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Right now, however, the memory was too fresh for her to doubt it.
Something rustled in the trees to her left. Bethany turned, her heart drumming as she scanned the trees for any sign of what had made that noise, but nothing emerged from the undergrowth.
Just a squirrel going about her day, she assured herself. Trying to shake off her unease, she picked up her pace.
The rustling, however, shadowed her, keeping pace. Had she not seen those prints, she might have supposed it was a curious coyote, but now her imagination conjured visions of a strange, four-legged figure crouching in the shadows.
Her breathing became erratic, all her yoga training forgotten. She broke into a run, her eyes darting back and forth between the forest and the shore ahead, which she knew would lead her to the parking lot in about half a mile. The rustling kept up with her, the sound only growing louder.
Up ahead, a tumble of boulders spilled onto the shore, an obstacle course she would have to navigate. There was a path leading up into the trees and around the boulders, but she didn't dare take it. Instead, she charged ahead, scrambling over the rocks, her heart pounding in her chest.
Her hands and feet searched for holds on the rough, sun-warmed surfaces. Halfway through, she slipped on a loose stone and fell, but there was no time to nurse her grazed palms and knees. She sprang back up and continued her mad dash toward safety.
Finally, she cleared the boulders and crashed onto the familiar path leading to the parking lot. Her car was a few hundred yards away now—a shiny beacon of safety, not far from the water's edge.
All she had to do was reach it.
So hellbent was she on escaping that she didn’t notice when the rustling stopped. All she knew was that the trees had gone quiet. She stopped, facing the trees and wondering if her pursuer had finally given up.
Or had it merely been the wind? Had she been simply scaring herself all this time? She had seen those tracks, yes, but maybe there was a logical explanation for them. Maybe she really had misunderstood what she was looking at.
Shaking her head, she turned once more toward her car as she fished her keys from her pocket. Then, as if by some premonition, her gaze was drawn to a peculiar rock jutting up to her left.
A rock with a figure perched atop it.
It was a coyote—or so it appeared to be at first. As Bethany watched, the creature leapt down and bounded toward her. It had the head of a coyote…and yet those were human limbs beneath it.
A startled scream rose and then died in Bethany’s throat as the mad eyes of the snarling creature bore down on her. She raised the keys, ready to strike.
And then it slammed into her, shoving her down into the briny water.
CHAPTER ONE
Come on, Jules, Sheila Stone thought, watching the two thirteen-year-old girls circle one another in the ring. Keep those gloves up.
At five-foot-two, Jules had a significant height disadvantage against her opponent, a lanky girl named Bella whose strength lay in her long reach. But Jules was quick and sharp, making up for her lack of stature with sheer grit and determination.
Watching the two young girls, Sheila couldn’t help but recall her own fights with her older sister Natalie in this very same gym, her father’s gym. Kickboxing was just one of the many things Natalie had always been better at, a fact she had reinforced by winning the Olympic gold medal in kickboxing while Sheila was eliminated much earlier.
Still, Sheila would have given anything to spar with her sister just one more time, even if it would result in Sheila lying on her back on the mat.
Over a month had passed since Sheila had discovered Natalie, the former sheriff of Utah’s Coldwater County, dead in her cabin. The suicide, brought on largely by Natalie’s inability to cope with life in a wheelchair—the result of a shooting that had happened while the two sisters confronted a suspect, an event for which Sheila felt personally responsible—had rocked Sheila’s world. She had turned to two things to compensate.
Throwing herself into her training so she could become a police officer, just like her sister.
And drinking.
“Watch your footing, Jules!” Sheila called. She winced as Bella landed a hard jab on Jules' left cheek that sent the latter sprawling onto the canvas.
“Get up, Jules. Get up and fight!” she barked, clapping her hands together to motivate the young girl.
Though the drinking was under control, at least for now, she had discovered that nothing helped keep the demons at bay like staying busy. That was part of the reason she had begun this kickboxing youth program.
That, and an aching desire to make her older sister proud.
Jules rolled over on the canvas, pushing herself onto her hands and knees. She was breathing heavily, sweat dripped from her forehead, staining the gray mat under her. But she didn’t give up. Determination filled her eyes as she slowly got back on her feet, dusted off, and pulled her pink gloves up high in defense.
“That’s it,” Sheila said under her breath, nodding approvingly.
