The Devil's Footprints
She had no idea he was there.Seated on the porch steps of the old Duncan farmhouse, the girl remained blissfully unaware of his vigil. If she had turned she would have seen him, but she didn't turn. Instead, she pulled her jacket more tightly around her slight body, as if stricken by a sudden chill.
In the distance, the ancient bells up in the cottonwoods tinkled in the shifting twilight. Ghost music, he thought. A serenade for the dead.
He listened for a moment, eyes closed, anticipation strumming the nerve endings along his spine. Then he crept a few steps closer.
And still she heard nothing.
Not surprising. He'd learned a long time ago the importance of a silent approach. No squeaking shoes. No snapping twigs. Not even an exhaled breath. He moved like a shadow, like a stealthy predator bearing down with eagle-eyed precision on his prey.
Her head suddenly lifted, as if yanked by the invisible bond that connected them, and he froze, heart hammering, until the danger passed.
She settled back to her daydreaming as her dog played nearby in the tall grass. Her back was to him; he longed to call out her name, make her turn so he could glimpse her face, stare d ... read full excerpt from The Devil's Footprints ebook
