She took it, letting the warmth of the metal seep into her hands. “Location?”
He shook his head. “Other side of the truck. Heard the impact but didn’t see anything.”
Silence howled around them with the snow falling and the sky dark. She inched sideways down the truck toward the rear, putting her back to the vehicle and sliding easier. Brock edged toward the headlights, keeping his head down until he reached the front.
Then they waited, in perfect sync.
Nothing. Just silence and more snow. Her breath puffed out, and she took care to turn her head so the telltale sight stayed hidden behind the truck. Her heart beat powerfully inside her chest, and she let the adrenaline rush center her.
Brock leaned his back against the quiet vehicle, closing his eyes. He still crouched, his gun in both hands, his long body looking ready to uncoil at the slightest noise.
She blinked, watching him. The wind intensified, and clumps of snow dropped from the high boughs of fir and pine trees around them, thudding softly on the ice-crusted ground. In the distance, a wolf howled, followed by a cacophony of answering calls, mournful and determined. Ophelia shuddered and gripped her weapon tighter.
Five minutes passed and then ten. Finally, at fifteen minutes or so, she gingerly stretched her shoulders and bounced back on her heels, trying to keep her body from becoming too cold to move quickly.
Brock’s eyes opened, and the deep green pierced her. He signaled a plan and then stood, firing his gun over the truck’s hood before dropping back down.
No response.
He looked at her and frowned, shaking his head.
She took a shallow breath, not wanting to freeze her lungs. There hadn’t been any sounds of a four-wheeler or snowmobile. So, was the shooter still out there?
Brock jerked and looked at their side of the trees, which now concealed the river. He cocked his head slightly to the side and then lifted his weapon, tracking east to west.
She aimed at the forest, trying desperately to hear what he had noticed. Had the shooter somehow circled around them? They stayed exposed against the truck, but what if two shooters waited? If she moved to the other side, she might be doing what they wanted.
What had Brock heard?
He lifted his chin and let out a barely there whistle with one low note.
An answering whistle instantly echoed.
He motioned for her to lower her gun and then stood. She blinked and slowly pushed to stand, her joints creaking and protesting from the cold. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
Christian strode between two sprawling fir trees, the snow up to his knees and the puppy bounding at his side. “Heard gunshots.”
Brock launched into motion so fast he was just a blur. One second, he stood down the length of the truck, and the next, he’d grasped Ophelia’s arm and hip, moved to the door, and lifted her inside. “Stay there and stay down. If anybody comes near the truck, shoot them.” He motioned, and the wolf bounded into the truck with her before he shut the door.
Her mouth gaped. What the heck had just happened?
He motioned something to Christian, who pulled a large flashlight out of his backpack and pointed it beyond the truck and into the forest. Then they moved.
Together, synchronized, they inched forward with their weapons out and ready, their dark forms illuminated by the headlights. As one, they caught a scent and pivoted, their movements fluid and perfectly aligned. Without hesitation, they crossed the road in a synchronized dash, diving deep into thesnow and trees with silent precision. Each step mirrored the other, a practiced dance of instinct and trust. Within moments, they melted into the wilderness, vanishing like shadows on a hunt, focused entirely on tracking the shooter.
She gulped, her hands shaking from the cold. The wolf-dog puppy panted with his nose against the passenger-side window, his wet tail wagging across the leather seat.
Okay. Deep breath and then another. She swallowed and carefully watched outside for movement. Only the falling snow remained visible. She was a trained agent, but she’d worn the wrong boots and didn’t have any experience tracking in the snow, so she stayed at the ready in case the shooter doubled back toward the truck. Brock could handle any emergency, and her entire body warmed at the thought. The quiet of the night pressed in, and the windows started to fog. Minutes passed, and she wiped off the glass, looking for anything.
Her mind wandered back to the fact that both Brock and Christian had sounded truthful when claiming Brock’s innocence. Or did she just want to trust him? Not once, in her entire life, had somebody jumped into action to shield her.
She didn’t need protection, but the feelings that rose from his attempt overwhelmed her at a depth and level she’d never realized. Brock Osprey was becoming way too appealing.
He and Christian emerged from the trees, covered in snow.
She opened her door and jumped out with the animal right behind her. “Anything?”
Brock stepped back and looked at his truck, his broad face grim. “No. The trail leads to a popular sledding slope, so footsteps abound.”
