The Hidden

Her heels clicked on the sidewalk, echoing loudly in her ears. She prayed for a taxi to go by.

A beat-up van drew near and seemed to slow down as it passed her. She walked onto the grass verge, suddenly even more afraid. With her luck, she’d be worrying about the fate of the nation—and get mugged by a common thief.

Not long ago, a young woman had been found on the shore of the Potomac River. Naked, her throat and body ripped open. Police and forensic scientists were having a problem because river creatures had played havoc with her body. No “persons of interest” were being questioned in the death; the police feared they were dealing with someone suffering from a “mental disorder.”

Lord, she was stupid, taking off in the middle of the night like this! It was just that...

She’d been so upset, so indignant, so...perplexed that personal danger hadn’t even occurred to her!

She hardly dared to breathe. Why had she stood up and said she no longer wanted any part of it? Why had she taken off the way she had? Get a grip, she told herself again. The hard-core politicians she knew wouldn’t be stalking her; they weren’t suffering from any mental disorders. Wait—not true. Anyone in politics was suffering from a mental disorder!

She tried to laugh at her own joke. No sound came.

She quickened her pace; her feet, legs and lungs hurt. She kept her phone in one hand, trying to look fierce, as if she was ready to press 9-1-1 at a second’s notice.

Her heart was pounding.

It was a van.

Everyone who watched TV knew that evil men in vans caught victims on the street and dragged them in by a side door and then...

The van drove on.

She felt giddy with relief and smiled at her unjustified panic.

A moment later, she saw a sedan in the street. It slowed and she squinted, looking toward it.

“Lara!” The car slid to a halt, and a deep male voice called her name from the driver’s seat. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift!”

She had to know him; she should’ve recognized the voice. It must be muffled by the night air. She was being offered a ride by someone who was obviously official. Someone she knew, someone who knew her.

Maybe Ian had sent a driver out after her. Maybe he’d realized what time it was and that the streets might not be safe.

Her relief made her feel weak.

She dropped her phone into her purse and ran across the street, grateful and shaky.

But the man didn’t get out of the car. And for some reason—perhaps the warning voice inside her that reminded her she now knew too much—she grew suspicious.

Ian’s people would have gotten out of the car, opened the door for her!

She turned to run.

Where? Where should she run? The streets were empty, the Mall was empty...

Lara prayed the beat-up van would come back.

She nearly stumbled.

She paused briefly. She would not trip and fall and look back screaming the way idiots did in horror movies when giant reptiles were coming for them. She took the seconds required to kick off her heels while digging in her bag for her cell phone.

She did nothing stupid.

But that didn’t save her.

He was fast. Surprisingly fast.

He slammed into her and down on her like a tackle in a football game. She opened her mouth to scream.

Who the hell was it? She still couldn’t see him! Did it matter? Escape!

She couldn’t turn her head; he was behind her, forcing her down. And then...she felt his hand coming around her head. He was holding a rag. She smelled something sickly sweet and she began to see black dots. The smell gagged her. She had to keep fighting; she was going to die if she didn’t.

So she fought...

But as the scent overwhelmed her, she thought, Oh, God, no, I really am going to disappear.

The blackness took her.

*