Danger in the Shadows

Tyndale House Publishers

Chapter One

The six-year-old boy had been found.... Dead.

Writing longhand on a yellow legal pad of paper, sheshaped the twenty-ninth chapter of her mystery novel.Despite the dark specificity of the scene, the flow of wordsnever faltered.

The child had died within hours of his abduction. Hisfamily, the Oklahoma law enforcement community, even hiskidnapper, did not realize it. Sara didn't pull back from writingthe scene even though she knew it would leave a bittertaste of defeat in the mind of the reader. The impact was necessaryfor the rest of the book.

She crossed out the last sentence, added a new detail,then went on with her description of the farmer who hadfound the boy.

Thunder cracked directly overhead. Sara flinched. Heroffice suite on the thirty-fourth floor put her close enough tothe storm she could hear the air sizzle in the split secondbefore the boom. She would like to be in the basement parkinggarage right now instead of her office.

A glance at the clock on her desk showed it was almosteight in the evening. The push to finish a story always tookover as she reached the final chapters. This tenth book wasno exception.

This was the most difficult chapter in the book to write.It was better to get it done in one long sustained effort. Deathalways squeezed her heart.

Had her brother been in town, he would have insistedshe wrap it up and come home. Her life was restrictedenough as it was. He refused to let her spend all her time atthe office. He would lean against the doorjamb of her officeand give her that look along with his predictable lecturetelling her all she should be doing: puttering around thehouse, cooking, messing with the roses, doing somethingother than sitting behind that desk.

She did so enjoy taking advantage of Dave's occasionalabsences.

His flight back to Chicago from the FBI academy atQuantico had been delayed due to the storm front. When hecalled her from the airport out East, he cautioned her hemight not be home until eleven.

It wasn't a problem, she assured him, everything wasfine. Code words. Spoken every day. So much a part of theirlanguage now that she spoke them instinctively. "Everythingis fine"-all clear; "I'm fine"-I've got company; "I'm doingfine"-I'm in danger. She had lived the dance a long time.The tight security around her life was necessary. It was overpowering,obnoxious, annoying ... and comforting.

Sara turned in the black leather chair to watch the displayof lightning. The skyline of downtown Chicago glimmeredback at her through the rain.

With every book, another fact, another detail, anotherintense emotion, broke through from her own past. Shecould literally feel the dry dirt under her hand, feel theoppressive darkness. Reliving what had happened to hertwenty-five years ago was terrifying. Necessary, but terrifying.

She sat lost in thought for several minutes, idly walkingher pen through her fingers. Her adversary was out theresomewhere, still alive, still hunting her. Had he made theassociation to Chicago yet? After all these years, she was stillconstantly moving, still working to stay one step ahead of thethreat. Her family knew only too well his threat was real.

The man would kill her. Had long ago killed her sister.The threat didn't get more basic than that. She had to trustothers and ultimately God for her security. There were daysher faith wavered under the intense weight of simply enduringthat stress. She was learning by necessity how to roll withevents, to trust God's ultimate sovereignty.

The notepad beside her was filled with doodled sketchesof faces. One of these days her mind was finally going to stopblocking the one image she longed to sketch. She knew shehad seen the man. Whatever the consequences of trying toremember, whatever the cost, it was worth paying in order totry to bring justice for her and her sister.

She couldn't force the image to appear no matter howmuch she longed to do so. She was the only one who stillbelieved it was possible for her to remember it. The police,the FBI, the doctors had given up hope years ago.

She fingered a worn photo of her sister Kim that sat by awhite rose on her desk. She didn't care what the othersthought. Until the killer was caught, Sara would never giveup hope.

God was just. She held on to that knowledge and the hopethat the day of justice would eventually arrive. Until it did, shecarried guilt inside that remained wrapped around her heart.In losing her twin, she had literally lost part of herself.

Turning her attention back to her desk, she debated for amoment whether or not she wanted to do any more worktonight. She didn't.

She slipped the pad of paper with her draft of the bookchapter into the folder beside her computer keyboard. Whenit had begun to rain, she turned off her computer, not willingto risk possible damage from a building electrical surgeshould lightning hit a transformer or even the building itself.

As she put the folder away, the framed picture on the cornerof her desk caught her attention. Her best friend was gettingmarried. Sara envied her. She could feel the sense ofrebellion rising again. The need to break free of the securityblanket around her rose and fell with time. Ellen had freedomand a life. She was getting married to a wonderful man.Sara longed to one day have that same choice. Without freedom,it wasn't possible, and that hurt. Her dream was beingsacrificed with every passing day.

She opened her desk drawer, retrieved her purse, thenpicked up her briefcase.

Her office had plush forest green carpet and ivory walls.The furniture, European; the bookcases, mahogany. This wasthe office where H. Q. Victor, the internationally knownBritish author, worked.

She lifted her raincoat from the stand by the door. Withthe London Fog coat, she even looked British.

As she stepped into the outer office, the room lights automaticallyturned on. They illuminated a massive receptionistarea where the walls displayed children's books-thirty-fiveof them-by Sara J. Walsh. Sara reached back and turned offthe interior office lights.

There was a second office twenty feet away, where thename Sara Walsh had been stenciled in gold on the nameplate.She wrote the children's books there, illustrated them,had fun. The office behind her had no nameplate. When shelocked the suite door, an electronic beam triggered behindher, securing the office.

Her suite was in the east tower of the business complex.Rising forty-five stories, the two recently built towers addedto the already impressive downtown skyline. Sara liked themodern building and the shopping available on the groundfloor. She disliked the elevator ride for she didn't like closedspaces, but she considered the view worth the price.

The elevator that responded tonight came from twofloors below. There were two connecting walkways betweenthe east and west towers, one on the sixth floor and anotherin the lobby. She chose the sixth floor concourse tonight,walking through it to the west tower with a confident but fastpace.

She was alone in the wide corridor. Travis...