The noises, faint, fleeting, whispered into her consciousness like wraiths passing in the night. Twelve-year-old Erin Willit opened her eyes to darkness lit only by the dim green nightlight near her closet door and the faint glow of a street lamp through her front window. She felt her forehead wrinkle, the fingers of one hand curl as she tried to discern what had awakened her. Something was not right . . . Annie Kingston moves to Grove Landing for safety and quiet--and comes face to face with evil. When neighbor Lisa Willet is killed by an intruder in her home, Sheriff's detectives are...

As I drew, the house felt eerie in its silence. . . . A strange sense stole over me, as though Bland and I were two actors on stage, our movements spotlighted, black emptiness between us. But that darkness grew smaller as the space between us shrank. I did not know if this sense was due to my immersion in Bland's face and mind and world, or to my fear of his threatening presence. Or both . . . The nerves between my shoulder blades began to tingle. Help me, God. Please. For twenty years, a killer has eluded capture for a brutal double murder. Now, forensic artist Annie Kingston has agreed...

All words fell away. I pushed myself off the path, noticing for the first time the signs of earlier passage--the matted earth, broken twigs. And I knew. My mouth turned cottony. I licked my lips, took three halting steps. My maddening, visual brain churned out pictures of colorless faces on a cold slab--Debbie Lille, victim number one; Wanda Deminger, number three . . . He'd been here. Dragged this one right where I now stumbled. I'd entered a crime scene, and I could not bear to see what lay at the end. . . . This is a story about evil. This is a story about God's power. A string of...