Love at First Sight - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,66

corny as it sounded, a oneness that she’d never believed possible with another human being, not even through marriage.

So what was Jack hiding from her?

SHE OPENED the chalet door and peered out. There was no vehicle by the lodge. Not even a car belonging to the man Jack had left to take care of her.

Suddenly she felt guilty. She hadn’t even said hello to Jack’s friend who’d been kind enough to drive all the way up here to look after her. Maybe she could make them both some coffee.

“Hello?” she called as she walked in the path cut for the chairlift down toward the ski lodge. The chairs dangled overhead, black silhouettes like stick figures against the evening sky.

She realized she hadn’t even thought to ask Jack’s friend’s name. And felt guilty. Jack was only trying to protect her. Why had she gotten her back up about that? Because she didn’t want to be dependent. Hadn’t that always been her fear? That marriage would take away her independence?

As she came around the corner of the lodge, she saw the thunderheads. Rain. She could smell it on the air.

“Hello?” Still no answer. Maybe he was inside. “Not much of a guard, Jack,” she said to herself and laughed.

She pushed open the door to the lodge, suddenly aware of the silence. It felt thick as cotton and just as dense. “Hello?” she called more softly.

No answer. She hadn’t really expected him to be in the lodge, she thought, trying to reassure herself that everything was fine.

But as she walked back toward the door she saw something on the coffee table that stopped her. The confidential police file on Liz Jones.

Karen was positive it hadn’t been there earlier. Jack had left his cell phone on the coffee table but she would have noticed the file if it had been there.

With morbid curiosity, she pulled out the contents. One of the photos of Liz caught her attention before she had a chance to look at anything else. The photo, taken after her death, showed the panty hose tied around Liz’s neck.

“Oh, my God,” Karen whispered. Her heart rate quickened. She stared at the photo, an icy blade of understanding burying itself inside her.

The panty hose. The cord around the baby’s neck. Why hadn’t she noticed the similarities? The killer had wrapped the panty hose around Liz’s neck the same way someone had the cord around the doll’s neck in the grave.

Karen shoved the papers and photograph back into the file and pushed it under a stack of magazines, feeling dirty, as if she’d glimpsed inside the killer’s dark, sick mind.

She shivered. The lodge suddenly seemed too quiet. She hurried out on the porch into the last of the day’s sunshine.

As she stood on the porch and looked out, she wondered about the vehicle she thought she’d heard earlier. She’d so hoped it was Jack returning. But she heard nothing now. And nothing moved on what she could see of the winding road that dropped off the mountain. Either she’d been mistaken or…was it possible her “guard” had left for some reason? That could explain why his car wasn’t here and why she’d thought she heard a vehicle and why he didn’t answer.

Silence seemed to shroud the mountainside. It was the storm, Karen told herself. And what she had seen in the file. What she suspected.

“Hello?” she called again, her voice echoing back at her and nothing more. “Fine,” she said, losing interest fast in continuing to look for her guard. He’d probably left. Or maybe he’d parked on the road below and walked up this morning. And now he could be out scouting around the perimeter or sleeping in the shade of a tree or a— She glanced down at the stone wall below the lodge. Or sleeping in the shade of a wall.

Shoes. She could see shoes. Black penny loafers. Jack had left her in the care of a man who wore penny loafers? And white socks, she saw as she moved closer. She could see his ankles now. Pant legs. Slacks? Jeez, Jack, who did you leave guarding me? Certainly not Bruno the Biker. But just the sight of him reassured her.

She continued down the steep hill until she could see a shirt over the top of the wall. Striped. It matched the slacks. It appeared Jack’s friend cared more about clothing than Jack did.

With relief she stepped up onto the wall, looked down and saw the man sleeping in the late