Edna Buchanan - Shadows

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MIAMI--AUGUST 25, 1961

What began with love and surrender now ends in death and guilt. My blood thunders through my veins and I shake with rage as I think of him. Only one of us will survive this night.

The full moon burns a bright hole in a hot, black summer sky. I hide amid wild orchids, poincianas, and tangled passion vines, overwhelmed by the smells of ripe earth, the windswept water, and my own fear. The superheated atmosphere smothers me in its damp, deathlike embrace, the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine a poignant reminder of other nights like this. I am dizzy and close my eyes as the planet picks up speed. This night was meant for urgent kisses and breathless promises, not sudden death.

The gun weighs heavy and my hands tremble. But what's left to fear? I'm already damned to hell. People would agree with what I am about to do if they only knew the truth. But nobody will listen, and if they did, who would believe me?

My thigh muscles burn from crouching here beneath the gumbo limbo trees. Mosquitoes feast on my sweat-slick skin. I can endure the pain but not the waiting. Yearning to rest my feverish brow against the cool metal of the gun's long barrel, I fight the urge, knowing where it might lead. How easy it would be to surrender to the gun. It whispers a promise in the dark, an end to all this in one great fiery explosion of light. Who would care? Not the man for whom I wait. Finding me dead would convince him that he was right about me.

My shallow sigh is lost in the vast darkness. Night sounds close in around me: the croaks and mating calls of frogs and toads, a nightingale's lonely song. Foxes yelp nearby. I swear I can hear harsh breathing, the sounds of lovemaking in the dark. Is that a memory, my imagination, or the pulse-beat of this sultry night? I despair as the mosquitoes swarm louder and louder around my face.

How long can I wait? Where is he? Will he ever come? The other one was easier. Was it all for nothing? My frustration level reaches the danger zone.

No more. No more waiting. I'll leave it to heaven. God, if He exists, decides who dies tonight. I swear to my only witnesses, the fast-moving moon and the clouds racing like pirate ships across its face, that I will count down from one hundred--if I finish and he has not arrived, it ends here for me. Forever.

It's in God's hands now.

Whispering numbers like a prayer, I count down the final moments of a life. Mine or his.

Ninety-seven, ninety-six...

Destiny awaits. The world grows still, as though the planet has paused to watch. This place has always had an appetite, a fatal enthusiasm for sudden death.

Seventy-four...

I place the gun barrel in my mouth and run my tongue around the muzzle's rim in anticipation. The oily metal tastes like blood.

Will he will find his own fate waiting--or my corpse?

Sixty-five...

The life I was meant to lead fast-forwards through my mind, unfurling like a memory, alive with color, light, and passion, a future I will never have.

Sixty-one...

Outrage overtakes my despair as time ebbs away. He had no right. I take the gun from my mouth and spit out the taste of smoky metal as though on his grave.

I lick my parched lips and my stomach churns. When did I eat last? Not since early yesterday but I still gag. His belly is probably full, his mind at ease, sated by excellent food and better liquor.

Fifty-five...

None of his prestige and power, or friends in high places, can deflect a shotgun blast. My resolve is fueled by my need for revenge.

Fifty-one...

I will do it. I gaze at the big, rambling house and imagine its secrets. Music, dance, and laughter live inside those walls. The power to change laughter into tears is mine tonight.

Forty-six...

Whose tears? Only God knows.

I grasp the gun tightly.

Forty-three...

No fear.

Thirty-nine...

A car. I hear it! At last! As my time runs out. Thank you, Jesus. Please let it be him.

Thirty-four...

I creep forward, inching through the dense foliage, my cheeks wet.

Twenty-nine...

He laughed. He'll soon know I was someone to fear. Am I? Can I take him down? Will I escape? Assailed by doubts, limbs suddenly weak, I almost fall back into the bushes. This is so different from the other. The gun slips on sweaty skin as I brace it against my cheek and shoulder and raise it into firing position.

Headlights sweep around the curve as the big Buick rolls toward the house. He is alone. Music playing. Skeeter Davis singing "The End of the World" on his car radio.

I can do this.

Nineteen...

I stop counting and hold my breath. My temples throb but my hands are steady. I can do this.

I grit my teeth and focus as the car's headlights bounce crazily off the broad gray limbs of the banyan trees.

Damn. To my left, light spills out of the house into the darkness like secrets from a confessional. Someone has swooped aside the filmy curtains at a front window. Fear cramps my heart. Is that someone inside watching? They must have heard the car, too. Please, God. Don't let them come out.

Something else! Nightbirds cut short their hymns as a shadowy creature crashes through the crotons on the far side of the house. I see and hear it simultaneously. Something big. Moving swiftly, close to the ground. I am not alone. My eyes strain against the dark. What...? Is that a wild animal or my inflamed imagination?