cleaning crew. It would take time. Something Erin understood all too well.
Once she turned onto the jogging path, she picked up her pace. Usually, she shared the trail with other joggers and walkers. At this time of the morning, however, she was alone with the silence. And her thoughts.
She knew she should let the whole question of the ice-cream vendor, with his repertoire of tricks, go. No one she knew would understand why she had to pursue this after so many years, why she had to find the man who’d ruined her sister’s life and scarred the rest of her family. Especially since everyone familiar with Claire’s case believed the man who’d kidnapped her was serving time in a California prison.
Her mother would have called Erin obsessed. But Elizabeth Baker had had her own obsessions, and she’d found her solace in vodka and cigarettes. Marta would accuse Erin of trying to relieve guilt she hadn’t earned, but Marta hadn’t been in the park the day Claire disappeared. Only Erin had been there. And so she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen the Magic Man today.
She had to find her own comfort, her own redemption.
As long as there was a possibility the man she’d seen had had something to do with Claire’s kidnapping, Erin had to look into it. She’d find out who he was and what he’d been doing in the park yesterday, and in Miami, nineteen years ago. And if she found out he was the one who’d taken her sister, Erin would make him pay and make sure he never hurt another child, or family, again.
On Monday, she’d cancel classes and go into her D.C. office in one of the Company’s many anonymous buildings. There, she had access to a computer network unavailable to her at Georgetown. She would research Kauffman and Beckwith and access the old case files on Claire’s abduction. And she’d find the man with the magic hands.
She’d be skating on thin ice using the Company’s resources for a personal investigation. If anyone noticed, she’d be reprimanded at the very least, or asked to resign. She could live with either, if it meant putting the nightmare of her sister’s kidnapping behind her.
Suddenly, she sensed something.
A sudden chill in the air that set the fine hairs at the back of her neck on end. Then she heard it.
Footfalls. Quick and steady behind her.
She kept going, her mind instantly clear. Focused. Her muscles tight and braced for attack. Her breathing deep and steady. Listening. Another minute. Two. With no sense of the gap closing behind her.
Another runner?
Of course. She was being paranoid. She was seldom alone on this path. She’d let the early hour spook her. Stopping abruptly, she spun around, ready to challenge whoever trailed her. Just as a tall shadow darted into the woods, the bushes trembling in his wake.
Another chill swept through her.
Watching her. Not another jogger, but someone following her. Not necessarily dangerous, though. It could be anyone. A homeless person, finding shelter in the woods. A mugger thinking he’d found an easy mark. Or something, some
one
more.
She waited, reminding herself she was far from defenseless. She’d faced down dangerous adversaries before, and not just in the demo ring at Langley. She could handle herself. Yet she kept seeing hands, fluid, competent hands that could kill as easily as they pulled a coin from a child’s ear.
Nothing.
No more sound. No movement. He was still there, though, just out of sight, hidden by the dense undergrowth. She could feel his eyes on her, heavy and menacing, and for the first time in her life, she understood the sensation of skin crawling. She considered calling out, confronting him. Taking the offensive.
At least he’d no longer be behind her.
“Are you afraid to face me?” She put all the bravado she could muster into her voice, all the arrogance she’d learned from five years around men with elevated testosterone levels. “Is that why you hide in the bushes?”
No
Once she turned onto the jogging path, she picked up her pace. Usually, she shared the trail with other joggers and walkers. At this time of the morning, however, she was alone with the silence. And her thoughts.
She knew she should let the whole question of the ice-cream vendor, with his repertoire of tricks, go. No one she knew would understand why she had to pursue this after so many years, why she had to find the man who’d ruined her sister’s life and scarred the rest of her family. Especially since everyone familiar with Claire’s case believed the man who’d kidnapped her was serving time in a California prison.
Her mother would have called Erin obsessed. But Elizabeth Baker had had her own obsessions, and she’d found her solace in vodka and cigarettes. Marta would accuse Erin of trying to relieve guilt she hadn’t earned, but Marta hadn’t been in the park the day Claire disappeared. Only Erin had been there. And so she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen the Magic Man today.
She had to find her own comfort, her own redemption.
As long as there was a possibility the man she’d seen had had something to do with Claire’s kidnapping, Erin had to look into it. She’d find out who he was and what he’d been doing in the park yesterday, and in Miami, nineteen years ago. And if she found out he was the one who’d taken her sister, Erin would make him pay and make sure he never hurt another child, or family, again.
On Monday, she’d cancel classes and go into her D.C. office in one of the Company’s many anonymous buildings. There, she had access to a computer network unavailable to her at Georgetown. She would research Kauffman and Beckwith and access the old case files on Claire’s abduction. And she’d find the man with the magic hands.
She’d be skating on thin ice using the Company’s resources for a personal investigation. If anyone noticed, she’d be reprimanded at the very least, or asked to resign. She could live with either, if it meant putting the nightmare of her sister’s kidnapping behind her.
Suddenly, she sensed something.
A sudden chill in the air that set the fine hairs at the back of her neck on end. Then she heard it.
Footfalls. Quick and steady behind her.
She kept going, her mind instantly clear. Focused. Her muscles tight and braced for attack. Her breathing deep and steady. Listening. Another minute. Two. With no sense of the gap closing behind her.
Another runner?
Of course. She was being paranoid. She was seldom alone on this path. She’d let the early hour spook her. Stopping abruptly, she spun around, ready to challenge whoever trailed her. Just as a tall shadow darted into the woods, the bushes trembling in his wake.
Another chill swept through her.
Watching her. Not another jogger, but someone following her. Not necessarily dangerous, though. It could be anyone. A homeless person, finding shelter in the woods. A mugger thinking he’d found an easy mark. Or something, some
one
more.
She waited, reminding herself she was far from defenseless. She’d faced down dangerous adversaries before, and not just in the demo ring at Langley. She could handle herself. Yet she kept seeing hands, fluid, competent hands that could kill as easily as they pulled a coin from a child’s ear.
Nothing.
No more sound. No movement. He was still there, though, just out of sight, hidden by the dense undergrowth. She could feel his eyes on her, heavy and menacing, and for the first time in her life, she understood the sensation of skin crawling. She considered calling out, confronting him. Taking the offensive.
At least he’d no longer be behind her.
“Are you afraid to face me?” She put all the bravado she could muster into her voice, all the arrogance she’d learned from five years around men with elevated testosterone levels. “Is that why you hide in the bushes?”
No
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