When she’d left the house, she’d checked for the car Adam had seen minutes earlier, but it had vanished. For some reason that bothered her when it shouldn’t have. People came and went all the time. On the way over, she’d kept checking her rearview mirror. She’d spotted several cars but none of them appeared to be following her.

Near-death experiences caused anxiety, she decided. Adam had retreated into a shell after nearly being killed. He was just now emerging. It was no wonder she was upset. Someone wanted Miranda dead and that person was still out there.

“Grey, how are you, boy?” A tall man appeared out of the darkness.

Whitney nearly jumped, then managed to steady herself. It was only an elderly man walking his dog.

“Where’s Betty?” he asked.

The neighbor had a Golden retriever that some people might have mistaken for Lexi. But this dog wasn’t very well groomed. Tufts of fur grew out from between the toes of her paws. A definite no-no with Golden owners. The unwanted fur collected dirt that could be tracked into the house.

“Betty will be back soon,” Whitney told him, even though she had no clue when the woman planned to return. Miranda had cautioned her not to give out information. Pet owners didn’t like anyone to know they were gone. Crime in the area wasn’t a problem, but it paid to be careful.

“Good.” He squinted at her. “You’re not Miranda. For a moment, I thought you were.”

“I’m her cousin, Whitney Marshall. I’ve taken over Miranda’s clients.”

“Really? I saw her just a week or so ago. We always talked. She didn’t mention leaving.”

You don’t know the half of it, she wanted to scream. “It was sudden.”

“Well, be careful back there.” He pointed to the dark area that stretched behind them. “They’re retiling the pool. Some workman accidentally severed the electric line. Can’t see a dang-blamed thing.”

“Thanks. I have my flashlight.” Whitney pulled it from her pocket. “Good night.”

He told her good-night and walked at a leisurely pace in the opposite direction, the Golden at his side. Whitney switched on her flashlight. It cast a narrow tunnel of light on the ground nearby. A row of parking places marked Guests was along the back of the building. She’d parked on the street but made note of it for future visits. She swung the flashlight around and spotted the fenced swimming pool and adjacent greenbelt.

Grey tugged on the leash. Obviously the animal had been here often enough to know where he wanted to go. The dachshund led Whitney down the asphalt drive toward the greenbelt.

Suddenly, high-beam headlights flared on, blinding her. The driver revved the engine and the car shot forward-an explosion of sound in the stillness-hurtling directly at her. Whitney had a split second to act. She lunged to the side, yanking the leash and hauling Grey with her.

Leaping from the pavement onto the soft surface threw her off balance. She skidded on the wet grass, stumbled, lurched sideways, dropped the flashlight, then looked back. There wasn’t enough light to make out more than a vague hulking shape. The car’s tires squealed as the driver veered hard to the left. She heard herself scream as she realized he was changing course to aim directly at her.

If she didn’t run like the wind, the car would mow her over in a heartbeat. Ahead and to her right was the flat greenbelt where she would be completely vulnerable. To her left was the large pool enclosed by a wrought-iron fence.

Blood pounding in her ears, Whitney realized she was as good as road kill. On the verge of utter panic, a galaxy of options swirled through her brain in a nanosecond. There was only one way to save herself. If she could make it to the pool fence before the car hit her-she had a prayer.

Just a prayer.

Dragging the dog, she charged forward, arms pumping, legs moving faster than pistons. Grey’s piercing yelps of pain filled the night air. She tried to drop the leash, assuming the dachshund would be better off on his own, but Whitney had wound the leather strap around her palm and it was taut from pulling the dog.

All she could concentrate on was reaching the fence. Had to get there. Had to. Had to. Had to.

At her heels, she heard the ominous rumble of the car’s engine. Even though she wasn’t close enough to climb the fence, she launched herself at it, realizing this was her only chance. She smashed her knee against one of the fence’s wrought-iron bars. Pain shot down her leg, and she screamed. Grabbing the vertical bars with both hands, she managed to vault several feet off the ground. She hung on, scrambling upward, using her tennis shoes for traction.

She grasped the top rail with both fists even though her arms were ripping out of their sockets. Poor little Grey was dangling from the leash, his weight tearing at Whitney’s arm and wrenching one shoulder downward. The dog’s terrified shrieks assured her that his neck hadn’t snapped. Whitney was alive but in excruciating pain and she couldn’t do a thing to help the little dog. Her heart lashed against her ribs like a caged beast.

Hang on. Hang on.

The car’s lights shone from behind her and illuminated a drained pool with tiles stacked around the sides. Heart pummeling, she wondered how much longer she could hold on to the fence before her muscles gave out. She ventured a glance over her shoulder.

The glaring headlights blinded her, but she could tell the car wasn’t moving. With each gasping breath, energy drained from her body. Already she’d lost the feeling in her fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to have the strength to hang on. She knew what would happen if she fell to the ground.

“What’s going on?” shouted a male voice from a short distance.

“Help!” shrieked Whitney. “Help me!”

The car careened sideways and tore off across the greenbelt with a roar and a plume of exhaust. In the darkness its taillights appeared to be two evil eyes, reminding her of the malevolent eye in Vladimir’s painting. The eyes glowed in the dark and vanished in less than a few seconds.

She released the bars and crashed backward.

ADAM SAW THE FLASH-FLASH-FLASH of the blue-white police car strobe lights as soon as he rounded the corner near the condominiums. He’d just walked in the door and read Whitney’s note when the telephone rang. An older-sounding man told him there had been an accident, but Whitney wasn’t seriously injured. The moment he learned this Adam had forgotten how furious he was with her for leaving the house.

He left his car at the first open spot he found, then stormed up to the cluster of people standing near two police cruisers and a paramedic van. Whitney was sitting on the curb, clutching a dachshund to her stomach as if holding herself together with the dog. An EMT was tending to a cut on her leg that didn’t appear to be serious.

Adam elbowed aside a policeman he didn’t recognize. “What happened?”

Whitney looked up at him, her expression blank, as if he were a total stranger. She finally opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. She averted her eyes. He dropped down onto the curb beside her and gently eased his arm around her shoulders.

“Are you all right?”

She slowly nodded and met his eyes. When he’d left Whitney, she’d been vibrant, happy-now she couldn’t utter a coherent sentence.

An older man with a Golden retriever on a leash told Adam, “Someone was trying to scare her. They chased her with a car. A prank.”

Adam’s blood boiled. He wasn’t buying this explanation. He asked the policeman, “What makes you think it was a prank?”

“We’ve had other incidents where cars have driven over our greenbelt,” the older man responded before the cop could. “Ruins the grass. When the pool’s finished, we’re relandscaping and putting in big boulders to keep cars from driving on the grass.”