By Matthew F. Jones
Whilst eight-year-old Jennifer Follett doesn't go back domestic from college someday, the rigidly ordered lives of Edmund and Caroline Follett--a strength couple with a dear condo open air Albany, New York--are without warning upended. First comes the ready; subsequent comes the dread; ultimately, they're pressured to imagine the unthinkable, as a wayward twelve-year-old boy admits that he watched from the woods as their daughter, whom they anticipated to board a faculty bus on the backside of the driveway, acquired right into a black sedan as a substitute.
Although the Folletts' eccentric younger nanny, Hannah, is under imminent approximately why she permit Jennifer out of her sight, police investigators quickly start to suspect one other husband-and-wife pair: Gerald and Claire Sandoval, informal associates of the Folletts who personal a black LTD. yet why might the version churchgoing couple kidnap a tender lady? whereas they develop increasingly more confident that the Sandovals are concerned, the police are not able to discover as a lot proof to again up their suspicions. annoyed by means of the law's presumed blameless safeguards, the Folletts ascertain to do no matter what is critical to get Jennifer again. in the meantime, the well-meaning yet incautious investigators move a ways past the decision of responsibility of their wish to clear up the crime. of their "blind pursuit," the hunt for Jennifer attracts them deep into the upstate big apple woods and right into a chilling actual and mental disagreement with evil.
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Additional resources for Blind Pursuit
Her heart leaping wildly—Caitlin! What is it, she cried, what is it? They were upon her, they came crashing over the fallen leaves in the dark, putting their hands on her. Grant’s face, inscrutable behind the beam of light— Angie, Christ . . we thought we’d lost you. 9 On certain hot days after the work was done Emmet would step onto his porch across the way with a beer and sit in one of the wooden rockers and stare out at the land. In time Grant would come over and they’d sit and talk about what the weather was bringing and what must be mowed or painted or planted or mended the next day, watching the dusk slide down.
A woman came up behind him, a little boy in tow. Same woman, same little boy. The woman didn’t seem to believe what she was seeing. Angela smiled at the old man. ” The old man touched the tweed cap and got slowly to his feet. The little boy handed him his cane. ” 7 At midmorning Grant helped the old Labrador into the cab, then drove the three miles through the foothills to the cafe for his coffee and eggs and the Denver paper. Other such Saturdays, when he would return to the truck an hour, sometimes two hours later, the dog would be asleep on the bench seat, having been asleep the entire time, but on this morning, when he returned after only thirty minutes, the dog lifted her head and watched him glassily, as if puzzled in her dog brain to see him back so soon.
In her chest. She remembered the hour, the minute, she was born: precious small head, the known, perfect-formed weight of it. All her fears of motherhood—of unreadiness, of unfitness—vanishing at the sight of that plum-colored face mewling in outrage. My child, my life. She pushed aside the covers and sat up. Got to her feet. Crossed the creaking floor and opened the heavy drapes on a gray dawn. No movement in the leaves of the elm tree. The street and the sidewalk dry. The most ordinary of days.
Blind Pursuit by Matthew F. Jones