Xo

on either side.
    Maybe she should get Kayleigh a present, thanking her. She—
    The flat happened so fast she couldn’t respond before the car was careening along the shoulder. Sheri gave a faint scream and struggled to control the heavy vehicle, swerving perilously close to the trees, streaking by at seventy miles an hour.
    But Sheri Marshal Towne had grown up in the Midwest and started driving at fourteen. Snow and powerful engines conspired to teach her how to handle skids. She now steered into the swerve, easing off the gas but never touching the brake.
    Slower, slower … the car fishtailed, went straight, fishtailed some more, spewing gravel and leaves and twigs from the tires. But she managed to keep it from flying over the thirty-foot cliff to the right or slamming into the row of pines close by the opposite side.
    Fifty miles an hour, forty …
    In the end, though, the ground was too slippery—gravel and pebbles on hardpack—and she couldn’t quite prevent the crash as the big Merc slid off the road toward the trees, wedging itself into a ditch, and shuddered to a stop.
    Her hands sweaty, her heart thudding, Sheri rested her head against the steering wheel.
    “Lord, Lord, Lord,” she whispered, thankful she’d been to church that Sunday.
    God had looked out for her.
    She was thinking about Him when there was a loud crack and the windshield spiderwebbed; fragments of glass hit her in the head.
    She blinked, more startled than hurt, and touched the small wound.
    How would a rock—
    Then again, a crack and flying glass—and this time she heard a loud bang outside.
    Oh, God, no … Somebody was shooting at her! These were bullets !
    She saw motion from the shadows between a tall stand of trees. Another flash. And the car resounded with a ringing thud. He’d missed the windshield this time.
    Hunters?
    Or was it that crazy man obsessed with Kayleigh?
    Sheri popped the seat belt and slithered down to the floor as best she could, searching for her phone. Where, where, where?
    One more shot. This wasn’t aimed for the windows either, but, like the other, for the rear of the car. A resonating bang as it hit.
    Why would somebody shoot there? Sheri wondered manically.
    And then realized: Shit. He was aiming for the gas tank! The stalker, Edwin Sharp—it had to be him! Why was he doing this? She hadn’t done anything!
    She tried to roll down the side window of the passenger seat but the power was off. And the doors were wedged closed by the ditch.
    Then the sweet, rich smell of gasoline grew thicker, reminding her ofspending hot hours at the wannabe NASCAR track where her first husband raced every Saturday.
    And as she sobbed, kicking futilely at the windshield, another thought occurred to her: the email about the luncheon hadn’t been from Kayleigh after all. It was Edwin Sharp who’d created an email address with Kayleigh’s name in it and sent the message to Sheri through the girl’s website, to lure her here.
    Kayleigh hadn’t wanted her at the luncheon after all.

 
     

Chapter 34
    KATHRYN DANCE HAD left the sheriff’s office fifteen minutes earlier.
    After word that “Your Shadow” had been played at the football stadium during practice, the task force had split into three groups: one was trying to intercept Sam Gerber. Others were at the luncheon at the country club in northern Fresno, thinking that Edwin might try to find Gerber or maybe another victim there. And yet others were trying to find Edwin and his car, coordinating with Highway Patrol. Harutyun had also alerted medical teams that there might be an assault in progress. A burns center had been put on notice too; fire seemed to be one of the perp’s preferred weapons—inspired, perhaps, by Kayleigh herself.
    Love is fire, love is flame
    It warms your heart, it lights the way.
    It burns forever just like the sun.
    It welds two souls and makes them one.
    Love is fire, love is flame.
     
    Kathryn Dance was en route to the luncheon too; she didn’t know the roads in the area so it would have made little sense for her to participate in the manhunt. She thought it was best simply to be the point person at the country club and to reassure Kayleigh with her presence.
    But as she piloted the SUV quickly through traffic, a thought occurred.
    This happened sometimes, a little tapping, a hiccup in her mind, something she just couldn’t explain. A jump from Thought A to Thought B to … Thought Z. (Michael O’Neil had recently described it