JENNA’S STOMACH LURCHED, and her hands were clamped to the steering wheel. One moment the pine trees and sheer stone escarpments were dusted with rosy, golden light; the next they were flat black shapes against a backdrop of blazing stars.
“Damn it!”
She was furious with herself. It was too dark to continue, or to back up safely. In her eagerness to find Beaumont Foret, she’d committed Mistake Number One in the Stupid Tourist Handbook: going out into an unfamiliar countryside without checking the local conditions—and without telling anyone where she was headed.
She had expected this adventure to have its hazards, but this was pushing the odds. She reached into her purse. Thank God for cell phones!
Jenna took out the slim yellow case, pressed “O” for operator, and put it to her ear. If she was lucky, she was high up enough that the mountains wouldn’t block the signals.
There was nothing, not even a crackle of static.
She swore again. Evidently a communications satellite would have to be right overhead for it to work.
There was no way that she would compound her foolishness by trying to hike up to the road in such rugged terrain, but she wasn’t happy to be spending a night locked in the car on a dark mountainside instead of sleeping in a cozy bed.
A car that proved to be damnably uncomfortable. The backseat was too small to even attempt lying down, and the console and gearshift made it impossible to stretch out in the front. She pushed the seat back and resigned herself.
At least she had a full tank of gas and could run the heater. She listened for strange noises over the hum of the engine and tried not to watch the clock.
If only the moon was up, she thought. It would be ironic if I sit here all night twiddling my thumbs when there’s a wider space where I could turn around beyond the next stand of trees.
The only safe way to find out was on foot. Leaning across the other seat, she opened the map box and took out the flashlight the rental company had provided. The batteries were fresh and bright. She couldn’t get disoriented if she stayed in sight of the car’s headlights. If her scouting expedition was unsuccessful, she would simply have to grit her teeth and wait until morning.
Jenna got out and made her way over the uneven ground, following the beam from the headlights. The temperature had dropped considerably, and the air was sharp with the scent of snow. She walked carefully along the path of the beams to where they began to fade, and then she stopped short. Barely a yard away the ridge ended and a bottomless black void began.
She backed away and went off to her left, sweeping the flashlight from side to side. Suddenly she stopped. There was movement in the night downwind of her. Something large and stealthy, moving up toward the ridge where she stood.
As she stepped backward her foot twisted on a fallen pine-cone that skittered out from beneath it. She fought to keep her balance, and succeeded, but the flashlight flew out of her hand, bounced once, and went out.
Deep in the valley, Philippe was watching it all with sinking heart. He winced when the single light broke away from the twin beams of the vehicle’s headlights, knowing the woman had left the safety of her vehicle.
The light moved slowly, and he imagined her picking her way carefully over the rocks toward the drop-off, unaware of her growing danger. He saw the lone light make a wide arc against the black backdrop of the mountains and then wink out. It brought back a nightmare time, ten years ago, when another woman had been lost at almost the same spot.
His hands curled into fists as he struggled to hold back the memories. He might as well have tried to stop an avalanche. Images tumbled into his mind, shattered him with remembered pain.
Not again! He thought, and reached for the bellpull. It must not happen again.
Gaston answered his summons, looking surprised. “I thought you had gone out for the evening, monsieur.”
“Not yet. I’ve been watching lights on the mountain. Some fool of a woman has driven down the old track and stranded herself there. She hasn’t breached the barrier guarding Beaumont Foret yet. But she’s very close to the edge of the precipice and may not see her way clear of it.”
Shadows of the old tragedy flickered through Philippe’s eyes. “Alert the men. Tell them to bring whatever they may need in case of accident. I’ll set off ahead of them and try to avert trouble.”
The butler looked grave. “But . . . monsieur!”
Philippe flushed. “Can’t you see I have no choice? No one knows that terrain better than I.”
“But the danger . . .”
“Don’t be concerned. If I reach her in time, I’ll do my best to persuade her to remain safely inside her car until morning.”
“And if you do not arrive in time?”
A hardness settled over Philippe’s features. “Then I will have no choice but to bring her here, to Beaumont Foret—dead or alive.”