He made a noise, then headed out the front door.
“Stay calm,think fast.”
Right. She wiggled her hands down under her backside, to the front, shot a look at the door, and brought her hands down hard and fast, breaking the ties.
Then she leaned back, put her hands between her knees, then jerked them apart.
Her ankle ties snapped.
She rolled to her feet, grabbed the poker, turned, and slammed open the back door.Sortofslammed it open because snow blocked it, but she managed to squeeze through the opening.
And then she was in the snow, up over her knees, the depth slowing her down, but she took off.
Except, a vehicle pulled up in the driveway, its tires crunching on snow and—shoot.Who?
She ducked down, under the windows of the kitchen, and moved toward the front of the house.
A late model Ford 150, green and dented in places, with a white racing stripe down the side. It tugged a memory inside her. But she couldn’t place it.
She crouched along the edge of the building, watching as Thornwood walked away from the house, his shotgun pointed at the truck.
The door opened.
No—what—?
Vic Dalton emerged, her short blond hair pulled back in a tight knot, wearing a thick flannel jacket, jeans and boots,exactlyhow Keely imagined her. Tough. Brave.
Unyielding.
What was she doinghere?
Vic walked around the truck, hands up. “No one needs to get hurt.”
“Did you bring her?” Thornwood shouted.
Bringwho?
“No. But she’s close. I want to see Keely.”
The words stilled her.What did she say?
“The Frost kid first.”
Vic shook her head.
What on earth—
Crunching in the snow sounded behind Keely, and she rounded fast, the poker up.
The man caught it on her downward swing. He wore a stocking cap and outdoor gear, but she’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere—“Dawson?”
“Sorry I took so long.”
She had nothing as his arm went around her neck, pulling her to himself. For a second, she clung to him.Dawson.Oh!
Don’tcry,don’t cry!
“Let’s get you out of here!”
