He moved through the forest slowly, ducking branches, trailing the sources of dim lights in the distance. But as he approached, they proved to be illusory, odd reflections of moonlight among the trees.
She didn't want to kill him, not really. He could sense that. It was something more. She was compelled to do it—that was it. Someone had put her up to it. But who? Who hated him enough?
The speculation made his head ache. He blanked out his thoughts and decided to concentrate on his predicament. There had to be a way out. The girl had entered the forest at some point. But where?
He heard the sound of voices, and he stopped breathing.
"Manford means business," one of them said.
"He's plenty worried. T.D. was watching tonight—"
"The sponsors kick T.D., T.D. kicks Manford, and Manford kicks us. Who do we kick?"
"I don't know about you. I got an old dog home—"
"Okay. Let's separate and find this bird."
"Right. Hey, Lou! Let's have some tracer lights!"