Sanctuary

was too weak, too tired to do more than belly along the ground.
    She’d lost all sense of direction, and was afraid she would end up crawling blindly into the river to drown. But she wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as long as there was a chance of reaching home.
    And if she was lost, he might be lost as well. Another tree crashed somewhere behind her, falling with a force that shook the ground. She thought she heard someone call her name, but the wind ripped the sound away. He would call her, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. He would call her hoping she’d give herself away so that he could kill her as he had the others. As his father had killed her mother.
    She was nearly tired enough to let him. But she wanted him dead more.
    For her mother, she thought, pulling herself along another foot. For Ginny, for Susan Peters. She gritted her teeth and dragged herself. And for Nathan.
    She saw the light, just the narrow beam of it, and curled herself into a ball behind a tree. But the light held steady, didn’t waver as a flashlight or a lantern held in the hand of a man would.
    Sanctuary, she realized, pressing her muddy hands to her mouth to hold back a sob. That narrow beam of light, from the parlor, breaking through the broken window. Gathering her strength, she forced herself to her feet. She had to brace a hand on the tree until her head stopped spinning. But she concentrated on the light and put one foot in front of the other.
    When she reached the edge of the trees, she began to run.
    “I knew you’d come back.” Kyle stepped into her path, pressed the barrel of the gun against her throat. “I’ve been studying you long enough to know how you think.”
    She couldn’t stop the tears this time. “Why are you doing this? Isn’t what your father did enough?”
    “He never thought I was good enough, you know. Not as good as him, certainly not as good as Golden Boy. All I needed was the right inspiration.” He smiled as rain streamed down his face and his hair blew madly. “We’re going to have to clean you up quite a bit. No problem. I’ve got plenty of supplies back at the campground. Men’s showers, remember?”
    “Yes, I remember.”
    “I love practical jokes. I’ve been playing them on Nathan all our lives. He never knew. Oh, did Mister Kitty-Cat run away? No, indeed, Mr. Kitty took a little dip in the river. Inside a plastic bag. Why, Nathan, how could you be so careless as to cover all the holes in the lightning bug jar with your classic boy’s novel?” With a laugh, Kyle shook his head. “I used to drive him crazy doing stuff like that—making him wonder how the hell it had happened.”
    He gestured with the gun. “Jeep’s at the base of the road. What’s left of the road. We’ll have to walk that far.”
    “You hated him.”
    “Oh, definitely.” He gave her a playful nudge to get her going. “My father always favored him. But then, my father wasn’t the man we always thought he was. That was a real eye-opener. David Delaney’s little secret. He was good, but I’m better. And you’re my masterpiece, Jo Ellen, the way Annabelle was his. They’ll blame Nathan for it, too. That’s so wonderfully satisfying. If he survives, they’ll lock him away.”
    She stumbled, righted herself. “He’s alive?”
    “It’s possible. He’ll start screaming about his dead brother. Then sooner or later, they’ll look in his cottage. I took the time to drop some photographs off there. All the angles. Too bad I won’t be able to slip one of yours in with them.”
    He could be alive , she thought. And she was going to fight to stay alive. Turning, she pushed her sopping hair back. She’d been right, she realized, the sharpest edge of the storm was dulling. She could stand up to it. And to him.
    “The trouble is, Kyle, your father was a first-rate photographer. His style was, perhaps, a bit conservative and in some cases pedestrian. But you’re third-rate at best. Your composition is poor, your discipline spotty. You have no knack for lighting whatsoever.”
    When his hand swung out, she was ready. She ducked under it and, leading with her head, rammed his body. His feet slid out from under him, sent him skidding down on his knees. She grabbed his wrist, inching her hand up toward the gun, but he swept an arm under her legs and took her down.
    “You bitch. Do you think I’m going to take your insults? Do you think I’m going to let you spoil this after all the trouble I’ve