George shook his head. “I’ll see to these two,” he said. “Go to her. You’ll get there faster than I could.”
Connor whistled for Farley, then headed straight down the steep slope, alternately taking giant steps and glissading on hisheels. But when he reached the bottom of the incline, he found only churned snow. “Stacy?” he called, keeping his voice low.
“Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot her.”
He turned and found Nate holding Stacy close, the barrel of a large pistol pressed to her cheek. Her face was in shadows, but Connor could feel her terror. Or maybe that was only his own fear, which froze him in place.
“Get your hands up where I can see them,” Nate ordered.
Connor slowly raised his hands. He strained his ears, hoping to hear Agent Anthony’s approach. Surely he had seen Stacy fall or heard her scream. He shifted his attention to Stacy. “Are you all right?”
“I—”
“No talking!” Nate shoved the gun in her side. He glared at Connor. “Do you have a gun?”
Connor thought about lying but didn’t want to risk it. “Yes. In my jacket pocket.”
“Take it out. Slowly. Toss it on the ground.”
He did so. The gun landed without a sound in the deep snow.
“We’re going to walk over to the snow machines now,” Nate said. “Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill her, then you.”
“I understand,” Connor said. Without moving his head, he searched for Farley. Maybe the commotion had frightened him away.
Connor took a careful step back, then another. Nate stalked forward, dragging Stacy alongside him. “Turn around.” Nate ordered. “Think about how easy it would be for me to shoot you in the back.”
Connor turned. A few more steps brought them within sight of the three snow machines they had ridden up from the base area. “I’m going to take one of these,” Nate said. “And I’m going to take the fed here with me.”
“What about Shane and Bruce?” Connor asked.
“What about ’em? I don’t owe them anything.” Nate dragged Stacy over to the vehicle. “Get on,” he ordered.
Awkwardly, she climbed onto the machine.
Nate sat behind her, then leaned over to grab the handle of the starter cord.
Stacy jerked back, hitting him hard in the chin with the back of her head. She half fell, half crawled off the seat of the machine and landed on her knees in the snow while Nate was screaming and trying to sit upright.
Barking furiously, Farley raced out of the darkness. “Farley, no!” Connor shouted.
Nate turned the pistol on the dog, but Farley was already leaping, biting at the arm that held the gun.
Stacy crouched behind one of the other snowmobiles, out of sight.
Cursing and shouting, Nate fought off the dog. There was no sign of the gun now—Nate must have dropped it. Connor ran toward him, but Nate had managed to throw off the dog and reach the controls of the snowmobile. The vehicle roared to life and headed straight for Connor.
Connor dove sideways, narrowly avoiding being hit. Farley rushed to his side and began licking his face. Connor gently pushed the dog away and struggled to his feet.
The roar of the snowmobile grew louder. Was Nate coming back to try to run him over again?
But this wasn’t Nate. A man in a black balaclava raced toward Connor. Connor waved, trying to flag the driver down, but the driver veered around him. Seconds later, he heard a sickeningthump!and the sound of the engine ceased.
Connor turned to see Nate on his face in the snow. One snowmobile lay on its side, the other idled nearby. The figure in the balaclava straddled Nate and leaned down to cuff his hands behind this back.
Then the man in black straightened and looked at Connor. “Are you all right?” Agent Anthony asked.
“Yes.” Connor moved, not toward Anthony, but to the snowmobile where Stacy still crouched. She stood as he approached, then turned to watch her father walk down the trail, Bruce and Shane in front of him.
