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He was so wary, she thought. Distrustful. Or was it more than that? Was there something wrong with this precious little boy? Was this Rachel Ryan’s Sam, the little boy she obviously adored? She smiled down at him, then slowly came down on her knees. “I’m Becca. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam.” She held out her hand.

“Sam, say hello to Becca.”

There was a slight edge to his voice. Why was that? She said quickly, “It’s all right, Tyler. Sam can do what he wants. I don’t think I was all that talkative, either, when I was his age.”

“It’s not that,” Tyler said, frowning down at his son.

The child just stared up at her, unmoving, so very still. She didn’t stop smiling. “Would you like a glass of lemonade, Sam? Mine’s just about the best east of the Rockies.”

“All right.” His voice was small and wary. Thank goodness she’d bought some cookies. Even wary little boys had to like cookies.

She sat him at the kitchen table, saying, “Do you have an aunt Rachel, Sam?”

“Rachel,” Sam repeated, and he gave her a huge smile. “My aunt Rachel.”

Sam said nothing more after that, but he ate three cookies and drank nearly two glasses of lemonade. Then he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. All boy, she thought, but what was wrong? Why didn’t he speak? And he looked so blank, as if his mind wasn’t focused on the here and now.

“Do come back, Sam. I’ll make sure there are always cookies here for you.”

“When?” Sam said.

“Tomorrow,” she said, giving him a big grin. “I’ll be here all morning.”

“What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” Tyler said as he took his son’s small hand.

“I’m going to The Riptide Independent to see if they need a reporter.”

“Then you’ll be seeing Bernie Bradstreet, he’s the owner and the main contributor. A really nice older guy who has his finger in every pie in this town. He’ll probably be very impressed with you. Hey, it seems like you’re going to stay for a while.”

“Yes, I just might.”

“Ah, maybe I’ll see you later when Sam’s with his aunt Rachel. She’s not really his aunt, she’s just a really good friend and his baby-sitter.”

5

Becca pulled the brush through her brown hair. It was long now, to her shoulders. She pulled it back in a ponytail, then stared at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t worn a ponytail since she was thirteen years old. Then she hadn’t known what evil was. No, don’t think about him. He would never find her. She looked back at herself. The glasses changed her looks quite a bit, as did her darkened eyebrows.

She looked over at her small portable television and knew that during the news they’d soon show another photo of her. They did. It was from her driver’s license. She was grateful they hadn’t gotten a more up-to-date shot. She didn’t much resemble that photo, except maybe on an excruciatingly bad day. With the slight alterations she’d made to her looks just before coming to Riptide, she felt reasonably sure that none of the townspeople would find her out. Only Tyler would make the connection, and she felt she could trust him. Now that her story was being flashed on CNN, she’d have to tell him the truth. She should have told him right away, but she couldn’t, just couldn’t, not then, not at first. Now there was no choice.

But Tyler beat her to the punch. Not fifteen minutes after her story aired, her doorbell rang.

“You lied to me.” It was Tyler. He stood on the front porch, stiff all over, so angry he nearly stuttered.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Tyler. Please come in. I need to throw myself on your mercy.”

She told him the whole story, and was amazed at how relieved she was to confide in him. “I still don’t know why the cops didn’t believe me. But I’m not hiding because of them. I’m hiding because of the madman who’s been terrorizing me. Maybe he wants to kill me now, I don’t know.” She kept shaking her head, saying over and over, “I can’t believe he actually shot the governor. He really shot him.”

“The cops could protect you.” Tyler wasn’t standing so stiffly now, thank God, and his eyes had calmed. Just a minute before they’d been flat and very dark.

“Yes, probably,