Page 2 of In Her Shadow

But thought abandoned Clyde as his survival instincts screamed at him to react, to do something—anything—to change the course of the night that had turned from a forgettable drunken stupor into a terrifying reality.

A rope unfurled from the attacker’s grip like a dark serpent, slithering through the grass toward Clyde.He could see thick coils unravel with a practiced ease that hinted at familiarity with such tools of restraint.

“Stay back,” Clyde rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.He tried to edge away, but his back was already pressed against the unyielding metal wires of the fence.Then, with a surge of adrenaline-fueled determination, he lunged forward, aiming a clumsy swing at the shadowy figure.It was a feeble attempt, born of desperation rather than any real hope of defense.

The attacker sidestepped with an ease that made it clear he had anticipated the move.There was no mockery now, only a silent focus as he caught Clyde’s wrist mid-air, twisting it behind his back with a force that made him gasp.

“Easy now,” the assailant murmured, almost soothingly, as if he were calming a spooked animal rather than subduing a human being.

The rope began its work, winding around Clyde’s wrists with methodical precision.Each knot was pulled tight, each loop expertly secured.It was clear this wasn’t the first time those hands had tied up some living thing; the movements were too exact, too confident.

Clyde’s attempts to resist grew weaker with each passing second as the reality set in—he was not going to break free.His legs were next, the rope encircling his ankles, binding them together with the same ruthlessness.A cold dread settled in his stomach, and he felt his muscles tense involuntarily as he was rendered immobile.

“Let me go,” he pleaded, the words strained and hoarse.But even as he spoke them, Clyde knew they fell on ears that had no intention of heeding them.

Bound hand and foot, Clyde lay in the pasture.He was at the mercy of a faceless foe, one who moved with a purpose that left no room for escape.

The assailant’s boots crunched against dry grass as he walked back to the idling truck.A shiver ran down Clyde’s spine when the metallic glint of a propane torch and branding iron appeared, reflecting the scant light from the vehicle’s cabin.His breath hitched, heart pounding like a drum in his chest at the realization of what was about to occur.

“Please,” he croaked, the words barely escaping his throat, “you don’t have to do this.”The attacker remained silent, the tools in his grasp now casting ominous shadows on the ground as they returned.

The click of the torch being engaged shattered the quiet night, followed by a soft hiss as the flame came to life.It danced erratically, throwing a kaleidoscope of light across the pasture.Clyde’s pleas turned desperate, his voice trembled uncontrollably with fear.“I’m begging you,” he choked out, “have mercy.”But the cold silence that met his cries was more terrifying than any response.

The propane torch hissed like a serpent as the attacker held the branding iron in its blue flame.The metal slowly began to take on an ominous glow, the color shifting from black to a dull cherry red that deepened with every passing second.Clyde’s eyes, wide with terror, fixated on the growing heat signature of his impending pain.

With each labored breath, Clyde fought against the ropes that bound him, the rough fibers biting into his skin.His wrists burned from the friction, but he persisted, driven by the primitive urge to survive.Yet the knots held fast, expertly tied by someone who knew exactly how to contain a man’s frantic strength.

The branding iron was now a fierce red-orange, its hue a testament to the searing pain it promised.The attacker turned, the iron in hand, and stepped deliberately toward Clyde.Each footfall seemed to echo in Clyde’s ears, throbbing in time with his pounding heart.The air itself felt charged, thick with the weight of dread that pressed down upon him, suffocating and relentless.

“Wait!Please!”Clyde’s voice broke as he pleaded, the words dissolving into a ragged sob.His struggles grew more frenzied, muscles straining to the point of exhaustion, but escape remained a cruel illusion.Clyde Simmons, meat inspector and brother to the mayor of Trentville, was helpless.The bonds were as unforgiving as the shadowy figure approaching him.

As the assailant drew near, the branding iron’s glow illuminated his face in fleeting flashes, yet never long enough for Clyde to discern any recognizable features.The anonymity of his tormentor only amplified the terror gripping him, the unknown always more horrifying than the known.

“God, no!”he screamed, thrashing against the ground, his body slick with cold sweat.But as the hot iron hovered inches from his skin, all Clyde could do was stare helplessly at the weapon that would mark him forever, knowing his efforts to break free were as futile as his cries for mercy.

CHAPTER ONE

“Dammit, Piper,” Sheriff Jenna Graves murmured, a whisper meant only for the forest where she stood and the memory of her long-missing twin sister.“What am I doing here?”

She had chosen the early hours not only to outpace the climbing mercury but also to dodge the inquisitive eyes of early risers who might question why the sheriff of Genesius County was scouring Shelby National Forest instead of enjoying the reprieve of a Sunday morning.As she walked, her backpack shifted with each step, its contents — a bottle of water, a bag of trail mix for sustenance, and Piper’s bird-watching guide— were both practical and deeply personal.This had become a weekly ritual, a repetition of hope and persistence.With every hike, Jenna hoped she might be retracing steps Piper might have taken, searching for a clue in each bird’s call or flutter of wings through the underbrush.

She paused, leaning against a tree trunk to catch her breath.The dream that had led her here was as vivid in her mind as the forest around her.It had been a sign, Jenna was sure of it — a spectral message from a realm that teased the edges of her reality.Jenna closed her eyes for a moment, letting the forest’s whispers fill her ears.The vision from her lucid dream unfurled in her mind: a woman, face obscured by shadows, cradling a sandpiper as tenderly as one might hold a child.

That dream had seemed important, though she’d had no idea what it might mean.Then Jenna had experienced that same image again when she had nearly drowned in Sablewood Reservoir during the last case she and her deputy, Jake Hawkins, had solved together.It was as if the murky waters themselves had conjured the image from the depths of her psyche while she fought for air, for life.The image had become a clue that had to be followed.

Every spare moment found her burrowed in the local library, her eyes skimming across topographical maps, tracing waterways and wetlands where the sandpipers might be found.She’d engaged in lengthy discussions with avian enthusiasts, those unassuming custodians of feathered secrets.She had even enlisted the expertise of the Missouri Department of Conservation, hoping their scientific data could illuminate this personal odyssey.She had discovered that sandpipers lived in many parts of Missouri, near ponds and streams and marshes.Was it possible that the image in her dream was pointing her to some location near her home?Each potential habitat within reach of Trentville was not merely a point on a map; it was a possible signpost on the way to discovering what had befallen Piper.

The bird-watching guide nestled within her backpack was more than a collection of ornithological details; it was a map peppered with hope, each entry a potential landmark in the uncharted territory of her sister’s disappearance.

With a determined tilt of her chin, Jenna reached for the sunglasses perched atop her head and slid them back into place, the lenses muting the harsh glare of the morning light.Underneath the sheltering arms of ancient oaks and hickories, she had found a temporary haven from the punishing July sun.However, the canopy’s shade did little to ward off the enveloping humidity that clung to her skin, a constant companion in her trek into the heart of the forest.A bead of sweat traced a line down her temple as she resumed her trek.Her green eyes reflected the weariness of her quest.Yet, she pressed on, driven by an innate sense of purpose that bordered on obsession.

Jenna’s dedication to her sister’s case had evolved into something more than just the search for a missing person; it was a quest to fill the void Piper had left behind.It was a refusal to concede to the silence that had enveloped Piper’s disappearance two decades ago.

The certainty that Piper still lived somewhere beyond Jenna’s reach was as much a part of her as her badge or her gun.It propelled her forward when logic argued for rest, when the odds seemed insurmountable.And though the journey was laden with disappointment and dead ends, Jenna knew that surrender was not within her.Not while the mystery of Piper’s absence remained unsolved, not while her heart still held onto hope.

The overhead canopy parted, and the trail yielded to the hidden sanctuary she’d been looking for—a small pond cradled within Shelby National Forest.Dappled sunlight glanced off the water, turning the surface into a mosaic of liquid gold and azure.Jenna’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she caught sight of several sandpipers, their slender legs navigating the mire at the water’s edge with delicate precision.They were tangible echoes of her vision, their presence igniting a surge of anticipation that swept through her like a current.

She approached the shoreline, every sense heightened.And there they were—several of the medium-sized brown and white birds with spots on their breasts.The sandpipers seemed undisturbed by her presence and their foraging continued, their long legs keeping them above the water while their orange bills dipped for food.

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