Vicious

trunk. She couldn’t see the man, but she knew he was behind there, waiting.

She glanced around for other people in the area. Pamela noticed an attractive young brunette strolling up another path that intersected with the one she was on, right by the giant evergreen. Dressed in a trench coat, the young woman was tall and willowy with long, wavy hair. She had a cell phone in her hand and was too busy flipping open the mouthpiece and pulling out the short antenna to watch where she was going. She passed under an old- fashioned streetlight that illuminated only that section of the trail. Soon the young woman would be in the shadows of the big evergreen.

“Miss?” Pamela tried to call to her, but her throat closed up. Her warning was barely a whisper. Her hand came up to her throat as she watched helplessly. The young woman got closer and closer to the towering tree.

“Miss?” Pamela said, louder this time. Her voice cracked. “Excuse me…”

All of a sudden, the dark figure leapt out from behind the evergreen.

Pamela screamed.

So did the young woman. And then she burst out laughing. “You idiot! You almost made me drop my phone.” The man put his arm around her, and they kissed. “I was just about to call and ask what was keeping you….”

Pamela caught her breath and then pushed Andy onward. Her heart was still racing. She’d almost made a fool out of herself.

Arm in arm, the young couple strolled up the path toward Andy and her. As she passed them, Pamela noticed the girl glancing down at Andy in his stroller—and then at her. “That’s me in a year and a half,” the girl whispered to her companion. “I’ll be pushing around little Justin Junior. I’m going to be her….”

For your sake, I hope not, Pamela thought. Did that young woman—eighteen months from now—really want to discover that Justin Senior, the father of her child, was a cheating slime bucket?

Okay, so maybe Steve hadn’t actually cheated yet, but he’d been working up to it.

Pamela had taken Andy out of Rainbow Junction Day Care early and gone for a long drive. The phone was ringing when she came through the front door with Andy in her arms at 4:30. It was Steve. He’d left several messages for her at the office—and then at home. “Jill phoned me, and said you e-mailed her,” he admitted. “Listen, you’re freaking out over nothing. This e-mail thing with her is all very innocent—and—and harmless. It’s so dumb. It started when they sent the notice about the reunion. I was going to tell you about it, only I…well, listen, just do me a favor and stay put. I’m leaving work right now. I should be there in a half hour….”

Pamela waited. She put Andy in his crib for a late nap, poured herself a glass of merlot, and plopped down at the kitchen table. She kept busy painting her nails—a honey-brown color called Cinnamon Sin. Ninety minutes later, she was still sitting there, impatiently clicking her newly painted nails on the kitchen table. She sat there and glared at Steve as he paced in front of her, apologizing, explaining, and groveling.

Apparently, poor Jill had just been through a messy divorce and was very fragile. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her that her e-mails were inappropriate. Yeah, sure, maybe he kind of liked the attention, but it was all very innocent.

“I was going to tell you about it,” he claimed. “Only I knew you’d go ballistic. This is just the sort of reaction I’ve been afraid of. Can you really blame me for not saying anything?

Yes, indeed, I blame you, you son of a bitch.

She took Andy and left. She just needed to cool off for a while.

That had been nearly an hour ago. Steve was probably going out of his mind with worry. Maybe he thought he’d never see her and their baby again. Well, good, let him think that a little while longer.

Up ahead, past the dahlia garden, Pamela thought she saw him, walking along another intersecting trail. Then she realized—although he had Steve’s loping gait and wore a navy blue windbreaker very much like Steve’s— the man wasn’t her husband. For a few moments, a streetlight behind him cast a shadow over his face. But as he came closer, Pamela saw he was extremely good looking and he was smiling at Andy in his stroller. “Well, well, well, what a handsome little rascal you are!” he said.

Pamela stopped for him. The stranger crouched down to grin at Andy. He wasn’t a toucher. He kept his hands in his pockets. “What’s your name, fella?” he asked.

“Andy,” Pamela answered for her son.

The handsome stranger looked up and locked eyes with her. He had such a sexy smile. Pamela felt herself blush. She could always tell when guys were interested in her, and this one was interested. Not that anything would happen, but it sure was nice. In fact, this impromptu flirtation in the park was just what the doctor ordered to make her feel desirable again.

The man glanced down at Andy once more. “Is this beautiful lady your mommy?”

Pamela let out a coy laugh. “Well, I don’t know about ‘beautiful,’ but I’m the mommy.”

He locked eyes with her again. “Listen, Mommy,” he said quietly. “I have a gun aimed at Andy right now. Unless you want to see his little head blown off, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.”

Pamela wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. Dumbfounded, she gazed at the man. The smile disappeared from her face. She glanced down at his hands—still in the pockets of his windbreaker. She could tell he was holding something in his right hand.

Andy let out a screech and squirmed in his stroller. He clapped his little hands and giggled.

The man furtively pulled the automatic out of his pocket for a moment—the barrel pointed at Andy’s face.

“Oh, God, please, no,” Pamela murmured, paralyzed with fear. White-knuckled, she clutched the stroller handles. She glanced around to see if there was anyone else in the vicinity—anyone who might help her. A man in track shorts and a sweatshirt ran along another paved trail about thirty feet away—but he was moving too fast to even notice them. Within moments, he was gone.

Tears stinging her eyes, Pamela gazed at the stranger. “What—what do you want?”

With an odd, little smile, he nodded toward the greenhouse—and the dark, wooded area beyond it. “Let’s take a walk down there, and I’ll tell you what I want.”

Pamela hesitated.

He reached up and gently tugged at the pale green scarf around her neck. “C’mon.”

Pamela swallowed hard and then started walking toward the darkened woods. Her legs felt wobbly. Wincing, she felt something grind against her spine, and realized it was the barrel of his revolver. Pamela realized something else. She was going to die.

As she pushed Andy in his stroller, she could only see the little hood covering the back of his head. He let out a squeal, then giggled and kicked.

“Please…please, don’t hurt my baby,” she whispered to the man.

“I won’t hurt him,” he promised. “Just you, Mommy, just you…”

Pausing under a park light, Hannah McHugh pressed two fingers along the side of her neck and ran in place. Warily, she glanced back at the winding pathway. The strange man had been on her tail for about ten minutes now, and he was still there—about twenty feet behind her. He was dressed in tan corduroys, a flannel shirt, and a light jacket—and he was jogging. He wasn’t even wearing running shoes. From this distance, they looked like loafers, for God’s sake.

A paralegal in a law office downtown, Hannah had been varying her after-work running course from day to day, and it had paid off. She’d gone from a size 10 to size 6. Divorced and thirty-eight years old, Hannah had convinced herself forty wouldn’t be fatal. She’d recently made the transition from medium-brown brunette to Sassy Ginger (at least, that was the name on the Clairol box) and joined an online dating service, www.lifeconnexxions.com. So far, the guys she’d met had been drips, but Hannah wasn’t giving up. Though she hadn’t been in the mood to run tonight, she’d still donned her sweats and taken the Volunteer Park route. Just her luck, her persistence was paying off in the guise of some weirdo following her around the park’s paved trail.

Hannah continued to jog in place and watched the bizarre man coming closer and closer. She studied his brown crew cut and the determined expression on his pockmarked face. He passed by her without even a glance her way. He was muttering to himself in an odd, singsong monologue. Hannah couldn’t make out the words. She watched him retreat down the darkened pathway past the greenhouse—until he disappeared in the shadows.