Shadowfires. By: Dean R. Koontz
Shadowfires. By: Dean R. Koontz
Synopsis:
A fearful divorcee is relieved when her enraged ex-husband dies in a
freak accident, but her terror returns when his body disappears and she
is stalked by a man who looks just like him.Rachel wants no part of her
husband Eric’s research empire or his fortune. She just wants to be free
of his obsessions. Her request for a quick and clean divorce enrages
Eric. Consumed by pure and terrifying hatred, he storms into the
street–only to be killed in a horrible traffic accident. Rachel thinks
her nightmare is over, but it’s only just begun. Previously published by
Avon under the pseudonym of Leigh Nichols.
Berkley Pub Group;
ISBN: 0425136981 ; copyright 1994
Brightness fell from the air, nearly as tangible as rain, rippled down windows,
formed colorful puddles on the hoods and trunks of parked cars, and impafled a
wet sheen to the leaves of trees and to the chrome on the bustling traffic that
filled the street. Miniature images of the California sun shimmered in every
reflective surface, and downtown Santa Ana was drenched in the clear light of a
late june morning.
When Rachael Leben exited the lobby doors of the office building and
stepped onto the sidewalk, the summer sunshine felt like warm water on
her bare arms. She closed her eyes and, for a moment, turned her face
to the heavens, bathing in the radiance, relishing it.
“You stand there smiling as if nothing better has ever happened to you
or ever will,” Eric said sourly when he followed her out of the building
and saw her luxuriating in the June heat.
“Please,” she said, face still tilted to the sun, “let’s not have a
scene.”
“You made a fool of me in there.”
“I certainly did not.”
“What the hell are you trying to prove, anyway?”
She did not respond, she was determined not to let him spoil the lovely
day. She turned and started to walk away.
Eric stepped in front of her, blocking her way. His gray-blue eyes
usually had an icy aspect, but now his gaze was hot.
“Let’s not be childish,” she said.
“You’re not satisfied just to leave me. You’ve got to let the world
know you don’t need me or any damn thing I can give you.”
“No, Eric. I don’t care what the world thinks of you one way or the
other.”
“You want to rub my face in it.”
“That’s not true, Eric.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Hell, yes. You’re just reveling in my
humiliation. Wallowing in it.”
She saw him as she had never seen him before, a pathetic man.
Previously he’d seemed strong to her, physically, emotionally, and
mentally strong, strong-willed, strongly opinionated. He was aloof,
too, and sometimes cold. He could be cruel. And there had been times
during their seven years of marriage when he had been as distant as the
moon. But until this moment, he’d never seemed weak or pitiable.
“Humiliation?” she said wonderingly. “Eric, I’ve done you an enormous
favor. Any other man would buy a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”
They had just left the offices of Eric’s attorneys, where their divorce
settlement had been negotiated with a speed that had surprised everyone
but Rachael. She had startled them by arriving without an attorney of
her own and by failing to press for everything to which she was entitled
under California’s community-property laws. When Eric’s attorney
presented a first offer, she had insisted it was too generous and had
given them another set of figures that had seemed more reasonable to
her.
“Champagne, huh? You’re going to be telling everyone you took twelve
and a half million less than you deserved just so you could get a quick
divorce and be done with me fast, and I’m supposed to stand here
grinning? Christ.”
“Eric-” “Couldn’t wait to be done with me. Cut off a goddamn arm to be
done with me. And I’m supposed to celebrate my humiliation?”
“It’s a matter of principle with me not to take more than-” “Principle,
my ass.”
“Eric, you know I wouldn’t-” “Everyone’ll be looking at me and saying,
Christ, just how insufferable must the guy have been if it was worth