Page 122 of Finding Amanda

"I don't know, but you will. It's what you do. Remember Afghanistan? You were always able to sniff out the targets. It's your gift. This is why you have it."

"You really believe that?"

Chris paused. "Yeah, I do. I believe God gave you those instincts because He knew someday you'd need them to rescue your wife."

His eyes burned with emotion. "I hope you're right."

"What else can I do?"

"I don't know. Nothing. Pray. Just . . . just pray."

The trunk popped open,and Amanda blinked in the sudden light, focusing on the giant silhouette of Gabriel Sheppard.

"Here we are." His face was cast in shadow as her vision adjusted to the brightness, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "Climb out."

Stiff and sore, she sat up and tried to work the kinks out of her muscles while Gabriel watched, a look of amusement and anticipation on his face. Had she ever considered this monster handsome? Right now, she saw only evil.

In his left hand he held the long handle of something resting on the ground, and when she sat up in the trunk, she saw the wooden shaft led to a shovel—the shovel that would dig her grave.

"Let's go."

She jumped to the snow-covered ground He grabbed her upper arm as she steadied herself, giving her no opportunity to run.

They were in the center of a small clearing surrounded by trees, towered over them as though prepared to swallow it up. How had the car maneuvered along the narrow lane that dead-ended here? Once her eyes adjusted, she realized it wasn't bright after all, not with the heavy clouds hiding the setting sun. It was late afternoon, which meant they hadn't driven far from the bookstore in Concord. Not that it mattered. Nobody would ever find her out here.

The air, thick with drifting snowflakes, carried the slightest scent of a wood-burning fire from somewhere, but when Amanda scanned the forest, she saw no signs of a house.

"Come on," he said, yanking her arm and heading toward the woods.

No wind, no birds, no rustle of leaves. Nothing interrupted the eerie silence except the rhythmic sound of the shovel hitting the ground, Sheppard using it as a walking stick. Step, step. Thunk. Step, step. Thunk.

"I'm supposed to just walk to my grave?" she said, stumbling along beside him.

"I'm afraid that's what we've come to."

"The shovel is optimistic, don't you think? The ground must be frozen solid."

"By now, perhaps, but I dug your grave last week. You'll be buried right beside sweet Maryanne. I'll use the shovel to fill the hole."

Her stomach seized. She stopped, bent at the waist, and hugged herself. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Now that's an interesting question, my dear." He tugged on her arm, forcing her forward. She stumbled, righted herself, and walked beside him until they entered the forest on a skinny, overgrown path. He pushed her in front of him but kept his grip on her arm. "I suppose I could ask you the same thing. Why did you decide, all of a sudden, to plot to ruin me?"

She held her panic at bay. Ignoring the ache in her arm, she grabbed a nearby twig and snapped it. "I wasn't trying to ruin you, Gabriel. I was just . . . I guess I needed healing."

He uttered an evil laugh. "Healing through vengeance? Interesting concept, but I doubt I'll find any evidence that it works in my psychology textbooks."

They kept walking. She snapped another twig. "I didn't even mention your name in the memoir."

"You said enough. And isn't it interesting how, in retrospect, you could find me so reprehensible when, at the time, you were quite fond of me."

She bent a branch as they walked by. "You used me, Gabriel. You seduced me, and?—"

"I seduced you? Fascinating. I wish I had more time to study this phenomenon on selective memory."

"I remember I was sixteen, and you were a grown man who was supposed to be helping me."

The path widened, and he shifted to walk beside her, his hand never loosening its grip. "Ah. Well, that's true. I've always had a weakness for teenage girls. But we can't let that information get out, now can we?"

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