Kara instinctively covered her head and cringed.
Papers careened off the dash and part of the police radio broke loose. For a crystalline moment, time seemed to slow. She watched with detached interest as an empty paper cup sailed through the air. A column of snow, kicked up from the skidding tires, arced gracefully over the windshield.
Her elbow banged against the dash and pain radiated through her arm. In an instant time sped up. The truck pitched sideways. She frantically groped for anything to stabilize herself against the painful battering. Just when she thought they might flip, the truck righted itself with a sickening thud.
Her teeth slammed together, and her head cracked against the side window. Agony exploded from her toes to her thigh.
She might have blacked out for a minute. She wasn’t certain. Afraid to trust in the sudden silence, she remained motionless for an agonizing beat.
Shane dragged himself upright using the steering wheel. “Are you hurt?”
She gave herself a quick pat down as though her hands might discover an injury before her brain acknowledged the pain.
Kara shook her head. “No new injuries. Just shaken up.”
She’d been in a state of unrelenting panic for the past hour, and the eerie calm was unsettling.
A dense whiteout cocooned them, muffling the exterior noises. There was nothing but blank space beyond the ten-foot radius surrounding the truck. It was like one of those movie scenes where the character enters an endless, blank void.
She wasn’t even certain which direction they were facing. There was no way to tell. There were no landmarks to judge her bearings.
Both of them remained alert, searching for any sign of an impending attack.
“Do you see anything?” Kara asked in a low whisper.
“Nothing.”
He scooted down and pressed a lever, shoving the seat back as far as it would go. Kara followed his lead. They used the extra space to crouch low. A feat that was far easier for her to manage. Shane barely fit. There was no way to switch positions just yet, leaving him to battle the steering wheel and the column.
He fumbled for the radio and reattached one of the wires. He tried to make a call, but there was no reply. Static sounded, which meant there was no way to know if the radio was broken or if the storm was interfering with the reception. They both instinctively reached for their phones. Neither of them had any bars. They exchanged a glance, saying nothing, yet both conveying the paralyzing uncertainty of their current situation. He pushed his flapped hat back from his forehead, smearing blood across his temple.
Kara gasped. “You’re hurt!”
He swiped at the spot. “I’m not good with blood. Especially my own.”
She flashed a half grin despite herself. “You’re joshing me. You patched me up just fine.”
This was the part of being an adult she’d never quite mastered. Should she offer to help him? Ask him if he needed a Band-Aid? She knew what to do when an animal was hurt or in pain; she wasn’t so certain about people.
“Looks like I’ve got you fooled,” he said.
She adjusted her leg and winced.
When she straightened, her head swam. “It’s weird. I feel like we’re still moving.”
“We took a good hit,” he said. “It’ll pass.” He patted the dash affectionately. “At least the department will finally qualify for an updated vehicle. This one had seen better days five years ago.”
The conversation was forced, with Shane trying to assume an air of normalcy to alleviate the terror, and her trying to process everything that had happened. How long before it was safe to venture out? At this point, there was nothing to do but wait.
“If you get any say about the new truck, make sure it has a key fob this time around,” she said. “Come to think of it, do they even make cars that use keys anymore?”
He snorted at the good-natured ribbing. “It’s my fault. Bill, one of the safety officers, loses his keys every other week. I should have checked to make sure he put the spare key back.”
Her own car was ancient. She was still paying off her student loans, which meant it’d be a while before she replaced it.
“I don’t think anyone could have planned for what happened,” she said. “You can’t blame yourself.”
From his expression, she surmised that he could, and he would, blame himself no matter how many words of consolation she provided.
Her legs tingled with pins and needles. She shifted, and a stinging pain ran from her wounded thigh to her foot.
With a grimace, Kara started to rise.
Shane flashed his palm. “I don’t trust this guy. He isn’t behaving normally. Most killers don’t stick around once the police arrive.”
Her teeth chattered. “Do you really think he’s still out there?”
“He’s somewhere.” Shane narrowed his gaze at the emptiness outside the windshield. “Depends on how badly he wants us.”
The pins and needles were traveling up her calves. “For all he knows, you did have another set of keys. Maybe he thinks we’re long gone by now.”
“Let’s hope so.” Shane swiveled in his seat, then stretched his arm and grasped his shotgun from the rack. “But we’d better plan for the worst. You know how to use this?”
The wooden stock was smooth and cold against her bare fingers. “Well enough.”
Gun safety was one of the first things Walt had taught her. She’d initially resisted his insistence that she learn how to shoot. She’d already seen too much violence in her life. Even the sight of a gun brought back memories she’d prefer to forget.
Walt had persisted. He’d gradually worn down her defenses with his calm, steady example. In Alaska, guns were survival. They were a tool, the same as an ax or a shovel.
“There’s one shell in the chamber and two in the magazine,” Shane said. “Be careful.”
“I know.” Emotion tightened her throat, and she checked the safety mechanism. “I was taught by the best.”
The last two words were barely more than a squeak.
Shane tenderly cupped the back of her head with his enormous hand. “I know this is hard. You’re holding up great. I promise when this is over, you can mourn properly for Walt.”
She allowed herself a moment of weakness before leaning away. “Sure.”
He removed his hand, though the warmth of his touch lingered.
Keeping her face averted, she swiped her nose against her sleeve.
Only two weeks ago, she and Walt had traveled the south border of his property searching for a wounded wolf he’d seen earlier. There had been nothing special about that day. Nothing to mark that it would be the last time they tackled the outdoors together.
Walt had talked about the new litter of puppies. He’d even promised to give her one as a Christmas present. She’d protested. Her job was unpredictable, and the hours were long. She took care of enough dogs already.
Walt had only smiled. He knew she had a soft spot for Christmas. Her birthday was on the twenty-third of December, and people always forgot it. No one ever forgot Christmas.
Walt had introduced her to the Candlelight Mass. It was a tradition she and Walt shared.
Emotion threatened to overwhelm her, and she shut down the flood of memories, forcing her mind to go blank. She’d opened herself to joy, and this was the consequence. That’s why it was better to feel nothing.
Using his elbow, Shane wiped a larger circle in the growing condensation. “I can’t even tell if we’re on the road.” He depressed the call button on the police radio and static sounded. He shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Jeff is at the duty station tonight. Keep trying him. I’ll be back in a few.”
Her heart dropped. “Where are you going?”
The note of hysteria in her voice was lowering. She was a strong, independent woman. She simply didn’t want to be alone in the wilderness with a murderer on the loose—a perfectly reasonable fear, considering her leg injury had her at a disadvantage.
“I need to get the lay of the land,” Shane said, his attention focused on the fathomless abyss swirling outside the windshield. “See if I can figure out where we are in reference to the road. Then we can make a plan.”
She knew him well enough to know there’d be no talking him out of the decision.
He was too stubborn. “Don’t go too far.”
“Don’t shoot me,” he replied, gesturing toward the shotgun. “I’ll keep my hands up when I approach. That way, you’ll know it’s me.”
She appreciated the extra precaution, but there was no need. She’d recognize him anywhere. In town, she could spot him from two blocks away. He had a certain purposeful intent in his walk. A confident, distinctive way of holding himself.
“Be, uh...” The words clogged in her throat.
Shutting down the pain of one loss was going to be hard enough. She didn’t want to face another.
“I’ll be careful,” he said.
The look in his expressive blue eyes might have been regret.
She wasn’t stupid. This was her cue. This was her chance to say something—to start mending the rift between them.
No words came. Why expose an old wound? They were wrong for each other. She had secrets to protect and keeping them from Shane had drained the life from her. He was relentless. He’d sensed a snag in the fabric of her life, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he pulled the thread. She refused to let that happen. Anyone who knew about her past was in danger.
“How long will you be gone?” was all she managed to say.
“I’m not sure.” He paused, his gaze intense, and she shrank away from his scrutiny. “Keep trying to reach Jeff,” he continued. “Check your phone for bars, as well. The mountains can be tricky. If I don’t come back, don’t come looking for me. There’s food and blankets. You’ve got enough supplies to wait out the storm. Jeff is smart. If he doesn’t hear from us, he’ll send someone from the resort out looking.”
If anyone was crazy enough to go out in this storm, that person was most likely from Alaska. Though weather this bad was rare, it was not unheard-of. Not to mention the unpredictability. Blizzards that were supposed to bury towns petered out, and storms that were supposed to blow over exploded into bomb cyclones. For all they knew, this whole thing might be over in another hour.
“If you’re determined to put yourself in harm’s way—” she pinched off the gloves he’d placed on her hands earlier “—you’ll need these.”
After reluctantly conceding the point, he rummaged around in the back seat once more. “Here’s a blanket. This should help keep you warm.”
“It’s not too late to reconsider,” she blurted, immediately regretting the lapse.
People did what they wanted to do. He wasn’t going to stick around just because she asked.
“I need to get my bearings,” he said. “If we’re sitting in the middle of the road, I’ll have to put out reflectors when the storm breaks. I don’t want to survive this only to be crushed by a snowplow.”
He had a point, but he was still putting himself at risk.
While she recognized any sense of security that she felt in the truck was false, the idea of separating had her panicked. They were less than half a football field away from the house, but it might as well have been a mile. There was nothing but a sea of white surrounding them. There was no telling who was hiding in that whiteout.
“I mean it,” Shane said, his voice low and firm. “If I don’t come back, don’t come looking for me.”
She gave a mock salute. “Got it, Sergeant Capital T Taylor.”
She was already embarrassed that she’d asked him to stay. There was no point in further humiliating herself.
A shadow she didn’t understand passed through his eyes. “Keep trying to reach Jeff.”
She nodded. “I will.”
The door opened with a shock of frigid air and churning snowflakes before he slammed it once more, entombing her in silence. If she had to be stranded with someone, she was grateful it was Shane.
He wasn’t simply a part of Kodiak Springs, though he was certainly an integral member of the town. He was a part of the fabric of the land itself. He carried himself naturally in any situation, and she’d never seen him flustered. He managed the bar fights on Friday nights with the same calm, steady demeanor he used when meeting with the bereaved.
Since the town had such a small law enforcement presence, he was often tasked with being counselor and social worker to people who were also his neighbors and friends. He remained steadfast throughout it all. There had been times when she was jealous of his ability to navigate such disparate situations.
He never seemed ill at ease, while she constantly battled against feeling out of place. The only time she felt truly at home was when she was working with animals. She understood their behaviors. A horse that was in pain didn’t try to hide it. A dog that was happy to see its owner didn’t try to temper his joy. An angry bear protected her cubs. There was no subterfuge with animals. No guesswork involved.
The radio crackled.
“Call...snow...resort...highway.”
Her pulse jumped.
She frantically snatched the microphone and depressed the button. “Jeff, it’s Dr. Riley. We’re stranded on the road at the bottom of Walt’s driveway.” The words tumbled from her lips and she paused to catch a breath. “Someone shot at us. When it’s clear, send the snowplow from the resort.”
Releasing the button, she waited for a reply.
“Wait...you are...out.”
“Can you repeat that?”
“Order...delayed.”
She made a sound of frustration. There was no way of knowing whether or not he’d heard anything she’d said.
Fumbling for her phone, she checked the bars for the umpteenth time. Still nothing. Her leg throbbed and she flashed back to the shooting. Even with snow looming in the forecast, when she’d awoken that morning the weather had been beautiful. Clear and crisp and bright enough to blind her. The dark clouds had descended rapidly and she’d felt the first wet flakes on her cheeks before she reached Walt’s. While tending to the pups, she’d lost track of time. Stepping outside once more had been a shock. As long as she’d lived in Alaska, she’d never quite grown accustomed to how quickly conditions changed.
A gust of wind rattled the truck’s windows, startling her. According to her phone, Shane had been gone for nearly half an hour. What was keeping him?
She adjusted the shotgun and flexed her fingers. Her hands ached from gripping the chilly gunstock.
A flash of movement in the side mirror snagged her attention. Shotgun in hand, she whipped around.
Her breath immediately fogged the glass. She swiped at the moisture and squinted. An enormous bull moose materialized through the whirling snow. He lifted his head and stared at the truck in what appeared to be mocking indifference before turning away.
Keeping low and still, she tracked his progress for as long as the blowing snow allowed. He was probably thinking, idiot human.
She checked the time again. Shane’s gear was top-of-the-line, but in this weather, even top-of-the-line had its limits.
A soft, glowing light appeared through the haze. Her gaze sharpened. She tucked her finger into the trigger of the shotgun and squinted. A headlight, maybe? She couldn’t tell. She scrunched lower in the seat and rested the barrel of the gun on the opposite window.
The light twinkled and disappeared.
There was a low rumbling, but she couldn’t tell which direction the noise was coming from. She pressed one hand against her chest in an effort to slow her thumping heart.
If the killer had discovered her, she was as good as dead. There was nowhere else to run.