By Mary Higgins Clark
Ronald Thompson is familiar with he by no means killed Nina Peterson... but in days the country of Connecticut will take his lifestyles, having stumbled on him to blame through due technique of legislations. yet Thompson's loss of life won't cease the discomfort and anger of Nina's husband, Steve. Thompson's loss of life won't nonetheless the fears of Nna's six-year-old son, Neil, witness to his mother's brutal slaying. no longer even the affection and friendship of Sharon Martin, a journalist who's slowly changing into part of their international, will ever erase their sour stories. purely time, possibly, will heal their wounds. yet within the shadows a stranger waits, a crafty psychopath who has killed ahead of, who has unfinished enterprise on the Peterson home...
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She tried to inhale deeply through her nostrils; to adjust her eyes to the darkness. She must clear her head; stop panicking, think. The grating sound of a door being opened. Sharon felt herself falling. Her head glanced against an open ashtray. Her elbows and ankles took the force of the jolt as she hit the musty smelling floor. She was in the back of a car. She heard crunching footsteps retreating. The man was going back into the house. Neil! What would he do to Neil? Frantically Sharon tried to wrench her hands free.
He drove a half block east, then made a quick right turn into a driveway that wound behind a warehouse. There were no guards here . . and he only needed a minute. Stopping the car, he turned off the lights. Fine, powdery snow stung his eyes and face when he opened the door. Cold. It was so damn cold. 43 With intense concentration, his eyes darted around the darkened parking area. Satisfied, he reached into the back of the car and lifted the coat he’d thrown over Sharon. He felt her eyes blazing up at him.
Sharon was awakened by the sound of a hoarse voice, her own, shrieking, “No . . No . . No . ” 23 6 At five minutes of six the few people in the streets of Carley, Connecticut, were hurrying from cars to stores, heedless of anything except the bitter, snowy night. The man standing in the shadows near the edge of the Cabin Restaurant parking lot was completely unobserved. His eyes constantly roved the area as pelting snow blew in his face. He’d been there nearly twenty minutes and his feet were freezing.