the silhouette of a man in her doorway.
Then she was falling through the air and slamming against hardpacked earth.
The deck door crashed against the outside wall and Abbie was up and running. A dirt trail ran between the woods and the edge of the bluff for a mile until it reached the neighbors' property.
There was no fence and the trail was narrow, but Abbie streaked along it, praying she would not be followed.
A hundred yards in was a footpath that led into the woods.
Abbie's brain was racing as she weighed her choices and decided her chances of survival were better in the woods, where there were more places to hide. She veered to the left and shot down the trail, then moved off it and into the woods as silently as she could.
Abbie crouched behind a tree and strained to hear the man who was chasing her. A second later, footsteps pounded by on the path. Abbie gulped air and tried to calm herself. She decided to move deeper into the woods. She would hide until daylight and hope the man would give up before then. She had almost regained her composure when she heard a sound on her right.
Adrenaline coursed through her and she bolted into the underbrush, making no effort to be quiet. Her feet churned. She surged into the woods and away from the cliff, oblivious to the pain from branches that whipped across her face and ripped her shirt. Then she was airborne.
She tried to cushion her fall but her face took the brunt of it.
Blinding lights flashed behind her eyes.
The air was momentarily crushed from her lungs. She hugged the earth, praying she would be invisible in the dark. Almost immediately, she heard the loud crack of branches breaking and the snap of bushes as they swung back after being pushed apart.
The sound was nearby and there was no way she could run.
On her right was a massive, rotting tree trunk. Abbie burrowed under it, pressing herself into the earth, hoping that the mass of the log would shield her.
Something wet fell on Abbie's face. It started to move. Tiny legs scrambled across her lips and cheek. An insect! Then another and another. Abbie desperately wanted to scream, but she was afraid the insects would crawl into her mouth. She clamped her jaws shut and took in air through her nose. Every part of her wanted to bolt, but she was sure she would die if she did.
The woods were silent. The man had stopped to reconnoiter.
Abbie brought a hand to her face and brushed off the bugs. She expelled air slowly. Her heart was beating wildly in her ears and she calmed herself so she could hear.
There was cool earth against her cheek and the silhouettes of tall evergreens against the night sky. Suddenly the space between two large trees was filled by the outline of a man. His back was to her, but she was certain he would see her if he turned and looked down. Abbie pressed herself closer to the log, praying that the man would not turn.
He did. Slowly. A few inches more and he would see her. Abbie felt for a rock or a thick tree limb she could use as a weapon, but her hand closed on nothing of substance.
Now the man was facing the log. He started to look directly at Abbie.
Then the sky lit up.
The ringing of the phone wrenched Jack Stamm out of a deep sleep. He groped for the receiver. When he knocked it off the cradle, the ringing mercifully ceased.
District Attorney Stamm?
Stamm squinted at the bright red numerals on his digital alarm clock. It was 4:47 A. M.
'Who's this?'
'Seth Dillard. I'm the sheriff in Seneca County. We met at a law-enforcement conference in Boise two years ago.'
'Right,' Stamm said, trying to picture the sheriff and coming up blank.
'What couldn't wait until morning?'
'We have one of your people here. Abigail Griffen.'
'Is she all right?' Stamm asked, suddenly wide awake.
'Yes, sir, but she's mighty shaken up.'
'Why? What happened?'
'She says someone tried to kill her.'
Seneca County was two hours west of Portland and it was almost seven-thirty when Jack Stamm stopped beside one of the two county police cars that were parked in front of an A-frame that belonged to Evelyn Wallace, Abbie's neighbor. When Stamm stepped out of his car, he could see the sun through breaks in the trees and heard the dull shoosh of the surf through the woods behind the house.
A Seneca County sheriffs deputy opened the front door and Stamm showed his ID. The A-frame was small. A kitchen and the living room took up the ground floor. Abbie was huddled on the living-room couch wrapped in a blanket and sipping a cup of coffee. Evelyn Wallace, a slender woman in her mid-sixties, sat beside her.
Stamm was shocked by the way Abbie looked. Her hair was uncombed, there were streaks of dirt on her cheeks and her eyes were bloodshot. Stamm also noticed a number of cuts and bruises on her face.
'My God, Abbie. Are you all right?' Stamm asked.
Abbie looked up at the sound of Stamm's voice. At first she did not seem to recognize her boss. Then she mustered the energy for a tired smile.
'I'm exhausted but I'm okay. Thanks for coming.'
'Don't be ridiculous. Do you think I'd let you drive yourself to Portland after what the sheriff said.'
Before Abbie could answer, the door opened and a tall man with leathery skin and a salt-and-pepper mustache entered. He wore a Stetson and the uniform of the Seneca County sheriffs office.
'Mr. Stamm?' asked the uniformed man.
'Sheriff Dillard?'
'Yes, sir. Thanks for comin'.'
The sheriff turned his attention to Abbie.
'Do you think you're up to going back to the cabin? My men are almost through and I'd appreciate it if you could walk me through what happened.'
Abbie stood up. The blanket slipped down. She was wearing a tee shirt without abra, jeans and sneakers without socks, and she was covered with caked brown-gray mud from head to toe.
'You're sure you're up to it, dear?' Mrs. Wallace asked.
'I'm fine. Thank you so much, Mrs. Wallace. You've been wonderful.'
When Abbie was ready, she got in the sheriffs car. Stamm followed along a short driveway until they reached the highway.
The sheriff turned left and drove for a little over a mile, then turned down the narrow dirt road that led to the Griffen cabin.
Abbie and the sheriff were going inside by the time Stamm parked and climbed the steps to the front porch.
The front door of the Griffen cabin opened into a large living room with a stone fireplace. There were two bedrooms and a kitchen on the first floor and two more bedrooms, plus the deck, upstairs.
'Forensic people through?' Sheriff Dillard asked a lanky deputy who was waiting in the living room holding a Styrofoam cup filled with lukewarm coffee.
'Left a few minutes ago.'
'Before you tell us what happened,' the sheriff asked Abbie, 'can you check to see if anything was stolen?'
Abbie went through the downstairs as quickly as possible, then led everyone upstairs to the bedroom. Her terrifying ordeal had drained her physically and emotionally, and she climbed the stairs slowly. When she reached the bedroom doorway, she paused, as if expecting to find the intruder inside. Then she took a deep breath and entered.
The shades on the big picture window were open and pale morning light filled the room. Only a lamp that lay with its shade askew on the floor next to an oak chest of drawers suggested an intruder, but Abbie could feel a
