Page 115 of Finding Amanda

"Are you sure? They seemed friendly."

He stepped forward, balled his hands into fists. "I'm sure they did. Where did they go?"

"I don't know. I heard him say he wanted to show her something." He turned to the woman at the other register. "Did you hear anything?"

“Sorry, no.”

Mark walked back outside and looked around the parking lot for her car. It was gone, just like Amanda.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Alan hadn't given Amanda any hints about what he wanted to show her, but he promised it wasn't far. The snow swirled around the tires of Alan's car in front of her, lifting gently over her own. But it was picking up, beginning to stick on the little country road they were traveling.

For about the tenth time, she dug in her purse for her phone. She'd ignored it during the book signing, thinking she'd check her messages during a lull in customers. And then they'd left, and she'd forgotten. She knew it had rung a couple of times at the store. So where was it?

She tugged off her leather gloves, dropped them on the seat beside her, and felt around in her purse. Her hand closed around her wallet. She set it on the passenger seat. Then she pulled out her checkbook, a couple of lipsticks, and a pack of gum. The phone had to be in there, but she was afraid to take her eyes off the slippery road. In frustration, she picked up her purse from the bottom and overturned it, spilling the contents on her passenger seat. She glanced at the mess. Her phone was gone.

She couldn't have left it at the bookstore. She'd set it on thetable, and the table had been clear when they’d left. So she must have slipped it into her computer bag, which was on the floor behind her seat. She tried to reach back to grab it, but when she did, her tires veered to the right and slid off the edge of the narrow road. She jerked the wheel and steadied the car. It wasn't worth risking her life.

Alan's right turn signal blinked, and he angled onto a snow-covered lane barely wide enough for two cars. She followed, and they made their way up a steep hill on what might've been an old logging trail. He stopped his car at the top, and she parked behind him. How would she ever turn her car around in this narrow space?

She grabbed her computer case, maneuvered it between the two front seats, and set it on her lap. Her phone had to be in there. She was digging through the contents when her passenger door opened. Alan methodically returned the clutter on the seat into her purse before sliding in beside her. He dropped her purse to the floor.

She forced herself to smile. "Sorry. I'm trying to find my phone. What did you want to show me?"

Alan reached across the space, his hands trembling in earnest now. At first, she thought he might be reaching for her, and she winced. Any attraction she'd felt for Alan had melted away in the events of the past week. But his hand closed around the keys dangling from the dash. He turned them, killing the engine, then pulled them from the ignition and pocketed them.

Her heart raced. "What are you doing?"

"We need to have a private conversation. This seemed the best way."

She surveyed the area, the trees looming all around, the thick brush lining the edge of the encroaching wilderness. "Luring me into the woods—that seemed like the best way?"

He shifted in his seat to better face her. "This is going to be hard for you to hear, Amanda."

He folded his hands together. She focused on the ragged edges of his fingernails. The surface of his right thumbnail was rough, peeling, as if he'd scraped it repeatedly. He squeezed his hands together until the color drained from his knuckles. "I haven't been completely honest with you."

She looked into her computer bag again. Something was very wrong. If only she could find her phone, she could call Mark.

No sign of it. She had to get out of there. She inched her left hand toward the door handle.

Alan grabbed her other wrist and held it firmly.

"Let me go." She tried to pull away, but he didn't loosen his grip. "Give me my keys, and let me go."

“You’ll freeze out there.”

She quit trying to get out of his grip. When he was distracted, she’d run. Better to freeze than . . . whatever it was he had planned.

“I just want to talk, okay?” When she nodded, he released her arm, took her computer bag, and lifted it into the backseat. "I have your phone.”

She stared at him, at those deceptive dimples, those lying eyes. "Give it back."

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk. Please trust me."

She looked out the window again, considered going for the door.

"There's nowhere to run. And no reason. I just want to tell you something."

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