Nick pulled her off the snowmobile and behind a tree.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, scrambling to get her feet under her in the snow.
“See that window on the right?” He pointed to a window on the front of the house.
Mary squinted in the near dark, trying to see what Nick saw. Then she did. A perfectly round hole, the size a bullet would make, in the glass, six inches from the left side.
“Mr. Feegan. Chris!” Mary lunged toward the house.
A hand grabbed the back of her jacket and yanked her back so hard, she stumbled against Nick’s chest.
Nick’s lips moved against Mary’s ear. “Whoever put that hole there might still be around.”
Her gaze darted around the shadowed clearing. Nothing moved.
“Look.” Nick pointed to the ground around the house. Footprints marred the freshly fallen snow. Footprints that led around to the back but not out into the trees. Whoever made them had come from either inside or the rear of the house. “If he’s still here, he knows we are.”
Mary hunkered lower to the ground. “What if Mr. Feegan or Chris is inside and hurt? We need to get in there.”
“Not yet.” Nick moved her closer to the tree. “Stay here. And I mean stay.” He gave her a stern look. His lips pressed into a straight line. Then his long body bent low as he scanned the shadows beneath the trees.
Fear jolted through Mary. “You can’t go out there.” She grabbed his sleeve and held on. Images of Nick being gunned down tightened her grip.
Nick faced her, laying his hand over hers on his arm. “Gonna miss me?”
“No—yes—oh, hell.” She let go. “You could get hurt...”
“I’m trained in this kind of thing. I’m just going to have a look around. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Promise me you’ll stay?”
With the warm promise of his kiss still on her lips, Mary stood back behind the tree and trained her eyes on Nick as he moved through the trees on the edge of the clearing. He had the grace of a cat, slipping from shadow to shadow, zigzagging from one large tree trunk to another, his white coat blending into the snow.
When Nick had gone halfway around the clearing, Mary lost him. The darkness of the Alaskan winter wrapped her in a frigid shroud. She shivered, counting the seconds until the five minutes were up. She couldn’t wait any longer. He should be behind the house by now.
A loud crack killed the silence, echoing off the tree trunks.
A shout bounced off the treetops. “Get back!” It sounded like Nick.
Mary leaned around the trunk. Dusk was claiming the minimal daylight, and she couldn’t see a damned thing in the tree line.
Another crack pierced the air. A man cried out, his voice cut off in a gurgling sort of grunt. Was it Nick? Had he been hit?
Mary staggered away from the safety of the tree and ran toward the house.
An engine revved on the other side of it.
More guns popped off, one after the other until the engine noise faded away.
By now Mary had reached the back corner of the house. A figure lay crumpled on the ground in front of a shed out behind the house. A river of blood stained the virgin white snow.
A moaning wail rose from her throat and Mary threw herself toward the inert form. “Nick!”
Chapter 13
Nick lay at the edge of the woods in the snow, his back to the clearing where the house stood, his weapon trained on the disappearing blur of snowmobile. Damn it! He’d missed, and the son of a bitch had gotten away.
“Nick!”
Mary’s voice jerked his concentration back to the area behind him. He sprang to his feet and scanned the area for more potential threats. Deep down, he knew the lone rider of the speeding snowmobile had been the only bad guy here.
