69

Mila pulled herself out of the snow. Checked her body for damage as she crawled out of the clearing. She’d heard the rifle shot, Hurley’s third. She could swear she’d heard the bullet as she threw herself to the ground, figured this was it, third time unlucky. Figured he’d put a hole in her back.

But she wasn’t hurt. She could crawl. She could stand up and run through the trees—or wade; the snow was too deep for anything faster. She wasn’t bleeding and she didn’t feel any pain. In fact, she could see the tree trunk the bullet had struck. Hurley had missed her again. She was still alive.

Somehow.

Mila didn’t expect Hurley to keep missing. She pushed farther into the forest as the ground began to drop away ahead of her, a steep, perilous declination, cliffs and jagged rock and fallen tree trunks. She would break her neck if she tried to run the drop; the mountain was too steep here. She didn’t have a choice. She would have to push deeper into the trees, hope she could lose Hurley in the wilderness. Hope she could survive long enough to double back toward the road.

Mila caught her breath. Took the pistol from her pocket and started into the forest.

—

Hurley shouldered his rifle. Grinned to himself as he stepped into the clearing on his snowshoes.

This was fun.

He’d never seen the point in a quick, easy kill. Enjoyed the drama of the hunt, the suspense. He was a man who savored his kills, made the most of his efforts. He worked hard to secure his prey. Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself a little?

Hurley could have killed the girl the moment she stepped out of his cabin. He’d had her lined up in his scope, and he never missed with his rifle, not from that range.

The rifle shot would have felled her. Probably killed her instantly. She would have died on his doorstep, never seeing his face. Would have died before he could touch her. Smell her. Punish her.

He’d fired to spook her. To jolt her into action, send her running, start the chase. She’d obliged him, though he’d had to fire twice to scare her out of her stupor. Did she know how lucky she was, that he’d spared her life? Admittedly not for long, but still. The girl was terrified now, thinking of nothing but survival. She would die exhilarated, her mind pure. She would die like the animal that she was.

Hurley started across the clearing toward where the girl had disappeared. He took his time; the girl had left footprints, deep, flailing gouges in the snow. He would follow them to her, as simple as if she’d drawn him a map.

Hell, it was easy.

It was almost unfair.