutching the straps of her maroon Kelty backpack, she cocked her head and listened. There was only the dry hissing of leaves as the treetops caressed the cauldron-black belly of the eastern sky. Whatever it was she thought she had heard, it was gone now.
        Probably just a squirrel, she reassured herself. Or maybe a raccoon. Stop being so paranoid. Stupid, stupid! Besides, if there really was someone following me, they would have made their move by now. Nobody in the world could be that patient. It's only an animal, scrounging around for food or something. Don't let your imagination get the best of you...
        Wait...there it was again! That sound!
       GO! a voice screamed inside her head. RUN! GET OUT OF HERE!
        In her mind's eye she actually saw herself running; arms and legs pumping wildly, Birkenstocks slapping the pavement, long chestnut hair flapping behind her in the wind. But in reality she had not moved a muscle.                                                                                                       continue>>