We’ve got the Siberian tiger involved. That’s traceable.”
They had reached the gas station. The clerk had closed it down and gone home, so they stayed close to the front window, using the station to shelter them from the wind and the pumps to interrupt the sightlines of possible snipers. Flynn didn’t like it, but it was what they had.
“We’re way too vulnerable here,” he said, “so keep low and keep watch.” Then he asked her a question that had been troubling him. He already knew the answer, but he asked it anyway. “You’re not a field officer, are you?”
After a moment, she shook her head. “I come from the world of probability theory. I’m an analyst.”
“You couldn’t find a pattern, but then the third sister came along and you grabbed a few pros and off you went.”
“Don’t, please. No more.”
“He could’ve taken her any damn time, but he wanted to teach you a lesson. So he chose the night you were there.”
A cold silence fell between them. An analyst. An ad-hoc team. Equipment that didn’t work as advertised. Who the hell did the thinking?
The wind kept the snow blowing, reducing visibility. Flynn wondered what would come first, the bullet or the bus? Or maybe it would be the tiger.
He didn’t like it when his choices were limited to just one, especially when it was bad. Worse, all this flurrying was going to play hell out on the highway. Buses were going to stop in towns and stay there until they could follow plows.
“We need to find shelter. We need to either break into this place or we need to find somebody to help us. We can’t stay here.”
“The bus is due in forty minutes.”
He stood up. “Too long,” he said. He gestured toward the highway. “Outside of town, flurries are sweeping that road. So any traffic is stopped wherever it happens to be, and that’s where it’s gonna stay until it gets plowed out.”
“If we miss the bus—”
“You let the sun set on us, we do not survive the night. Period. If the cold doesn’t take us, he will. He will not miss again.”
She looked up at him. “It’s my decision,” she said.
He set off, intending to knock on doors until somebody let him in. Who knew, maybe they’d have a truck, maybe with chains.
She caught up with him. Good. He didn’t want to see her killed. Whatever she did, though, he intended to survive and he intended to win. This bastard had done enough.
“He’s gonna die or I’m gonna die,” Flynn shouted into the wind. “But not here, not now. I want my shot at him and I haven’t got it. But I will, lady. I will get my shot, and I’m not stopping until I do.”
They moved slowly along, huddled shapes in a blowing, frozen haze. They couldn’t go far, so Flynn intended to get to the first inhabited house they could find.
Slowly, they passed a bank, its tan brick front encased in ice, its interior dark. Next came a bar, its neon out, its door padlocked.
“Hold on,” she said, “don’t leave me behind.”
He put an arm around her and drew her forward.
“You’re strong,” she said.
He said nothing. They might be moving slow, but the reality of their situation could not be more clear. They were running for their lives with death by cold close behind them, and closer yet an even more dangerous enemy, who they could not see, let alone fight.
Flynn might not be able to see him, but he was out there, no question, and he intended to end this, and soon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The house was small and trim, with green shutters and gray siding. It had started life as a double-wide trailer and had been added to over the years. It was set north to south on its lot, so the wind surged down the porch, which was buried so deep in a rippling snowdrift that Flynn had to dig through it to reach the front door. He knocked.
Silence.
“It’s empty,” Diana said.
“Nope.” He pounded.
From inside there came a cry, “Clara! What’re you doin’ out there?”
The inner door swept open to
They had reached the gas station. The clerk had closed it down and gone home, so they stayed close to the front window, using the station to shelter them from the wind and the pumps to interrupt the sightlines of possible snipers. Flynn didn’t like it, but it was what they had.
“We’re way too vulnerable here,” he said, “so keep low and keep watch.” Then he asked her a question that had been troubling him. He already knew the answer, but he asked it anyway. “You’re not a field officer, are you?”
After a moment, she shook her head. “I come from the world of probability theory. I’m an analyst.”
“You couldn’t find a pattern, but then the third sister came along and you grabbed a few pros and off you went.”
“Don’t, please. No more.”
“He could’ve taken her any damn time, but he wanted to teach you a lesson. So he chose the night you were there.”
A cold silence fell between them. An analyst. An ad-hoc team. Equipment that didn’t work as advertised. Who the hell did the thinking?
The wind kept the snow blowing, reducing visibility. Flynn wondered what would come first, the bullet or the bus? Or maybe it would be the tiger.
He didn’t like it when his choices were limited to just one, especially when it was bad. Worse, all this flurrying was going to play hell out on the highway. Buses were going to stop in towns and stay there until they could follow plows.
“We need to find shelter. We need to either break into this place or we need to find somebody to help us. We can’t stay here.”
“The bus is due in forty minutes.”
He stood up. “Too long,” he said. He gestured toward the highway. “Outside of town, flurries are sweeping that road. So any traffic is stopped wherever it happens to be, and that’s where it’s gonna stay until it gets plowed out.”
“If we miss the bus—”
“You let the sun set on us, we do not survive the night. Period. If the cold doesn’t take us, he will. He will not miss again.”
She looked up at him. “It’s my decision,” she said.
He set off, intending to knock on doors until somebody let him in. Who knew, maybe they’d have a truck, maybe with chains.
She caught up with him. Good. He didn’t want to see her killed. Whatever she did, though, he intended to survive and he intended to win. This bastard had done enough.
“He’s gonna die or I’m gonna die,” Flynn shouted into the wind. “But not here, not now. I want my shot at him and I haven’t got it. But I will, lady. I will get my shot, and I’m not stopping until I do.”
They moved slowly along, huddled shapes in a blowing, frozen haze. They couldn’t go far, so Flynn intended to get to the first inhabited house they could find.
Slowly, they passed a bank, its tan brick front encased in ice, its interior dark. Next came a bar, its neon out, its door padlocked.
“Hold on,” she said, “don’t leave me behind.”
He put an arm around her and drew her forward.
“You’re strong,” she said.
He said nothing. They might be moving slow, but the reality of their situation could not be more clear. They were running for their lives with death by cold close behind them, and closer yet an even more dangerous enemy, who they could not see, let alone fight.
Flynn might not be able to see him, but he was out there, no question, and he intended to end this, and soon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The house was small and trim, with green shutters and gray siding. It had started life as a double-wide trailer and had been added to over the years. It was set north to south on its lot, so the wind surged down the porch, which was buried so deep in a rippling snowdrift that Flynn had to dig through it to reach the front door. He knocked.
Silence.
“It’s empty,” Diana said.
“Nope.” He pounded.
From inside there came a cry, “Clara! What’re you doin’ out there?”
The inner door swept open to
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