She reached the porch. Took a step. The wood groaned beneath her weight. She quickly crossed. Made the door. Hand trembling, she reached out, grasped the knob and twisted.

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done On earth as it is in- The door swung open. Taking a deep breath, she peered inside. Called out, voice barely a whisper. She

waited, listening. Letting her eyes adjust to the absolute dark.

As they did, several large forms took shape. Furniture, she realized, taking a tentative step inside. A couple broken-down chairs. A shipping crate serving as a coffee table. Things left behind by previous residents, she decided.

She picked her way inside, blindly, calling herself a dozen different kinds of idiot. What was she trying to prove? Nobody was here. She had been sent on a wild-goose chase. Somebody's idea of a joke. A sick joke.

She turned. A baglike white shape in the doorway up ahead caught her eye. She made her way cautiously toward it. Not a bag, she saw, a white sheet, drawn up and knotted to form a kind of pouch. She gazed at the package with a sense of inevitability. Of predestination. Whoever had contacted her had predicted her every step. Keeping the rendezvous. Waiting. Coming into the cabin. Finding this package.

And opening it.

She squatted and with trembling fingers untied the knot, peeled away the sheet.

Revealing a cat. Or rather, what had been a cat. A tabby. It had been slit open and gutted. Gwen

brought a hand to her mouth; stomach lurching to her throat. The creature's sandy-colored fur was matted with blood, the sheet soaked.

She reached out. And found the blood was tacky.

This had been done recently. Just before she had been scheduled to meet her informant.

The Seven gave one warning. If it wasn't heeded, they took action.

She had gotten her warning. Something stirred behind her. Someone. Gwen sprang backward, whirled around. The cabin door stood open; nothing-or no one-blocked her path. Panicked, she ran forward. Through the main room and onto the porch. Her foot went through a rotten board. She cried out in pain, stumbled and landed on her knees.

Clawing her way to her feet, she darted toward her car. She reached it, yanked open the door and scrambled inside. Sobbing with relief, she started the vehicle, threw it into Reverse and hit the gas. When she reached the main road, she dared a glance back, terrified at what she would see.

The deserted country road seemed to mock her.

CHAPTER 37.

Avery parked her car around the corner from The Guesthouse. She cut her lights, then the engine as she glanced quickly around. The square appeared deserted, its surrounding businesses dark. Cypress Springs retired early and slept soundly.

Just as she had planned for.

She meant to collect Gwen and head to Trudy Pruitt's trailer to have a look around. If Gwen refused, which was entirely possible, considering how Avery had treated her, she would go alone.

Avery had decided on this course of action after leaving Hunter. He had told her to get her proof and that's just what she meant to do. She had planned carefully. Had assembled everything she and Gwen would need: latex gloves, penlights, plastic Ziploc bags. And finally, her courage.

Now, to convince Gwen they were on the same team. She had tried the cell phone number the woman had given her. She had repeatedly gotten a reply stating the cell number she had called was no longer in service. Contacting the other woman by land line required having The Guesthouse management ring her room or calling the pay phone in the hall. She hadn't wanted to do either.

Nor had she wanted to be seen paying her a visit. Which left a chance encounter or stealth.

During the drive there, she had kept careful watch in her rearview mirror. She had not wanted to be followed. She had not wanted the wrong set of eyes to see her arriving at Gwen's.

The wrong set of eyes? Cloak-and-dagger driving maneuvers? Secret meeting?

She was losing her mind. Spiraling into a kind of paranoid schizophrenia, one in which she suspected her home of being watched, her phone of being bugged. One in which every smiling and familiar face hid a secret agenda.

A nervous laugh flew to her lips. She wanted the truth. No, she needed it. And she would do whatever was necessary to get it.

She thought of Hunter. Of the afternoon spent with him, in his bed. The experience felt surreal to her. As if she had dreamed it.

What had she done? Consummated some ancient passion she hadn't even consciously acknowledged? How could she be with Hunter when Matt was the one she had always wanted? What had she been thinking?

Obviously, she hadn't been thinking. She had acted on emotion. And physical urges.

She closed her eyes, thinking of the past, her relationship with Hunter. With Matt. All those years ago, had she chosen Matt because Hunter took her out of her safety zone? Because he had always pushed her, both emotionally and intellectually?

She had always been comfortable with the outgoing Matt. She had known where she stood all the time. Had never felt out of control. Weren't control and comfort good things? What did she really want?

Avery shook her head, refocusing on this moment. On what she had set out to do. Thoughts of Hunter, Matt and her future would have to wait.

She slipped out of the Blazer. Dressed entirely in black, she hoped to meld with the shadows. She eased the door shut and quickly made her way to the corner, hanging close to the inside edge of the sidewalk, near the shrubs and trees.

Until they had drifted apart their junior year of high school, Laurie Landry had been one of her best friends. Laurie had taught Avery that her parents kept a spare house key tucked inside the covered electrical outlet to the right of the front door. She and Laurie had used it many times over the years to slip in and out at all times of the night.

If it wasn't there, she wasn't certain what she would do.

She needn't have worried. The Landrys kept the key in the same place they had twelve years ago. A testament to how slowly some things changed in Cypress Springs. How safe a place to live it was.

Unless, of course, you were targeted by The Seven for behavior modification.

Permanent behavior modification.

Avery retrieved the key, opened the door and stepped into The Guesthouse's main hall. Turning, she

relocked the door, slipped the key into her pocket and started up the stairs. The desk closed at 8:00

p.m.; each guest was given a key to come and go as they pleased.

Neither the Landry family nor a guest would give a second thought to the sound of someone moving about.

Avery quietly climbed the stairs. She reached the top landing and turned left. Gwen occupied the unit at the far end of the hall. Avery reached it and stopped, a dizzying sense of deja vu settling over her.

Gwen's door stood ajar.

Not again. Please God, not again.

With the tips of her fingers, Avery nudged the door the rest of the way open. She called Gwen's name, her voice a thick whisper.

Gwen didn't reply.

But she hadn't expected her to. She expected the worst.

Avery reached into her pocket and retrieved her penlight. She switched it on and stepped fully into the

room, the slim beam of light illuminating the way. The place had been ransacked. Drawers and armoire

emptied. Dresser mirror shattered. Lamps toppled.

She moved through the room, sweeping the light back and forth in a jittery arc. No bloody prints. No body. Swallowing hard, she crossed to the made bed. Bending, she lifted the bed skirt, pointed the light and peered underneath.

Nothing. Not even a dust bunny.

She dropped the skirt and straightened. Turned toward the armoire. Its doors hung open, contents emptied onto the floor in front. Avery pivoted toward the bathroom's closed door, then glanced back at

the hallway. She shouldn't be handling this alone. She should call Buddy, the CSPD. Get them over here.

Let them search for Gwen.

She couldn't do that. How would she explain being here? Latex gloves and penlight in her pocket? Last

night at Trudy Pruitt's and tonight at Gwen Lancaster's- Get the hell out. Call the cops from the car. Or better yet, from a pay phone on the other side of town.

Instead, Avery took a step toward the bathroom. Then another. As she neared it, she heard what

sounded like water running.

She grasped the knob, twisted it and pushed. The door eased open. She inched closer, shone her light inside.

The room was small-ared shower curtain circling it. The floor clear.

The sound she'd heard was the toilet running. She crossed to it, jiggled the handle. It stopped filling.

So far so good.

She returned her gaze to the tub. To that flowered curtain. She had to look. Just in case.

She sidled toward it. As if a less direct approach might influence what she found. She stopped within

arm's reach of the curtain. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her mouth went dry, her pits and palms were wet.

Do it, Chauvin.

She forced herself to lift her arm, grab a handful of the vinyl and yank it away.

"Don't move a muscle or I'll blow your fucking head off!"

Avery froze. Gwen, she realized. She was alive!

"Hands up!" Gwen snapped. "Then turn around. Slowly."

Avery did. Gwen stood in the doorway, face white as a sheet. She held a gun, had it trained on her.

"It's me, Gwen. Avery."

"I have eyes."

"This isn't how it looks. Your door was open...I found the place like this."