LITMIR.BIZ

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followed her son’s gaze. About thirty feet from the path, a man stood in the shade of an elm tree. Sunglasses obscured his eyes, but she could tell that he was staring at them.

      A chill ran up her spine. There was something…unnerving about the way he watched them. As if…he knew them.

      Camille was certain she’d never seen him before. She would have remembered. He had a striking appearance, the kind you didn’t forget. Dressed all in black, he was tall and thin, with silvery-blond hair combed straight back from his face.

      Camille shivered again. She and Adam had purposely drifted away from the more populated area of the park so that they would have plenty of room to play pitch without worrying about stray balls hitting toddlers. She suddenly found herself wishing they hadn’t wandered quite so far away from the swing sets, jungle gyms and mothers pushing babies in strollers.

      “Adam, maybe we should go back—”

      “No, Mom, please.” He squinted up at her. “You promised you’d teach me today. Can’t we just stay for a little while? Please? Pretty please?”

      It wasn’t in her son’s nature to remain obstinate for long. If they left now, he’d soon get over his disappointment. He was an easygoing child. Loving and affectionate although, like his father, he had a bit of devilment lurking in those dark, soulful eyes. Eyes that could melt her heart with just once glance. And when he gave her that look—as he was now—she didn’t stand a chance.

      “Okay, just a few pitches,” Camille relented, her gaze moving back to the stranger. Surely he meant them no harm. They were still within shouting distance of the playground, and they were visible from the street. It was broad daylight, a beautiful summer’s afternoon. What could possibly happen?

      She spent a few minutes showing Adam how to hold the ball. “Your hands are too small now to grip across the seams, but we’ll work on that as you get older. Right now, just try to get the ball out on your fingertips. See? Like this.” She demonstrated the technique. “And keep your wrist loose and cocked back. That way you can use it as part of your throwing motion.”

      After a few more minutes of instruction, she backed up and tossed Adam the ball. “Now, throw it to me, son. Just like I showed you.”

      After a few tries, he was able to get the ball to her with some accuracy and catch it when she threw it back.

      “I did it, Mom! Did you see me?” He jumped up and down in his excitement.

      “Good job! I knew you’d be a natural!”

      It was true. He’d inherited his father’s athletic prowess along with his dark good looks and innate charisma. Someday he’d be a real heartbreaker. Just like his father.

      They played for several more minutes. Camille was just about to suggest they head back to the car when her last pitch got away from Adam. The sound of his laughter echoed back to her as he chased after the ball. She laughed, too, at first, enjoying the moment, but then suddenly her breath quickened in alarm.

      Something was wrong.

      The grass should have slowed the ball’s momentum, but instead it kept rolling and rolling, always just out of Adam’s reach. She heard him laugh again as he tried to chase it down.

      She must have thrown the ball harder than she meant to. That had to be it….

      “Adam! Wait! Let me get the ball. Adam!”

      Out of the corner of her eye, Camille spotted the stranger again. He’d moved into the sun, and now she could see him more clearly. As she watched, he slowly reached up and removed his dark glasses. Camille gasped. There was something odd about his eyes….

      A fist of terror closed around her heart. He meant to harm them. She knew that without a doubt. She had to get to Adam. She had to protect him….

      But the harder she tried to catch him, the farther away he seemed.

      He was almost to the street by now, still chasing the ball. Try as she might, she couldn’t reach him.

      “Adam!” She screamed his name, but a sudden gust of wind tore it away. “Adam!”

      The ball rolled into the middle of the street and stopped. Without hesitation, Adam darted after it. He was so focused on the ball that he didn’t see the blue sedan roaring down the street toward him….

      CAMILLE AWAKENED with her dead son’s name on her lips and tears drying on her face. She thought at first the pounding in her head was the echo of her own heartbeat, but then she realized someone was banging on her front door.

      Lifting her head, she squinted at the clock. Just after seven. Had she overslept?

      Her gaze darted to the window where she could see the sun slipping below the edge of a distant ridge. She sank back in relief. It was evening, not morning. She must have dozed off while listening to the news. The radio was still on, and she could hear the transmission fading in and out. She reached over and snapped off the old Motorola, but it took a moment for the static to die away.

      The pounding came again, more desperate this time, and someone shouted her name. She put a hand to her eyes, trying to wipe away the last of the sleep as she swung her legs to the floor. Running a hand through her messy hair, she got up and hurried to the front door.

      The dream was still so fresh in her head that when she glanced through the sidelight and saw the little boy standing on her front porch, her initial instinct was to throw open the door and sweep him into her arms, even though she almost immediately recognized him as one of the Clutter children from down the road. He didn’t even resemble Adam. Her son had been dark haired while Billy was a freckle-faced redhead.

      Camille drew back the door and scowled down at the child. “Billy? What’s all the commotion about? Is everything okay—”

      He grabbed her hand and tugged. “You gotta come, Miss Camille. Davy says you gotta come right now—”

      “Whoa, wait a minute. Come where?” Camille felt as if only half her pistons were firing while Billy operated at full throttle. She had a hard time keeping up.

      “You gotta come to the mine!” His voice rose in agitation. “Davy says—”

      “To the mine? You mean the old deserted coal mine up on the ridge? You boys didn’t go up there, did you? That place is dangerous—” Camille sank to her knees and gripped the boy’s shoulders. “Billy, tell me what happened. Is someone hurt?” When he nodded, her stomach lurched. “Who’s hurt? One of the twins? Donny?”

      He shook his head, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath. “No, not Donny. Not Davy, either. It’s a man. We found him in the mine. He’s croaked and everything, and Davy says he’s a German spy probably!”

      Camille tried to keep her voice even, tried not to let her own panic show in her actions, but she saw Billy wince as her grip tightened on his arms. With an effort, she released him. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

      The boy nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma’am, he’s real dead. Davy said to come get you on account of our pop’s not home and you’d know what to do.”

      Camille wasn’t so sure about that. “Where is your father?”

      “He’s at work. He won’t be home until real late probably.”

      Daniel Clutter, a widower, was employed as an engineer at one of the city’s secret facilities, and his work kept him on the reservation for long, exhausting hours at a time. He’d recently hired a full-time housekeeper to watch the boys in his absence, but the woman had to be over sixty and was no match for a precocious seven-year-old, let alone his twelve-year-old twin brothers, who were almost always up to mischief. Davy, the self-appointed ringleader, was cunning and clever and utterly fearless. A dangerous combination, in Camille’s estimation.

      And now it appeared that he’d led his brothers inside a deserted mine. He had no idea of the danger they could have

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