“Yes. Off duty—”
“There’s a man out here trying to kill me.”
He stilled. But he believed her, given the gunshot in Mack’s head and the way she held her arms around herself. Blood had dried on her lip, and her stuttered breathing suggested she might be having a panic attack.
“You’re safe with us. Sully is ... well, despite the Daniel Boone appearance, he’s a good guy.”
“I’m wearing Carhartts and a two-thousand-dollar Overland coat,” Sully said. “I’m hardly a trapper from them thar hills.”
The woman nodded.
Caspian came over, whining, and she recoiled.
“Aw, he’s okay. He just got a little excited.” Dawson put his hand on the dog’s back.
“I thought he was going to jump me,” Sully said. “What, you train him to be a guard dog?”
“I can’t train him to fetch my shoes. No. He just took off, as if he knew she was there.”
Caspian crouched down then and started to inch toward the woman.
“He followed me?” She eyed the dog.
“Yeah, I think he ... picked up your scent at the river. I don’t know. Or maybe he heard you.” Dawson put his hand on the dog’s head and looked at the woman. “Can you tell me what happened at the crash?”
“I don’t exactly know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and he could barely hear her, what with the wind raking the trees. She took a breath, her voice emerging louder but gravelly. “A passenger stabbed Mack and then we crashed. And then he tried to kill another passenger and then me and ... and...” Her voice broke off, and she shook her head, pressing her gloved hands to her mouth.
Oh boy. To Sully, “I need to call Moose. He’s on the shore, waiting for me.”
“No cell service here, Daws. But I have my shortwave. I can call Kennedy back at the outpost, and she can get ahold of the FBO via the ham radio. They’ll contact Moose.” He picked up the backpack he’d dropped and opened it.
“How far are we from the outpost?” Dawson stood up and stifled a groan. His knee had started to ache again. And from the heat, might be swelling.
“Six miles, maybe. But the blizzard will beat us there.” Sully pointed to the northwest even as he stepped away to talk on the radio.
Dark clouds jockeyed for space as they descended into the valley, turning the world to storm and shadow, the ceiling dropping fast. “If Moose doesn’t leave now, he won’t get off that riverbed.”
“Yep,” Sully said, also scanning the sky. “We need to get to shelter too.”
“Can we get to your place in time?”
“Better to go to Woodcrest,” Sully said. “We’re only a couple miles from Woodcrest. I’m just coming from there.”
“Will you make it home before the storm?”
“They have a few snow machines. I’ll borrow one.”
Dawson bent over to address the woman. “What’s your name?”
She had stopped crying a little, stared out past him. Caspian crawled up and set a paw on her knee. Then his snout. Nudged her hand.
“Keely,” she whispered. “Keely Williams.”
“Okay, Keely Williams. Listen, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to hike to shelter—”
“I can’t walk.” She lifted her gaze to him. Pretty eyes, hazel-blue. Fear in them. “I hurt my ankle.” Her voice emerged raspy again. Almost a whisper.
He swallowed. Straightened. Blew out a breath.
