Pulling on the matching robe, she walked into the living room, pausing once again at the door to listen. She was just about to give up and head off to bed when the sound came again. Something faint. Something out of place.

Whistling, she thought. Someone was outside her cottage whistling.

George, no doubt, making his nightly rounds.

Elizabeth expelled a long breath of relief, and even considered opening the door to call out to the guard when she thought better of it. Instead, she crossed to the window and pulled back the drapes to stare out.

She saw nothing at first. Ground mist glowed with a strange yellowish tint beneath the security lights and obscured much of the scenery. But across from her house, something moved on the tiny green. A shadow...

Elizabeth peered through the darkness. Not a shadow, she thought. Something was hanging from a tree branch, swaying in a slight breeze. A bodya"

Her heart slammed against her chest as her hand flew to her mouth.

Her first instinct was to rush out and see if she could help, but then she remembered the whistle, realized the killer could still be near. He might have made the noise deliberately to draw her outside.

The phone!

She whirled, lunging toward her desk, but before she was halfway across the room, she heard another sound.

This time not a whistle.

This time closer.

This time in her house.

She wasn't alone, she realized with a dreadful certainty that threatened her knees. That made a scream rise up in her throat. Her instincts took over then, and she spun, rushing toward the front door, throwing it open and plunging into the night.

She ran heedlessly. Blindly. Not knowing at first where she was going, just away from her house. Away from the killer.

When she saw her car materialize in the parking lot in front of her, she realized there had been a method to her madness. But her keys were in her purse, and her purse was on her desk, next to the phone....

The sound of footsteps on the cobblestone walkway brought her sharply around. The mist swirled and writhed. Someone was coming. The killera"

Her pulse thundering in her ears. Elizabeth turned again and headed for the gates. George would be in the guardhouse, and he had a telephone. He also had a weapon. They could lock themselves in until the police arrived.

She was gasping for breath by this time. The terror had winded her. but Elizabeth knew she had to keep going. The bedroom slippers impeded her speed, but she didn't dare take the time to kick them off. She ran. She ran until she thought her lungs would burst and her legs would collapse beneath her. When she saw the guardhouse ahead of her, she let out a sob of relief.

She couldn't see George, but he had to be inside. He had to be! She pounded on the gla.s.s. "Please!" she cried frantically. "Open up!"

But it was no use. It was after eleven, and George would be out making his rounds. The telephone was locked tightly inside the guardhouse, as was the control to activate the gates. Without access to the guardhouse or to the remote control she kept in her car, Elizabeth was trapped inside the campus. The gates were at least twelve feet high, the stone wall eight. No way she could scale ita"

The southwest corner! Where tree branches dipped low over the wall. Where Kat had taught her how to sneak in and out after curfew.

Elizabeth ran through the darkness, wondering frantically if there was anyone at all left on campus except her and the killer. Would it do any good to scream? Even if someone was around, they might not hear her. Or they might not find her in time. All she might end up doing was alerting the killer to her whereabouts.

The tree branches were higher than she remembered, and Elizabeth's heart sank in despair. She didn't know if she could reach them. Before, she'd had Kat to give her a hand up or a boost from the ground. Now she had no one.

Come on! She could almost hear Kat coaxing her. You can do this! Now, get your b.u.t.t up here. Jump!

She missed completely the first time. The second time, her fingertips brushed against the bark. The third time, she managed to grab hold of the branch, clinging with all her might while her feet swung wildly and she grunted from the effort.

Steeling her resolve, she dug in. using the adrenaline rush of her fear to give her the strength to swing her body up. to wrap her legs around the branch, to crawl along the limb until she reached the wall. Up and over, and then drop to the ground below.

She landed on her backside, but Elizabeth didn't take time to worry about injuries. She was up and running through the trees to the road. From there, it was still a mile to the police station, but surely a car would come along before that. Or she would find a telephone.

Through the hushed mist came the unmistakable sound of metal sc.r.a.ping against metal. The front gates were opening, and then, a second later, she heard the roar of a car engine as it thundered through. Elizabeth prayed that the killer would guess wrong and head north, away from her location. But she could hear the sound of the engine getting stronger by the second. Gaining on her.

The killer was coming for her. Somehow, he'd known where she would be.

She had to get off the road.

Glancing around to get her bearings. Elizabeth hurried across the pavement and struck out through the woods. She knew Leland Manning's house and laboratory were around there somewhere, but his property was surrounded by an electronic fence. There would be no getting inside unless she could make it to the front gate and press the intercom b.u.t.ton, pray that someone was home.

But did she really want to do that? What if Manning was the killer?

In the mist and darkness, it was difficult to keep a sense of direction, but Elizabeth tried her best to skirt Manning's property. When she finally came out on another road, she realized finally where she was. If Leland Manning's property was behind her, St. John's Cemetery was just ahead, on the opposite side of the road. If she headed straight through the graveyard, she would come out near Old Mountain Road, which would put miles between her and Heathrow, and hopefully the killer. It would also bring her near the Bluffs, but Elizabeth wasn't at all certain she wanted to seek refuge with David Bryson any more than she did with Leland Manning.

Hearing the low rumble of a car engine fired her into action. She ran across the road, searching for the gates that would open into the cemetery. Whether David Bryson was the killer or not. she couldn't waste time worrying. She had to get to a phone.

Spotting the gates, she rushed toward them. The metal opened with a screech, and Elizabeth hurried through.

She hadn't been in St. John's Cemetery since the night of the sorority initiation. Now, huddling just inside the walls, she gazed around in mounting agitation. The cemetery had been eerie and menacing in the storm, but the mist was even creepier. It swirled and slid among the headstones, draped the mausoleums in a filmy shroud until only the tops could be seen.

Elizabeth hurried along, trying not to step on graves, hoping not to disturb the dead. Cullen had said he didn't believe in ghosts, and she wanted to take comfort in his certainty. But the trouble was, she did believe in the supernatural. She did believe in spirits.

From somewhere behind her, the gates clanged softly. Elizabeth knew instinctively the killer had entered the cemetery, and her situation suddenly seemed hopeless. She'd been running all this time while he'd been behind the wheel of a car. She was exhausted from the hunt; he would be fresh, exhilarated. There was no way she could outrun him. The best thing to do was find a hiding place, pray that her nightgown and robe would blend with the mist.

She crouched behind a headstone, pressing herself against the cool surface as she listened to the night. She could hear him coming. He was breathing heavily, but not from exertion. From excitement. From antic.i.p.ation. From the thrill of the hunt.

Or was the sound her imagination? A figment of her fear?

She didn't dare glance around the headstone. She knelt there for long, excruciating moments until finally she heard the gates screech again. He had left the way he'd come in. Or at least, he wanted her to think he had.

Elizabeth didn't know what to do. She couldn't hide there forever. If he was still in the cemetery, searching for her. he would find her eventually. She had to get out.

Standing on shaky legs, she glanced around. She hadn't noticed before, but she was only a few feet from the mausoleum where Claire had been abducted. Elizabeth recognized the broken cross on top. That meant that McFarland Leary's grave was around here somewhere.

She stared in the direction she thought his headstone should be. The mist over his grave swirled. Contorted. Reshaped itself intoa"she would have sworna"a human form.

A scream bubbled up inside her. and Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth to snuff the sound. She whirled, running recklessly through the foggy night, not knowing where she was headed or where she would end up. but miraculously, the second set of gates opened up before her. The hinges screamed in protest when she pushed them open, and then she raced through, running in terror as if the devil himself were pursuing her. And for all she knew he was.

Her first indication of yet a new danger was her feet hitting pavement. She was on a road. Elizabeth paused, looked up. and saw headlights plowing through the fog toward her.

He'd found her! The killer had found her!

Momentarily paralyzed with fear, she watched the lights rushing toward her. The sound of the car engine was a death roar in her ears.

At the last moment, when she could feel the motor's heat, Elizabeth found her senses and dove for the side of the road.

The car squealed to a stop, a door slammed and footsteps hurried across the pavement.

Elizabeth tried to run, but her legs would no longer carry her. She huddled in the mist as the killer strode toward her.

Chapter Thirteen.

"Elizabeth!"

She was so scared and so stunned that for a moment, her brain couldn't a.s.similate the sound of her name being called bya"not the killera"someone she trusted with her life.

Then, when she saw him hurrying toward her through the fog, she launched herself at him. "Cullen!"

He caught her by the arms and then, feeling her tremble, pulled her against him. holding her close. "Elizabeth? What's wrong? What's happened? What are you doing out here at this time of night?"

She was still shaking so badly she could hardly speak. She buried her face in his shoulder, drinking in the scent of him. the comfort of him. "He's...out there. In the cemetery."

He stiffened. "Who's out there?"

"The killer."

He pushed her gently away then, holding her at arms* length as he bent and peered into her face. "Elizabeth. What are you saying?"

"The killer is in the cemetery. Or he was. There's another body...I saw her...."

Cullen's grip on her tightened. "Where?"

"At Heathrow. In the green by my house. She's...hanging from a tree branch."

"Come on." He hurried her over to his car and helped her inside, then he ran around and got behind the wheel. Pulling the car to the side of the road, he turned to face her. "Tell me what happened. Everything." Noticing that she was still shivering, he turned on the heater full blast.

"Lock the doors," she whispered desperately.

"They're locked. Now tell me what happened. As quickly as you can."

"I'd just gotten out of the shower, and I heard a noise. Someone whistling. I looked out the window, and I saw her hanging in the tree. I started to call the police, call you, and then I heard something else. He was in my house, so I ran."

"You ran all the way from Heathrow to here?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded. "When you stopped just now. I thought you were the killer. He was in a car...."

"Did you see the car?"

She shook her head.

"You didn't see him?"

"No."

Cullen unlocked the glove box and removed a small-caliber weapon. Thumbing off the safety, he placed it on the console between them. "All you have to do is point and shoot."

She stared at him in alarm. "What are you going to do?"

"Have a look around the cemetery."

She clutched his arm. "You can't. He could still be out there."

"And if he is, we can't let him go free." Cullen's features hardened. "We can't let him kill again."

He removed his gun from his shoulder holster and checked the clip. Then he placed his cell phone in her hand and curled her fingers around it. "Call headquarters. Tell them you're with me. Tell them what happened. We need officers over here and at the college. They'll probably need to call in the state police for backup. Can you do that?"

"Of course, but Cullena"" She gripped his arm, unwilling to let him go into the cemetery alone. She was terrified he would never come back out. "I'm scared."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," he said with a tense smile.

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES later they were back at Heathrow. Officers from both the Moriah's Landing Police Department and the Ma.s.sachusetts State Police were combing through St. John's Cemetery and the woods surrounding Leland Manning's property. Additional officers were on the scene at Heathrow.

Cullen didn't bother parking in the faculty lot where Elizabeth kept her car. but instead drove over the neatly kept lawn and cobblestone walkways to pull alongside several other police cars that had done the same.

"Wait here." He got out of the car and walked over to join the officers grouped in a semicircle around something lying on the ground.

It was the body, Elizabeth knew. The medical examiner was already on the scene and had undoubtedly p.r.o.nounced death. Now it would be up to the officers and a crime-scene unit from the state police to gather evidence.

After a few moments, Cullen came back and got in the car. Elizabeth stared at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Same as before." He stared straight ahead. His features looked frozen, unnatural in the colored glare from the police flashers. "No blood on the body or on the ground."

Elizabeth shivered. "Her neck?"

"There's an incision. It's difficult to see out here, but I'm pretty sure we'll find needle marks on her arm. too." He paused and threw her an apologetic glance. "I hate like h.e.l.l to ask you to do this, but I need you to take a look at the body. See if you can identify her."

Elizabeth nodded.

"You're okay with that?"

"I'm fine, Cullen. I know what has to be done."

They both got out of the car, and he slipped off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. As they walked toward the body, the group of officers parted and let them through.

The headlights on the police cars had been left on, and someone had set up a temporary light. Elizabeth stared down at the body. She recognized her at once. Waves of shock and nausea rolled through her. "I know her. She wasn't in any of my cla.s.ses, but I've seen her around. She worked on the school paper. Her name was Morgan Hurley."

"You're positive?"