Brandilyn Collins

As I drew, the house felt eerie in its silence. . . . A strange sense stole over me, as though Bland and I were two actors on stage, our movements spotlighted, black emptiness between us. But that darkness grew smaller as the space between us shrank. I did not know if this sense was due to my immersion in Bland’s face and mind and world, or to my fear of his threatening presence. Or both . . . The nerves between my shoulder blades began to

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The figure remained still as stone. Leslie couldn't even detect a breath. Spider fingers teased the back of her neck. Leslie's feet rooted to the pavement. She dropped her gaze to the driveway, seeking ... what? Spatters of blood? Footprints? She saw nothing. Honed through her recent coverage of crime scene evidence, the testimony at last month's trial, the reporter in Leslie spewed warnings: Notice everything, touch nothing. Leslie Williams hurries...

Carla stared at the gun and David Thornby-or whatever his name was. Her mind fissured, one side pleading this was some sick joke, the other knowing it was not. Her throat ran dry, air backing up in her lungs. She swallowed. "Please. You must have the wrong person. There's no reason for someone to want me dead. I don't have any enemies." "Then you'd best rethink your friends." Realtor Carla Radling shows an "English gentleman" a lakeside estate-and...