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She couldn t even manage a comeback. Her heart was breaking inside her. She knew that her face had
gone deathly pale. She turned away, went back down the steps, got into her car and drove away.
Garon cursed until he ran out of breath. He d made her leave. Now he had to find a way to live with
the guilt he felt about the way he d treated her.
GRACE WENT THROUGH the motions of living during the next week, but she didn t feel much of
anything. She went to her jobs and was glad that Garon didn t come into either of the businesses. She
didn t want to see him ever again.
But suddenly, he was everywhere. She went to the bank the following Friday, and there he was,
standing in the next line. He looked at her and glared, as if he thought she d followed him there. She
ignored him.
The next day, the local fish pond opened for business a stocked pond with bass and bream, where
customers could rent tackle and catch all they liked, paying for the fish by the pound.
Grace was excited, because she usually entered the local fish rodeos in the summer. She grabbed her
pole and bait and minnow bucket and drove to the pond. It was crowded, which was nothing unusual
for the time of year. It was almost spring, after all, and this day it was unusually warm. She was
wearing jeans and a tank top with a big gray plaid flannel overshirt. She and her grandfather had been
fishing buddies. He d taught her all she knew about the sport.
She d hoped to take her mind off Garon, because it was painful to remember the things he d said to
her. But she stopped dead when she was almost at the pond, because there was Garon, also in jeans and
a chambray shirt, with a spinning reel, standing on the bank.
He turned and saw her standing behind him and his eyes flashed with fury. He threw down the reel and
strode to her. She backed up a step, intimidated by the look on his lean face.
I told you I wasn t interested, Grace, he said through his teeth. Following me around isn t going to
get you anything! Didn t you get it? I don t want you!
His voice carried. At least one of the fishermen was a regular patron at Barbara s Café. He stared at
Garon with surprise, and then at Grace, who was flushed and sick, with pity.
She turned on her heel and marched right back out the gate, her heart shaking her with its wild,
helpless throb. The animal! How could he have embarrassed her so? What did he think, that she had
so little pride, she couldn t help but stalk him like a predator? She cursed under her breath as she
made it back to her car. She threw her paraphernalia into the back seat, started the car and drove
herself home.
It was the weekend, so she didn t have to go to work. Instead she finished her small sewing project
and mailed off a package that carried all her hopes for the future. She finished pruning her roses,
planted two new ones she d ordered through the mail, and cleaned the house from top to bottom. She
slept very well from the exhaustion. She dreamed of Garon, though, and the dreams taunted her with
what she would never have with him.
Monday morning, she went back to work at Judy s florist shop and spent the day working on
arrangements for two funerals of local people. At least when she was working, it was possible to
forget Garon for a few minutes at a stretch. If only she could forget him for good!
GARON HAD LONG SINCE contacted headquarters to do a profile on the child killer for Marquez,
to help narrow down the list of possible suspects. Anyone who d ever done time for crimes against
children was immediately on the list. Detectives were going door to door again in the neighborhood
where the child had lived, to ask about suspicious activity around the time of the child s abduction.
Garon hadn t worked out of the San Antonio office long enough to develop a good network of
informants, but one of his colleagues had. He went out and put his snitches to work, listening for
word on the street of the child killer.
So far, there were no suspects who matched the DNA found under the child s fingernails. They were
checking long lists of sexual predators who were out on bond or parole, but nothing had surfaced so
far. Nor was the canvassing of the dead child s neighborhood doing much good.
You d think with houses that close together, somebody would have noticed a stranger skulking
around in the dark, Marquez told Garon irritably.
Someone did, he reminded the other man. Sheldon. But he couldn t give us a good description. An
older, bald man with a limp. I ve seen six people who fit that description today.
Marquez perched on the edge of Garon s desk. I ve had one of my patrol officers talk to a couple of
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