“Oh my God. He told me he didn’t know Gail, but if you saw him that night at her place, then he lied.” Christine remembered with a jolt that Dom was the one who had found Linda Kent’s body. What if he was the one who had put it there? He could have surprised Linda in her apartment. He knew that she smoked outside at night.

“Of course he’s going to lie if he thinks he’s getting away with cheating. Or murder.”

“Joan, we have to go to the police with this.” Christine’s heart hammered. “Will you go with me?”

“Yes.” Joan nodded, grave. “I couldn’t live with myself if my silence caused a serial killer to go free.”

“Or an innocent man to stay in jail.” Christine looked at the rearview to see that the man had almost reached the car. The hood of the parka hid his eyes and nose, but he gave her a friendly wave and flashed a smile that she realized she had seen before. On Daley Street.

It was Dom.

Christine reached for the ignition and started the engine. “Joan—”

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly Dom wrenched Christine’s car door open, but she floored the gas pedal. The car lurched forward, but Dom clamped powerful hands down on her shoulders and lifted her bodily from the seat.

“No!” Christine screamed, terrified.

Dom yanked her from the moving car.

Joan yelled for help.

The car careened forward from momentum.

Christine felt an agonizing blow to the head.

And her world went black.

Chapter Fifty-one

Christine regained consciousness, crumpled on the gravel road. Rain pounded everywhere, pouring from a dark gray sky. Her cheek lay in a puddle; water filled her nostrils. Her clothes were soaked. A bolt of agonizing pain shot through her skull. She willed herself to wake up, remembering what had happened. She had been wrenched from the car, she heard Joan screaming.

Christine lifted herself up on her elbow. She whipped her head wildly around, blinking against the pouring rain. The car had rolled into the cornfield, askew. The engine was running. Her car door hung open. Dom was hurrying around the back fender to the passenger side. Joan was trying to get away, climbing over the console into the driver’s seat.

Christine had to help Joan. She forced herself to move, to act. She staggered to her feet, but in the next moment, she saw Dom grab Joan’s hair and yank her back into the passenger seat. Christine couldn’t see what happened next. Horribly, Joan stopped screaming.

“No!” Christine cried out, horrified. Terror seized her heart. She couldn’t save Joan. She had to save herself. She had to get away. Dom must have followed them from the vigil. He had to have been the serial killer.

She lurched off the road and threw herself into the cornfield. She ran away as fast as she could, whacking the stalks away. There was no clear path to run, she couldn’t see any rows. The corn grew together like a thicket. Stalks sliced at her arms, and legs, razor-sharp. Bugs flew into her eyes. Crackling filled her ears, louder than the rain. She didn’t know if she was running to the right or left. She had no sense of direction. Her head pounded from the blow. She ran ahead as straight as possible. Away.

“You bitch!” Dom yelled, raging. He didn’t sound that far behind her.

Terror powered Christine forward. She couldn’t let him get her. He would kill her. He would kill her baby. She powered through the corn, her legs churning. Rain filled her eyes. She could barely see. The leaves cut like knives. Cornstalks crunched under her feet. She tripped and almost fell.

She realized with horror that Dom could see her head as she ran. The corn only came up to her chest. She ducked her head and ran in a crouch. Her breath came raggedly. She got a stitch in her side. Her thighs burned, her feet ached. She suppressed the urge to scream. She couldn’t waste the energy. There was no one around to hear.

Christine swung her arms like a machete, whacking away the cornstalks from her path. Rain set her shivering. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She stayed low so he wouldn’t know where she was in the vast cornfield. Suddenly a flock of huge black crows flew from the corn, flapping their black wings beside her head, startling her.

“I’ll kill you, you bitch!” Dom shouted, drowned out by the rain.

The crows gave away Christine’s position. She couldn’t stop now. She summoned every last ounce of strength, thinking of her baby. She had to save her baby. She was its mother. Her first duty was to protect her child. She thought of the butterfly heart on the ultrasound. The image powered her forward.

She could hear Dom breaking stalks behind her. He was a runner. He would make up for her head start. He was gaining on her. She put on the afterburners and ran even harder. She kept as low as she could, visualizing herself like a prizefighter, punching the cornstalks as she ran. Rain thundered in her ears.

Cornstalks crunched under her feet. Leaves sliced her hands and arms. The stems of the cornstalks were thick and strong. She whipped them aside with a backhand, cracking them in two.

Rain pounded in her ears. She heard the faint sound of traffic. Trucks rumbled ahead, and a horn honked. She angled her run to the left. Route 842 was there, and traffic. If she could reach the road, somebody would see her. Cars would stop. Dom couldn’t slaughter her in full view.

Hope lifted her heart. She protected her belly with her left arm and whacked cornstalks with her right. Tears of pure fear streamed down her face. She tasted blood in her mouth.

“I’ll cut your throat!” Dom raged, louder.

Christine felt a bolt of sheer terror. Dom sounded closer than before. She was losing ground. She panicked, tripping. She fell. She caught a faceful of cornstalks, filth, and bugs. Her hands plunged into mud and dirt. She could hear Dom’s footsteps behind her, the crunching and rustling of the stalks as he ran.

She sprang up, lunging forward, trying to find ground with her feet. It was harder to run on an angle, against the grain of the rows. She threw herself at the cornstalks, desperate. Her breath sounded ragged. The rain poured. She whacked at the cornstalks with both arms. Some snapped back, others sliced her face. She winced in pain. Still the sound of the traffic got closer.

Christine’s chest heaved. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep running. She kept stumbling. Rain and bugs flew in her eyes. Her legs burned, her arms were heavy. She thought of the baby. She remembered she had moved her belt buckle this morning. She couldn’t die. She had to save them both.