Page 126 of Finding Amanda

Her boot prints were like exclamation points, each one pointing toward the thick woods. Each step a scream for help.

Yet, they were also proof she was alive, or at least had been when Sheppard and Amanda arrived.

He followed the tracks like he'd followed so many hostiles in the desert. But this wasn't a hostile.

I'm coming, honey. I'm right behind you.

The path was very narrow, almost nonexistent. If not for the footprints they'd left in the snow, he may not have found it. Deeper in the woods, the snow cover became sporadic, the pine needles swallowed up the footprints, and after a few yards Mark wondered if he'd lost the trail.

Then he saw a broken twig, about waist-high, on the right side of the path. And another, a few feet further down. She'd left markers for him.

Good girl.

His heart did a wrenching twist, knowing Amanda had believed he'd find her. And he would. God help him—he had to find her.

He ran silently along the soft path, watching for signs of her, trying to recreate the marine he'd been. This was just another mission. Find the target, take him out. End of story.

Right.

Occasional footprints and broken twigs led the way. He'd been jogging for five minutes when he stopped. Up ahead, a fallen tree blocked the path. He shined his flashlight on it—no freshly-broken twigs or bent branches here, and it would have been impossible to cross this without leaving some trace. They hadn't made it this far. He turned and walked back, studying the woods to his left and right. There was the shovel. It had fallen into the brush and was almost fully hidden off the path. Amanda had been on Sheppard's right—the broken twigs told him that. So if she'd gotten away, she would have run in that direction, away from Sheppard.

Sure enough, shining his flashlight into the woods, he saw a disturbance on the forest floor, a small area where the leaves and needles were overturned, revealing their dark undersides. He stepped over a trampled bush and swept the flashlight across the bracken. Something reflected in the light of his flashlight's beam. He picked it up.

Pepper spray.

What had happened? If Amanda sprayed Sheppard with pepper spray, then he would be nearby, blinded and writhing in pain. But he wasn't. Either she'd forgotten the pepper spray and it had simply fallen here—unlikely. Or she had sprayed him and missed.

But she'd gotten away. If Sheppard had caught her, he would have retrieved his shovel. Unless he'd killed her already and was carrying her through the forest right now. That could also explain the dropped shovel. He'd simply dump her body and return for the shovel at his leisure.

No.

He swept the area with his flashlight. Saw footprints, a trail. No waist-high, purposely broken twigs this time. This trail was left by crashing into bushes, brushing against thorns, and squeezing between trees. He caught a glimpse of one of herexclamation-point footprints, saw its depth and shape, and knew she'd been running.

Escaping.

He stopped and listened. The woods were silent. No sounds, human or otherwise, interrupted the falling snow. But they were out there—somewhere.

Footsteps.Soft, accompanied by the snapping of twigs, the rustling of wet leaves. He was closing in on her.

Amanda heard a thump. So deep in the hole, she had no idea which direction the noise had come from, nor how far away it was.

And then she heard his voice, deep and terrifying. And close. "I'm going to find you, Amanda. And when I do, I'm going to punish you for this."

She sucked in a breath, held it.

"I know you're here, somewhere." His voice was confident, soothing. "It's just a matter of time now."

He was coming closer. Any minute and he would find her. She wanted to shift, to tuck her feet in deeper, but she was afraid he'd see the movement.

"No quick and painless death for you, Amanda."

She clamped her frozen hand over her mouth to silence the scream.

"I don't find much pleasure in murder, Amanda. It's not something I choose to do. But there are times when I don't have any choice."

A snap of a twig, a crunch of snow. He was getting closer.

"This is your fault. You know that, right? It's all your fault."

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