The Watcher. BEVERLY BARTON

       Prologue

       I am not going to die! Damn it, I refuse to give up, to let him win this evil competition.

      Kendall Moore pulled herself up off the ground where she had fallen, face-down, as she ran from her tormentor. Breathless and exhausted, she managed to bring herself to her knees. Every muscle ached. Her head throbbed. Fresh blood trickled from the cuts on her legs and the gashes in the bottoms of her callused feet.

      The blistering August sun beat down on her like hot, heavy tendrils reaching out from a relentless monster in the sky. The sun was her enemy, blistering her skin, parching her lips, dehydrating her tired, weak body.

      Garnering what little strength she had left, Kendall forced herself to stand. She had to find cover, a place where she had an advantage over her pursuer. If he caught up with her while she was out in the open, he would kill her. The game would be over. He would win.

      He’s not going to win!1 Her mind screamed orders—run, hide, live to fight another day. But her legs managed only a few trembling steps before she faltered and fell again. She needed food and water. She hadn’t eaten in three days and hadn’t had any water since day before yesterday. He had been pursuing her from sunup to sunset for the past few days, apparently moving in for the kill. After weeks of tormenting her.

      The roar of his dirt bike alerted her to the fact that he was nearby, on the narrow, rutted path to the west of her present location. Soon, he would come deeper into the woods on foot, tracking her as he would track an animal.

      At first she had been puzzled by the fact that he had kidnapped her but then set her free. But it hadn’t taken her long—only a matter of hours—before she realized that she was in the middle of nowhere and that she wasn’t free, no more than a captive animal in a game reserve was actually free.

      Day after day, he stalked her, hunted her down, and taught her how to play the game by his rules. He’d had more than one opportunity to kill her, but he had allowed her to live, and he’d even given her an occasional day of rest. But she never knew which day it would be, so she was forced to stay alert at all times, to be prepared for yet another long, tiring match in what seemed like a never-ending game.

      Pudge parked his dirt bike, straightened the cord holding the small binoculars around his neck and the leather strap that held the rifle cover across his back. Kendall didn’t know it, but today was the day she would die. He had brought her here to this isolated area three weeks ago today. She would be his fifth kill in this brand-new game that he had devised after several months of meticulous planning. Only recently had he decided that he would hunt his prey for three weeks, then go in for the actual kill on the twenty-first day.

      After his cousin Ruddy’s death on April first of last year, he had discovered that he missed his one-time opponent and lifelong best friend more than he’d thought he would. But Ruddy’s death had been inevitable. After all, he been the loser in their “Dying Game” and the consequences of losing was forfeiting one’s life.

      You’d love this new game, dear cousin. I am choosing only the finest female specimens, women with physical prowess and mental cunning. Only worthy adversaries.

      Kendall Moore holds an Olympic silver medal in longdistance running. Her slender, five ten frame is all lean muscle. In a fair fight, she might actually win the game we’re playing, but whenever did I fight fair?

      Pudge chuckled to himself as he dismounted from the dirt bike.

      I’m coming for you. Run. Hide. I’ll find you. And then I’ll kill you.

      As he stomped through the woods, Pudge felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his body, heightening his senses. He had missed the thrill of taking a human life, of watching with delight the look of horror in a woman’s eyes when she knew she was going to die.

      Soon, he told himself. The next victim in The Murder Game is only a few yards away. Waiting for you. Waiting for death.

      Kendall knew that if her captor chose to kill her, her chances of escape were nil. He had proven to her several times that she was powerless to stop him from tracking her and finding her. He had pointed his rifle at her, dead center at her heart, more than once, then grinned with evil glee, turned, and walked away. But the time would come when he would not walk away. Was today that day?

      She heard his footsteps as he crunched through the underbrush, drawing closer and closer. He wasn’t trying to sneak up on her. In fact, he seemed to want her to know that he was approaching.

      You have to keep moving, she told herself. Even if you can’t get away, you have to try. Don’t give up. Not now.

      Kendall ran for what seemed like hours but probably wasn’t more than ten minutes. Her muscles ached, her heart raced. Out of breath and drained of what little energy she had left, she paused behind a huge, towering tree—and waited.

       Keep moving!

      I can’t. I’m so tired.

      He’s going to find you. And when he does …

       God, help me. Please, help me.

      Suddenly, as if from out of nowhere, her captor called out her name. Just as she turned toward the sound of his voice, he stepped through the thick summertime foliage surrounding them. The trickle of sunlight fingering down through the ceiling of sky-high treetops hit the muzzle of his rifle, which he had aimed directly at her.

      “Game’s end,” he said.

      He’s never said that before, Kendall thought.

      Breathing hard, she lifted her head and stared right at him. “If you’re going to kill me, you son of a bitch, then do it.”

      “What’s wrong, Kendall, are you tired of playing our little game?”

      “Game? That’s all this is to you, isn’t it? Some sick, perverted game. Damn it, this is my life.”

      “Yes, it is. And I hold the power of life and death—your life and death—in my hands.”

      His cold, self-satisfied smile sent shivers through her.

      “Why me?”

      “Because you’re so very perfect.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “You don’t need to understand. All you need to do is die.”

      She swallowed hard. He’s actually going to kill me this time. Icy fear froze her to the spot. “Do it, damn you, do it!”

      The first shot hit her in her right leg. Pain. Excruciating pain. She grasped her bloody thigh as she fell to her knees. The second bullet hit her in the shoulder.

      She stared at him through a haze of agonized tears and waited for the third shot.

      Nothing.

      “End it,” she screamed. “Please, please …”

      The third shot entered her chest, but missed her heart.

      The pain enveloped her, taking her over completely, becoming who she was. No longer Kendall. Only the torment she endured.

      As she lay on the ground, bleeding to death, her captor approached. When she felt the tip of the rifle muzzle pressing against the back of her head, she closed her eyes and prayed for death.

      The fourth and final bullet answered her prayer.