Excerpt of Ten Times Guilty by Brenda Hill

Chapter One

He waited in the stand of poplars behind the bus shelter, his black sweats fading into shadows cast by the midnight moon. A ski mask covered his face.

At twelve-seventeen, a Denver city bus approached the residential shelter. Air brakes hissing, it rolled to a stop and Cindy Harris, a sweater draped over her blue scrubs, stepped to the pavement. Glass shards from the streetlight crunched under her feet.

She glanced at the shattered light, then to the houses lining the gloomy street. The older frame bungalows, many with porches holding swings and chaise lounges, stood dark and silent.

Where were all the people? Surely someone was still awake, but there were no lights, not even from an upstairs window. She felt like a lone astronaut landing on a stark, barren planet.

With a whine of the engine and a cloud of exhaust fumes, the bus pulled away. Cindy desperately wanted to run after it and beg the driver not to leave her alone, but she'd never get home if she stayed on the bus. And she needed to fall into her bed for at least a couple of hours before she had to get back to the hospital for another sixteen-hour shift. Nurse's training had been grueling, but she hadn't known rough until several nurses called in sick and she'd had to pull three double-shifts her first week. She would get through it though; she'd be the best nurse County General ever had. Registered nurse, she thought, fingering her shiny new pin.

Straightening her shoulders, she left the shelter. At least she had only two blocks to walk. That wouldn't be so bad.

"Always call for a guard to walk you to your car," the hospital manual quoted for night personnel. "Or walk in groups. Above all, think safety. If you find yourself alone, carry something for defense and walk with determination and purpose. Do not advertise yourself as a victim."

Good advice, but not so easy to follow, especially on a night like tonight. Cindy walked at a rapid clip and searched for a beacon in the blackness, a porch light, a light in a window, any proof that another human being was alive.

There was nothing. Even the slice of moon had disappeared behind black clouds.

Lightning streaked across the sky, followed by the low rumble of thunder. A sudden breeze blew Cindy's blond hair back from her oval face and she felt moisture in the air. Great. A spring storm and no umbrella. Without slowing, she pulled on her sweater and hoped she could make it home before the rain started. From behind, she heard a faint rustling sound.

She whirled around. Nothing but a few scattered leaves on the sidewalk. That's all it was. Still, she scanned the spacious lawns between the houses and peered between the mature cottonwoods, aspens and blue spruce.

Tree branches swayed gently in the breeze.Nothing else moved.

She quickened her pace and tried not to look over her shoulder. Of all times for her old Pontiac to be in the shop. It needed new belts or some such thing. Cindy had memorized symptoms of a vast number of diseases but the mysteries under a car hood were beyond her. A few paychecks and she could trade her old clunker for that sporty little Saab with the custom red leather seats.

At the end of the block, she turned right and cut across an expanse of lawn on the corner lot. Only half a block to go. She glanced ahead to her apartment, hoping to catch a glimpse of her porch light, but it was still too far. A few more steps and there! Now she could see it through the branches of the aspen tree. She relaxed for the first time since getting off the bus. One thing for certain, she’d stop by that shop tomorrow and get one of those pepper sprays just in case she worked late again.

From the depths of the yard on her right, she heard that rustling sound again, only louder.

The fine hair on her neck and arms prickled as if the air were electrically charged. Her heart thudded. She walked faster, almost running. Probably a cat, lots of cats in the area. Think of something good, something good. Nothing came to mind except her mother’s face, beaming at Cindy’s graduation, holding back tears because her daughter had accepted a job in Denver instead of returning home to Pine Bluffs, Minnesota.

Behind her, a twig snapped.

That was no cat!

Heart racing, she spun around. Her frantic gaze raked the trees, the shrubs, the black spaces between the houses. Something moved…a shadow, big, like a man.

It advanced toward her.

She screamed and ran.

He grabbed her from behind . . .