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effort of pushing him towards the opening. ‘For Christ’s sakegive me a hand here, would you?’
    Zack heard approaching steps. Then a large push-broom swung into view and rammed his feet off the frame. With a final grunt, Nolan shoved him inside.
    ‘Shit, what’s that?’ The man sat back and swiped at his face. ‘Spiders. Jesus, don’t –’ He sprang to his feet. ‘Where is it? Get it off me!’
    As the man danced around, Zack saw Vanessa brushing him down. For a tantalisingmoment they were both distracted. They mightn’t even notice if . . .
    Another pair of legs appeared in the doorway.
    Tragg squatted down to fill the opening. Pulling the Junior Mint box from his pocket, he inspected the cramped dark space.
    ‘Nice place you got here, Zacky-boy.’ He rolled a mint out onto his tongue and lapped it back, a toad catching flies. ‘Plenty of creepy-crawlies to keep youcompany. Hope there’s none of those recluse spiders, they can be nasty. Great big fangs, dripping venom . . .’
    Fighting his panic, Zack forced a two-word reply past the gag.
    ‘Oh now, Zack, that’s not very nice.’ Tragg’s smile vanished. He popped another mint, then rattled the box. ‘One left. You better have it. Wouldn’t want you to get hungry in the night.’
    He tossed the box. It hit Zack’sforehead and dropped to his lap.
    ‘Oops, can’t eat with your hands tied, can you? Too bad.’
    Laughing softly, Tragg got to his feet – ‘Sweet dreams, Zacky’ – and locked the door.

Chapter 5
    The piece was ruined. With a single careless stroke of the chisel she’d destroyed a solid two days’ work. Shyler set the carving on the workbench and eyed it in hopes of repairing the damage.
    From the outset the owl had been slightly lopsided but that never bothered her. More like a living specimen than the soulless symmetry of something manufactured. Now, however, due to her distractedefforts, an entire inch of the tail had sheered off. There was no way to salvage it. She hurled it onto the kindling pile, then sat back and rubbed her eyes.
    It was late; she should quit. She had more than enough pieces for this month’s delivery. Poor old Bill probably hadn’t sold half of the last lot. But at the prospect of going back in the cabin, sitting by the fire, alone with her thoughts. . .
    She reached for another chunk of wood, took up the gouge and began again.
    She needed the diversion of work right now, something to keep her mind occupied. Already the nightmares had started again, and while she’d not yet had a panic attack she’d felt the familiar warning signs that one was threatening. With the secondanniversary less than one week away, she was heading into her roughesttime. She would need every crutch, every trick to get through it.
    Two years. It didn’t seem right. Had she made no progress in all that time? Despite it being her only option, the cabin was her haven, Deadwater the safest place she knew. Deep in the northern woods of Maine – the last remaining wilderness in the east, home to more moose and bears than people – the vacation home she’d built withher father had offered the perfect retreat from the endless questions, the doubting looks, the oh-so-carefully-worded suggestions.
    The relief she’d experienced in escaping that torment had given her a sense she was moving forward. Now, after ten months on her own, her equanimity once again slipping, she had to wonder if that ‘progress’ had only been an illusion.
    Some things you just can’t doalone.
    She gouged a meaty chunk from the wood. ‘And sometimes you don’t have a choice in the matter.’
    As bad as the first year had been, people had still believed her story, rallied around her, offered support. But slowly that had come to change.
    Considering the detailed description you gave of the men who attacked you, we find it odd no one else remembers seeing them
.
    First the police, thenfamily, then friends. In the end who had there been left to trust? Who