"That's a hell of a story," the sheriff says, shaking his head. His eyes dart from her face to mine while I busy myself backing away from him. If Sloane can spin this so that the focus lands only on her, I'll marry her on the spot. But something tells me the coming storm is going to sweep through like a hurricane and my entire past will be exposed. I'll have no choice but to run again.
"It's the truth." I move to stand beside Sloane, presenting a united front. "And those men won't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way."
Wade's expression hardens. "You threatening me?"
As if summoned by my words, headlights slash through the windows, lighting up the room brighter than Christmas. We all freeze, watching as three SUVs pull up outside, parking in a semicircle that blocks any escape by vehicle.
"Christ," I hiss. "Get away from the windows." I pull Sloane back, away from the front of the cabin, but Wade doesn't move fast enough. I grab his arm and haul him sideways just as the first shot punches through the glass, shattering it, making shards rain down all over my hardwood floors.
We all hit the floor as more shots follow, taking out every window facing the front of the house. The rounds chew through the wall and shatter the lamps. Then the shooting stops, replaced by a voice amplified by a megaphone.
"Come on out, Dane. We know you're in there! We'll make this quick!"
My mind is reeling while I crawl toward the kitchen where Sloan is curled into a ball shaking and sobbing. This isn't the public execution Jason thought they'd want, but it doesn't mean they intend to kill me right here. There's a chance this is an attempt to take me alive and torture me for a few days before Ellie's Thanksgiving party, which I can't allow to happen.
"Who are these men and what the fuck do they want?" Sheriff Carver is on his hands and knees, hat lost to the darkness somewhere, but all I can think about is getting Sloane out of here safely. I have no doubt I could escape into the woods and lose them. They’re city slickers wearing Armani suits and dress shoes. They'll get cold in under an hour.
But we can't stay here and fight. The mountain is our only option at this point.
"Sloane," I hiss, "go in the bedroom in the bottom of my closet." I'm already thinking ten steps ahead, planning our retreat. "Get the duffel bag. We'll go out the back.”
She nods and scrambles after me. Wade reaches for his radio and clicks it on, making all sorts of racket. Clearly, these asshats aren't afraid of shooting at cops because his cruiser is parked right in my driveway. "Dispatch, this is Sheriff Carver. I need backup at the Strouse property, county road forty-seven. Multiple armed suspects, shots fired. Officer needs assistance."
The response crackles back, barely audible over the renewed gunfire. They're shooting up the cabin now, trying to keep us pinned down, but it's not gonna stop me. I grab my go bag from under the kitchen cupboard and tuck it against my chest whilearmy crawling back toward the bedroom. Sloane appears with the duffel bag now, packed with essentials I made her prepare days ago.
"We're going out the back," I tell them both. "Through the bedroom window, into the trees. There's a path that leads around to the barn." Sloane already got the snowmobile out and primed. It'll be ready to take off in a split second under what I assume will be another hail of gunfire.
"You're not fleeing." Wade's face is red with anger and confusion. "You're gonna stand down and let me handle this!"
"These men don't stand down for badges." I check my weapon, making sure I have a full magazine. "You aren't gonna talk your way out of this, Wade. If you want to live through the next ten minutes, you'll listen to me for a change."
Wade struggles to a crouching position, one hand on his weapon. "I'm not running from criminals. I'm a law enforcement officer. I have a duty?—"
"Your duty is going to get you killed." But I can see he's not listening. The stubborn set of his jaw, the way he stands and starts moving toward the front door—he's going to do something stupid.
"Sheriff, don't?—"
He pulls open the door and steps onto the porch, hands raised, badge visible on his chest. "This is Sheriff Wade Carver! Lower your weapons and identify yourselves!"
Wade staggers backward, clutching his shoulder at the same time the gunshot booms through the air, and I'm there to catchhim before he hits the ground. Blood seeps between his fingers, staining his dark jacket instantly as I lower him to the ground.
"Told you, you fucking idiot," I grunt, dragging him back inside. Then I kick the door shut as more bullets hammer into the wood, splintering it. "Sloane, we're out of time." I barely have Wade settled on the ground before I'm up and moving.
Sloane's already by the back door, throwing it open, cold air rushing in. I help Wade to a seated position despite his protests. The man is heavy, bleeding, and fighting me every step.
"I'm not leaving," he grunts. "This is my town and my jurisdiction."
"Your town's about to become a war zone." I prop him up under the window, and I just know this'll be the last time I see him alive. "You can come with us or you can die here. Your choice."
"You leave this property, boy, and I'll have you hunted down." Wade isn't nearly as intimidating as he thinks he is.
"Sorry, Sheriff… If you're not coming along, I have to go without you. I won't let them hurt her." I turn toward the back door, still crouched over, and over the hiss of the bullets, I tell him, "Play dead. They have no beef with you. You'll be fine." It's my parting advice but probably not true.
Maddox and his crew will mow down anyone in their path. And if Varen shows up alone, they'll take him out too. Which is why it's even more important for me to get Sloane out of here faster.
It takes fifteen minutes to get to my place from town on a clear day, and it's already been ten. If I'm not out of here before Varen is, those men will kill the deputies and any other folks around who poke their noses out.
When I get out of the line of sight from the front window, I stand and move faster. Sloane is standing on the back step, gun aimed into the blackness that is the woods behind the house. It's dark on purpose because I always plan an escape route wherever I'm staying. They haven't thought to come around here yet, so we've got a breath of time to run.
