Her ankles just might get her killed, she thought…

Where was Hector? Why hadn't that occurred to her before? He was always in the garage during the day. He complained about it all the time. Sunny outside but I'm underground all day long, that's what he constantly said to her. He'd leer at her a little bit, especially when she looked like she did today. He'd leer and complain about being inside and underground breathing in car fumes. Where was he now?

She screamed out his name.

Hectorrrrrrrrrrr!

No answer. Was Hector the one doing this? It seemed inconceivable. But still, the way he looked at her sometimes. Had she ever told him she was afraid of the dark? She might have. Everyone said she was too gabby. She might have told him and now here he was, wanting her and knowing she'd be terrified.

There was another noise, a ssssstttt. A match being lit. Then a tiny speck of light. She saw something. A man. Not Hector. Nothing like Hector. A tall man. Tall and thin with short-cropped white-blond hair. Handsome and pale.

Then the match went out and the light was gone. And so was he.

Back in the dark.

That's when she realized that if she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her. So, as terrified as she was, her brain began to work: It told her to crouch down and kick off those eggshell high heels and move quietly, quietly but steadily, toward the door by the driveway…

She wondered if they'd realize she was late checking into the hotel. She had told them she'd be there by five. They knew her there by now, at the Marriott in Virginia. The desk clerk no longer bothered to take her credit card imprint when she checked in; he'd just wave her away and say they'd take care of it on her way out. Then she'd pay cash. Her story was that she was from out of town, coming in repeatedly on business. She said she lived in East End Harbor, on Long Island, in New York, and that wasn't really a lie.