You are my woman.

Today. Tomorrow. Endlessly.

I will come for you.

Jenna's heart nearly stopped. Ice congealed in her veins. "Oh, G.o.d," she whispered and dropped the letter as if it burned her. Coffee from her cup sloshed onto the table, splashing over the sheet and envelope. Who had sent this to her? Why? Heart hammering, she glanced around the room, as if whoever had mailed the poem might appear.

Critter climbed to his feet and whined.

"It's-it's all right," she said, though she could barely breathe. Someone knew her mailing address, realized she lived here. When she'd moved from L.A., she'd tried to start over, had asked that all of her fan mail be sent to her agent's address...Her post office box here was supposed to be private.

It's a small town.

The general public does know you live here.

You know this comes with the territory.

Relax.

But she couldn't stop her pulse from racing. She'd received mail from obsessed fans before, but those incidents had been years ago. It was while she was married, when she'd lived in Southern California and was still making movies, still part of the industry, still a name that would come up time and again in the gossip columns. In the past year and a half, most of her mail had been screened and filtered by Monty Fenderson of the Fenderson Agency. She fought the absurd impulse to call him, to rant and rave, to scream that her privacy had been invaded.

Which was ludicrous.

The public knew that she lived in a small Oregon town. That was to be expected.

So a piece of mail from a sicko slipped through. So what?

Her nerves were just shot from the storm, all the talk of the murdered woman, her fights with her daughters...what she needed to do was calm down. Finish her drink. Take that bath.... Nonetheless, she walked around the house and though it was far from town, flanked by towering trees and the river, fenced off from the world, she walked from room to room and shut the blinds. A shiver slid down her spine as she read the last line again.

I will come for you.

Without a second thought, she walked to the wall where the alarm system was housed and pressed the code. A second later a tiny green light switched to red. It was a basic system, one that had been installed, the realtor had told her, long after the house was built, and was only wired to the doors. A buzzer went off when the system was engaged and a door opened; two minutes later, if the alarm hadn't been deactivated, a siren began to shriek. But she wasn't contracted with a security firm that notified the sheriff's department if the alarm went off. Yet. She'd take care of that tomorrow morning.

Meanwhile she sat near the fire and warmed her hands. She had a crippled old dog and a shotgun with no ammunition for protection.

Don't freak out. It's just an anonymous letter...no big deal.

But it was mailed from Portland, less than an hour away.

From her.

From her children.

Inwardly, she turned ice cold.

I will come for you.

She took in a deep breath. Try it, she thought, anger overcoming fear. Tomorrow she'd not only sign up with the security company, she'd go to the outdoor store for some shotgun sh.e.l.ls.

"Come on, Ca.s.s...it'll be fun," Josh insisted. "And besides, there's no school tomorrow. Meet me in an hour at the usual spot."

"If I get caught I'll be so dead." Ca.s.sie was burrowed deep in her bed, covers over her head, her cell phone against her ear. He wanted her to sneak out. Again. So soon after being caught. No...she couldn't risk it.

"So what? Can she ground you any more?"

"She can make my life pretty d.a.m.ned miserable," Ca.s.sie said and winced slightly. It was true her mom was bugging the h.e.l.l out of her, always prying, always laying down rules, always treating her like a kid, but deep down, Ca.s.sie knew, Jenna was playing the part of disciplinarian because she thought it was the best thing for her daughters. Which was, of course, way wrong.

"You won't get caught. By the time you leave, it'll be after one. She'll be asleep. Guaranteed. Dead to the world."

Ca.s.sie hesitated, biting her lip before finally deciding. "I can't. Really."

"Oh, quit being a wuss. Lots of kids are going out tonight."

"Their parents let them."

"No, Ca.s.s. They just don't let their parents boss them around, like you do. They're not scared of their parents."

"I'm not scared of my mom."

"Sure you are."

"No way."

"Then why don't you ask her to let you go out?"

"She'd say 'no.' I'm supposed to be grounded. Remember?" Sometimes he could be so dense!

"So how can she stop you?"

"For one thing, she turned on the security system tonight. I saw her from the landing of the stairs. She's probably doing it just to keep me inside."

"So turn it off. You know the code, don't you?"

"Then the house would be unprotected."

"So what?" he said with a laugh.

"Look, I just don't want the ha.s.sle."

"Because, like I said, you're afraid of your mom. You've given her that power over you. This really isn't her problem. It's yours."

"Fine. But it's not yours!" She snapped her cell phone shut and turned it off so that if Josh decided to call her again, she wouldn't hear it. Sometimes he was so pushy. But his words taunted her. You're afraid of your mom. You've given her that power over you. This isn't her problem. It's yours. So he thought she was weak. No, she wouldn't buy into that. He was just trying to find a way to get her to do what he wanted. He was the one who was trying to exert his power over Ca.s.sie. Not her mother. She pushed herself from beneath the covers and clicked her remote so that her television came to life. It was too late for most shows, but there was a movie she could watch, one she'd missed because she'd been in the middle of the move from California at the time. Boy, had that been a mistake.

From the next bedroom, she heard laughter. Allie and her friend were really stoked about not going to school. They'd spent some time outdoors trying to build a snow fort. It had been too cold for that, so they'd gone to the stables, which were heated, to check on the horses, all of which were surviving just fine, and then they'd come inside for hot cocoa and popcorn and...Ca.s.sie let out a quiet little sob. Sometimes she felt so alone. Even Allie had a good friend. Jenna had the people at the local theater, even though some of them were beyond strange, but Ca.s.sie felt as if she hadn't really connected with anyone since she'd moved up here.

Just Josh.

And he was suspect, his motives for being with her murky.

But he's all you've got.

She considered calling her old friends in L.A. and Santa Monica, but it was late and she'd just feel worse. Besides, the last few times she'd talked to Paige, it had been awkward. Paige hadn't really said anything, but she'd been quick to let Ca.s.sie know she was busy and was obviously eager to get off the phone. And Ca.s.sie didn't really blame her. She would have been the same way if the situation had been reversed.

Tears threatened her eyes. The movie didn't hold her attention. She flipped the channel and saw her mother. "d.a.m.n!" There Jenna Hughes was, not even as old as Ca.s.sie was now, playing the part of a teenaged prost.i.tute in Innocence Lost. Angrily, Ca.s.sie hit the Power b.u.t.ton on the remote and the image faded. There seemed no way to get away from her mother. Even in the solace of her room. She felt a tear drizzle from the corner of her eye and she swiped it away angrily. What was wrong with her? She glanced at the clock. It was almost one...and the house had become quiet. She stole into the hallway and peered into Allie's room. Both girls were conked out on the floor on a couple of air mattresses and sleeping bags. She eased to the stairs and looked down to the landing and Jenna's room. The door was closed, no sliver of light at the threshold.

Everyone was asleep.

Back in her room, she reached for her cell phone and flipped it on.

A new text message read: I luv you.

Her tears started in earnest. Josh was the only person in this G.o.dforsaken town who even had an inkling about who she was, the only one who cared. Swallowing back more tears, she quickly typed a reply: I'll be at the gate in 20 min. Luv U 2.

"I'm sooo outta here," Sonja announced, whipping off her ap.r.o.n and tossing it into the hamper in the back room as country-western music pulsed through the speakers.

Lou, the cook, grunted his approval as he sc.r.a.ped off the grill. The only other person in the back area of the diner was the busboy, a useless, lazy kid who was perennially petulant and usually high on some unknown substance. He was wearing earphones, listening to G.o.d-knew-what, making his usual statement against his Uncle Lou's choice in music. Now, he managed to look up and sent Sonja a "so what?" glance as he swabbed a mop inefficiently over the tile floor.

Tonight she didn't care. She just wanted to get home to her husband and three kids. The last customer had left fifteen minutes earlier, and Sonja had wanted to pry him off his bar stool and physically toss him out the door. Who in his right mind would be out on a night like this?

Only the regulars at Lou's, she decided, not for the first time, and made a mental note to find herself a better job.

She bundled into a ski jacket, wool hat, and gloves, then grabbed her beat-up backpack.

"I'll see ya tomorrow, if the roads are pa.s.sable," she said, and elicited another grunt from Lou the Silent. Which was probably better than Lou the Chatterbox, or Lou the Know-It-All. Or Lou the Lech, she thought, as she fished through her purse, found her keys, then braced herself against the cold as she walked outside. "A d.a.m.ned Ice Age, that's what it is," she muttered.

The wind hit hard, slapped at her bare cheeks, and brought with it snow filled with hard little ice crystals.

To think she'd let Lester Hatch.e.l.l convince her to move from Palm Desert to come up here. Palm-friggin'-Desert, where tonight it was probably seventy degrees-make that seventy degrees above zero. Unlike here on the sh.o.r.es of the Columbia Gorge. Beautiful? Yes. Even in winter. Livable? h.e.l.l, no! At least not in the middle of winter. Lord, please, give me palm trees, hot sand, and a pia colada any day of the week. Make that a bucket of pia coladas! It beats the h.e.l.l out of pine trees, drifting snow, and hot-d.a.m.ned-toddies. Winter wonderland, my a.s.s!

The subfreezing wind cut through her heavy coat, and even the Christmas lights glimmering on the eaves of the diner looked weak and pathetic. Why had she ever let Lester sweet-talk her into moving to this G.o.d-awful, freeze-your-b.u.t.t-off spot? Why?

G.o.d, what a night!

She trudged across the parking lot to her little hatchback, a four-wheel-drive Honda encrusted in ice. Even the lock that she thought she'd covered carefully with an insulated piece of cardboard was frozen solid.

Fortunately, she had one of those battery-operated keys that heated the locks when inserted; she forced her key into the lock and smiled to herself less than a minute later when the door opened. She was glad to be going home to Lester's incessant snoring and the kids sleeping all w.i.l.l.y-nilly in their bunk beds. She'd had a bad feeling about this night from the beginning, that something wasn't right. The intensity of this cold front seemed unnatural, and the conversations she'd overheard in the diner over the past couple of days were all laced with talk that this particular winter would be the coldest in over a hundred years.

Great! Just what we need, she thought. The local kids were already out of their minds at the prospect of no school for days. Her boy, Cliff, had been bouncing off the walls when she'd left for her shift around five.

With the cold slicing through her coat, she slid inside her little car and closed the door, then shoved the key into the ignition and flicked her wrist.

Nothing happened.

"No," she whispered, trying again. "Don't do this to me."

Nothing. Not even a click.

She pumped the gas and felt a niggle of fear. That same dark premonition she'd had earlier.

Which was just plain silly.

"Come on, come on." Again she tried, and again. She couldn't see out of the snow-covered windshield, couldn't imagine how long she'd have to wait for a tow truck. She could call Lester, but he'd have to leave the kids alone or bundle up eight-year-old Cliff to come and get her...maybe Lou would give her a ride. She tried one more time and finally gave up. It was no use. The car was dead.

Perfect, she thought sarcastically as she threw open the door and stepped outside.

Then she saw him.

Striding purposefully up to her.

She felt a second's fear before she recognized his build and the way he walked. A regular at the diner. As he neared, even in the dim light she noticed the blue of his eyes beneath his ski cap and caught his smile. A familiar face! One of the regulars. Someone she could trust in this isolated lot. "Hey!" she said, climbing from the interior. "Thank G.o.d you're here."

"Got a problem?"

So he wasn't Sherlock Holmes. But he'd do. He'd have to.

"Yeah. My car won't start. Deader'n a doornail."

"Why don't you let me try?"

As if she was too stupid or clumsy or feminine to know how to turn on her own car. Men! But she pasted a smile onto her face as she stepped into the crunchy, ankle-deep snow again. "Be my guest," she invited, sweeping her hand wide toward the open door as the force of the storm took her breath away. "If you can get it started, I'll see that Lou gives you the ten-percent-good-guy discount for the rest of your life."

"That won't be necessary," he said, leaning close to her and placing something hard against her jacket. Before she could say a word, a white-hot blast jolted through her body. Pain shot through her system. Panic exploded in her brain. She tried to scream, but his gloved hand was over her mouth. She smelled something sickeningly sweet and cloying and she coughed, unable to breathe...What was he doing? And why? Oh G.o.d, she thought crazily, he's going to rape me...or worse...No, oh G.o.d, no, she silently screamed, trying to kick and fight, though her limbs wouldn't react, her legs and arms disjointed and weak. No! No! No!

But she couldn't fend him off. Couldn't scream. Muscles, hard as steel, wrapped around her and she sagged against him, flailing uselessly. Her body seemed to be melting and was unresponsive. Fear cut through her and she thought disjointedly of her children. This couldn't be happening. Couldn't!

"Don't fight it, Faye. There's nothing you can do," he whispered.

Faye? I'm not Faye! He's got the wrong woman...oh, please. She tried to tell him that he was making a horrible mistake, but the rag over her nose and mouth made her woozy, her tongue wouldn't work, the words forming in her throat came out as mewling pleas. I'm not Faye! Don't you understand? Please look at me! I'M NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM!

Her head lolled back. She tried to focus on him, to will him to read her mind, but it was too late. Through the pelting beads of ice and snow, the world spun eerily. Huge, looming, ice-covered eighteen-wheelers, tall street lamps, and the Christmas lights strung on the eaves of the diner blended and blurred in her vision. Her weak, impotent thrashing stopped and her legs finally gave out completely. Blackness pulled at the edges of her vision, taking her under.

As she let go of consciousness, Sonja Hatch.e.l.l knew she was doomed.