Chapter 158

Her heart was pounding as she ran from the house, down the blacktop road. Remnants of the snow that had fallen a few days before still lay in patches. Her bare feet hit them as she raced this way and that, trying not to run in a straight line. The last time she had tried to run, she'd learned that the hard way. The bullet had clipped her shoulder. This time was it, though; she knew that there wouldn't be another chance. She either made it this time, or she wouldn't. Christine knew that if she didn't make it this time, she was dead. Clinton knew the sheriffs in Simpson, Allen, and Warren counties. They could easily cover up her murder—she would be just a Stepford housewife that had grown bored of her older husband. No one would ever believe the truth; they would never know the hell she had lived in for two years.

"Christine," the voice called out from somewhere behind her, taunting in its tone.

She couldn't breathe too loudly; he could hear that, and then he would know where she wa