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 of spending 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 as her brain doing “one of its little dances.”)
No, no, this isn’t right. Edwin would be aware of the logistical difficulties of targeting a victim at the luncheon. But the event would provide a good distraction and draw off the police. And was Sam Gerber really a likely target? No. Edwin wouldn’t go after somebody he’d commented on in a posting. It was too obvious. Besides, why kill Gerber, one of fifty thousand harmless fans? He didn’t fit the profile of a stalker’s victim.
The crew was safe. Alicia was among people.
So who else might the target be?
Dance asked herself again the basic question: If Edwin was the stalker, what was his goal? Killing someone who threatened to keep them apart, whom Edwin was jealous of, who was perceived as Kayleigh’s enemy or whose death would bind them together forever.
Dance had recalled the gossip pages in the underground websites O’Neil had found, involving sensational stories reported by fans. A hot topic—since there weren’t many of them—was the tension between Kayleigh and her stepmother. There was even an embarrassing mobile phone video about a recent argument in Bakersfield.
This wasn’t a full-blown feud; Kayleigh seemed incapable of either the pettiness or the mean spirit that would involve. And from what Dance read, Sheri Towne seemed like a decent woman, solid, loyal to her new husband and even helpful in Kayleigh’s career. But Sheri was the most recent in a long line of stepmothers and she and Kayleigh never seemed to get along. The young woman hadn’t even invited Sheri to the luncheon she herself had helped with.
Thought Z …
Dance now called Bishop Towne and identified herself.
“Sure, Officer Dance,” the man grumbled. “What’s going on with that asshole? Heard he’s played another song.”
“Where’s your wife?”
“Gone off to that luncheon thing. Kayleigh invited her, after all.”
An alarm pinged within Dance, though she’d half expected that answer.
“When did she leave?”
“’Bout twenty minutes ago.”
“Did Kayleigh call her?”
“No, she emailed. Wanted her to bring some CDs to the lunch. Giveaways. Also said it’d be better if her sister and Mary-Gordon didn’t come ’cause that asshole Sharp.”
“So she’s alone?”
“Right.”
“Bishop, I think Sheri might be in danger. Edwin might’ve sent that email.”
“No!”
“Maybe. Which way would she go?”
“Oh, no, no …”
“Which way?”
“From the house, have to be Los Banos Road to Forty-one. You’ve got to do something! Please! Don’t let anything happen to her.”
It was unnerving to hear the gruff man sounding so desperate, so vulnerable.
“Give me her number.”
Dance memorized it. Then told him, “I’ll call you when I know something. What’s she driving?”