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They’d met at a Queens deli. Sally had just finished up that evening’s night classes; Pete was off duty and on his way home from the NYPD’s Seventy-fifth Precinct. They’d both stopped for a cup of coffee. They met at the counter. Two hours later, they were sitting in a booth, still talking. Part of it was fascination; part was sexual attraction. The rest was a mystery. But whatever it was, the combination was enough to lead them to the altar in four months flat, and then to create and adore three wonderful children.
And, oh, how Sally loved Pete. Enough to put her education on hold and defer her career as a nursery school teacher when Lane came along right away. Enough to give up her dreams of a big stone cottage in the country, a barnful of horses she’d teach her kids to ride, and acres and acres on which to do so, and instead to settle down in a semiattached house in Queens because of Pete’s crazy schedule.
Enough to replace old dreams with new ones.
All those things she could do.
But how many nights could she pace around their tiny bedroom in Little Neck, praying Pete would come home alive? How many days could she sit by the living room window, wondering what dangers he was facing while working the homicide or narcotics divisions? How many news reports could she see about a cop being shot down on the streets of Brooklyn without dying inside because she was sure it was him?
It got to the point that whenever the doorbell or the telephone rang, she’d brace herself, heart pounding, terrified it was the phone call—the one that would take Pete away from her forever.
Heaven help her, she wasn’t cut out to be the wife of a police detective. And the kids, God—the kids. What was this lifestyle doing to them? Lane was already becoming frighteningly like his father—a daredevil who thrived on danger and was rattled by nothing. Devon worshiped the ground Pete walked on, hanging on to his every word, wide-eyed, when he told her stories about his day—stories that made Sally cringe. Meredith was her mother’s daughter. She begged for a real house to live in, a pony to ride, and a school with trees and grass to play on, instead of a fenced-in blacktop playground.
Then there was the arguing. That tore the kids apart. They loved both their parents. Watching what was happening between them brought a whole new level of tension into the house.
The whole thing was too much.
Finally, Sally snapped. And ended it.
But at what cost?
She took a huge gulp of coffee, wincing as it scalded her mouth. Enough of Memory Lane. Time to work off her emotional energy.
She went back into the cabin, which remained utterly still. Then again, it was barely seven. The sun was just rising. Hardly an hour for Frederick to be up and about on his weekend away. Let him sleep. Sally would take a short hike and be back before eight. He’d never even know she was gone.
She shrugged i
nto her goose-down parka, tugged on her insulated gloves, and headed out.
Frederick’s black Mercedes was parked in the frozen driveway. An S500 luxury sedan. The Pierson & Company standard issue, driven by all the business’s executives. Definitely frivolous, but the kind of status symbol that meant the world to Edward Pierson.
To each his own, Sally mused. In her eyes, the scenic beauty sprawled out beyond the sedan was far more valuable than any car. Nature at its miraculous best.
Glancing around, she took a few deep breaths of clean, mountain air, relishing the predawn quiet. She was tempted to pick up the Dude Ranch Trail and hike toward Lake George, but that would take too long. Instead, she’d walk into the village of Lake Luzerne. She’d stop at Rockwell Falls, which was breathtaking in its majestic plunge into the Hudson, then stroll a few local streets and head back to the cabin.
She took off briskly through the powdery snow.
HALF AN HOUR later, a car eased off the local road that led to the cabin and maneuvered into an alcove that was concealed by dried brush and icy tree branches. The hum of the motor went silent. The driver climbed out, scanning the ascending driveway and spotting the quaint little wooden cabin at the top of the hill.
Time for an unwelcome surprise.
IT WAS JUST after eight when Sally returned to the cabin. She felt invigorated. Her blood was pumping. Her face was tingling. And her endorphins had kicked in, filling her with renewed energy and optimism. New chances. New beginnings. New resolve.
She paused at the front door, shaking off the excess snow from her boots and smiling as she wondered how Frederick would react when he awakened to a big, homemade breakfast.
Yanking open the door, she stepped inside—and froze.
The wrought-iron coat stand was overturned in the living room, lying on the floor and creating a barrier between the living room and the front hall. Outerwear was strewn everywhere.
Behind it, Frederick was sprawled on his back, blood oozing from his forehead.
He wasn’t moving.
“Oh my God.” Sally vaulted over the mess, kneeling beside Frederick and groping for his wrist so she could feel for a pulse. “Frederick! Are you—”
She never finished her sentence.
A rustle of motion sounded behind her. Before she could react, something heavy and solid struck the back of her skull.
