Nameless (39 page)

The rustling of leaves. An animal? Maybe. These woods were full of wildlife.

Ten … twenty seconds passed with the breeze whispering through the trees. Her heart rate slowed. Nothing. Not another distinguishable noise beyond the night sounds. The consuming darkness continued pressing in on her; engulfing her, and the unsavory business to which she had no choice but to attend.

She had to do this and get out of here.

Now!

Slowly, the panic drained away. Urgency took its place. She was still alone. Hadn’t been caught. Thank God. But she had to hurry!

Reaching for the courage that had momentarily deserted her, she drew in a ragged breath and forced herself to return to the task. With a flex of her thumb, she slid the flashlight’s switch back into the “on” position and put it on the ground to illuminate her efforts. The narrow beam sliced across her arms as she continued digging, clawing at the soft earth with the shovel. Deeper. A shiver rushed over her skin. She had to hurry. Getting caught would not be good.

Not good at all.

Her respiration grew labored as that reality shrouded her as surely as the darkness had. Dig! Harder. Deeper. Faster. Get done and get the hell out of there!

She had to hide this mess …
all of it.
This part, the most important part, had to be here, where no one would think to look. Not now, after all these years. On the off chance someone did, the evidence would only do what it had done all along … point in the wrong direction.

Good enough. She stopped, lowered the shovel to the ground and sat back on her haunches to scrutinize the hole she’d carved out. Yes. This was sufficient.

Twisting her torso, careful not to make the slightest noise, she reached into the bag she’d carried from her borrowed car parked a half mile away. The plastic bag felt heavy, though the contents weighed hardly anything at all.

Two gold bands. Symbols of love and commitment, the precious circles stained with blood after being tugged from cold, lifeless fingers.

Goosebumps spilled across her skin as that scenario played out in her head. She banished the images, dropped the rings into the Beanee Weenee can, then crushed the opened end as tightly together as her strength would allow before placing it in the small grave she’d burrowed. If anyone happened to dig around in this spot they would merely ignore what they presumed to be trash. Campers and hikers buried their trash all the time.

Satisfied, she carefully returned the excavated soil into its rightful resting place. She smoothed and patted the surface, then spread fallen leaves across it.

There.

No one would ever suspect that barely a foot beneath that seemingly undisturbed spot lay the final pieces of a puzzle that to this day, fifteen years later, had not been solved. She shivered.

Grabbing the shovel and flashlight, she pushed to her feet. The past wasn’t important right now. What mattered was the present. And the future. Protection, survival, those were the key elements.

She had learned from experience that survival was the only thing that really counted.

She
intended to survive.

Cautiously retracing her steps through the trees and dense underbrush, she reached the side road where she’d left her car. After scanning cautiously for any sign of approaching headlights, she moved more quickly.

She was almost home free.

Just one last detail to take care of and this bothersome night would be behind her.

The tools grasped firmly under one arm, she dug the keys from the pocket of her jeans and opened the trunk. The accessory light flickered once then steadied, filling the trunk with a dim, eerie glow. She tossed the shovel and flashlight inside and should have closed the lid then. That would have been the smart thing to do. But she didn’t.

Instead, she stared at the one remaining obstacle in this monumental mess that required her immediate attention.

The body.

She had to figure out what to do with the body.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

NAMELESS

Copyright © 2008 by Debra Webb.
Excerpt from
Faceless
copyright © 2008 by Debra Webb.

Cover photo of woman © Herman Estevez.

Cover photo of city © Digital Vision/Getty Images.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

eISBN 9781429931762

First eBook Edition : April 2011

St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2008