19

Time passed slowly, though I had no way to gauge it. I was too cold for the coat-over-the-head business again, and checking my phone without it was out of the question.

The wind rose and dropped. Clouds scudded across the sky, revealing glimpses of the stars, high and bright and cold. Snow blew into my collar, melting against my skin and running down my neck. I curled my hands into fists and stuffed them in my pockets, leaving my arms extended awkwardly.

I heard a whisper at the base of my tree. Instinctively, I hunkered lower, not even daring to look.

But it didn’t matter.

Quietly—oh, so quietly—someone worked up the ladder.

Maybe it was Reed, back from his trek to cell service.

Maybe not.

Inwardly panicking, I cast about for something to use as a weapon.

Nothing.

I leaned back and braced myself, preparing to double-barrel kick anyone who wasn't Reed.

When Levi’s head popped into view, I almost kicked him in the face. Which would have been catastrophic, considering the damage that had already been done. As it was, my near-kick hardly fazed him. He dodged nimbly and snaked a hand to grasp me by the ankle, tugging me toward the ladder.

“Morgan,” he hissed, “We have to go.” He braced a large hand against my hip as I descended. When I dropped to the snow, he leaned in close, whispering directly into my ear. “Be very quiet.”

No kidding. I turned my head to whisper back, my cold cheek pressed against his. “Where’s Reed?”

“I don't know.” He lifted a hand to cover the other side of my face. His hand was cold, but at least it blocked the wind. “He said he was going to lead Johnson toward the quarry. Booth’s out tracking them.”

The cheek pressed against mine felt desperately chilled. How long had Levi lain in the snow before he'd come to his senses? Or had someone found him? Had Booth called backup? What about—but he was whispering again.

“I left my truck in the clearing. It barely made it up Blackberry Ridge—the snow really came down.”

“What about Reed?”

He growled, his frustration palpable. “Booth’s after him. I'm supposed to get you off the Hill.” He took my hand and tugged me forward.

He ate up the distance with long-legged strides, half-dragging me as I stumbled along behind. We could have been heading any direction on the compass as far as I could tell, but with unerring instinct, Levi drew us back to the clearing.

He paused at the tree line.

He’d left the truck running in the center. Its high beams illuminated a whirl of flurries dancing on the wind.

His hand tensed on mine. I squeezed back, prepared to make a run for it.

But on a quick intake of breath, Levi jerked back, drawing us more deeply into shadow.

Stepping into the light and crossing directly in front of the truck was Mitchell Charles David Johnson.

Before I could decide which way to run, Levi dropped my hand.

He charged.