Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [0]
Mariah Stewart
BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
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
Other Books by Mariah Stewart
Excerpt from Dead Wrong
Copyright
To Mel, with great affection—
Many thanks for sharing your knowledge of the southern Arizona hills and for helping me to find just the right place in which to set this story
Prologue
He sat on the top row of the visitors bleachers, body pitched forward slightly, knees apart, arms resting on his thighs. A good portion of his face was hidden by sunglasses, much as the baseball cap covered his hair. He wore a dark blue T-shirt and well-worn jeans. He cheered when the visiting Patriots got a hit or scored a run, just like all the other parents seated around him.
But he was no one’s dad, and applauding at the appropriate moments was merely another form of camouflage. An opportunity to watch without being seen. A chance to study without his quarry suspecting that every move she made was under scrutiny.
It was a method that, in the past, had always proven satisfactory.
Already this week he’d had ample opportunity to follow her, to get a feel for the rhythm of her life. Where she went, what she did. He knew where she shopped and where her kids went to school. When—and where—she was most likely to be alone, to be most vulnerable. The past week’s surveillance had yielded much useful information, and hopefully, before the day was over, he’d know her even better.
He watched her move along the edge of the softball field from behind the batter’s box to the concession stand, watched her disappear into the little cinder-block building thirty feet from where he sat and emerge several minutes later with a cooler with which she struggled momentarily. Most eyes being on the field at that moment, he recognized an opportunity that might not come again. Dropping off the side of the bleachers, he covered the ground between them in several long strides until he reached the building.
“May I give you a hand with that?” he asked, hesitating as if he’d just been about to join the line of customers waiting to buy snacks at the concession stand.
“Thanks. It’s heavier than I thought.” She smiled freely.
“Well, here, let me . . .” He lifted it with ease, surprised, having expected it to be much heavier, given her struggle to lift it. “That’s heavier than it looks, all right. You must have had help carrying that from the car.”
“Nope. I managed myself. Well, with a little help from my son.” She looked up at the tall, good-looking, dark-haired man and smiled again.
He smiled back, even as he tucked away the newfound knowledge that she wasn’t as physically strong as he’d expected.
Good to know.
He’d already figured out that she was a single mom. This was his third visit to this ball field in the past week. Experience, and careful observation, had taught him that, as a general rule, if the same woman drives the same kid in the same car to the same activity several days in a row, particularly on the weekend, and is never accompanied by a man, chances are she’s a single mother.
Just his cup of tea.
“Which way were you headed with this?” he asked.
“Just over to the bench.” She was still smiling.
She followed along behind him, then pointed to a spot near the bench where the Little League players sat watching the Deal, Pennsylvania, Red Sox battle the Patriots from nearby Gettysburg.
“Here is fine. Thanks again.”
She looked up at him, squinting in the late-morning sun.
“Do I know you?” she asked. “Is your son on one of our teams?”
“No. My son plays for Gettysburg.”
“Oh? Which position?”
“Third base.” The first thing that came into his mind.
“Oh, Matt Gallagher?” Her smile brightened. “You’re Matt Gallagher’s dad?”
He nodded, uneasy and infinitely annoyed with himself