Cold Sweat by J.S. Marlo Page B

the skull. He checked for more injuries. The sleeve of his jacket was ripped near the elbow, but underneath the fabric, his arm was intact. He was one lucky dude to still be alive.
    The wind whistled at the frosty window and knocked on the door. He spotted something black underneath one of the benches. As he crawled toward the object, its form became clearer. A gun. While he wasn’t too familiar with types or calibers, Todd knew enough about guns to slide the safety pin, aim, and shoot. He tucked the weapon in his coat pocket.
    Using the garbage can as a makeshift walker, he battled to stand up and stay up. He took a tentative step, then another one. With every inch he gained toward the window, his legs grew steadier, and his confidence returned. Sheriff? Where are you?
    There was no one outside that he could see. Gathering his courage, Todd drew the gun and edged the door open. Just enough to peek outside.
    A wind gust slapped him in the face and pushed the door wide open. Fresh snow blanketed the landscape. No human or mechanical sound could be heard and no print could be seen in front of the lodge. Whoever shot him had vacated the vicinity, the rising storm covering his escape.
    His snowmobile hadn’t moved. It was still parked beside the sheriff’s. Todd approached the vehicles. Both hoods were up. He brushed the snow from his engine, exposing pulled out wires and ripped hoses. To his dismay, the sheriff’s engine fared worse, and both emergency radios had been smashed. Whoever attacked him hadn’t intended for him to go anywhere or call for help.
    “Sheriff Morgan!”
    The shout was lost in the forest, unanswered. Todd didn’t know the sheriff personally, but he doubted the man would have abandoned him, unless Morgan pursued the attacker and left the gun to Todd so he could defend himself. But then, the weapon would have been on the bench, not hidden underneath, as if it’d been lost in a scuffle.
    “Sheriff!”
    Todd combed the clearing for any signs of activity, checking the outhouse and digging into any suspicious mounds of snow that could conceal a man.
    “Sheriff Morgan!”
    The storm intensified and dusk settled over the clearing. If Todd stayed outside any longer, darkness would engulf him. He would lose the opportunity to return to the only shelter in which he stood a chance to survive the freezing night.
    “I’m sorry, Sheriff.”
    ***
    The countdown has begun.
    Sly relished little pleasure in breaking his oath to do no harm, but it couldn’t be helped. The girl had to die. Someone had to pay for her father’s atrocities. The senator deserved to suffer as much as Sly suffered from Lexa’s death.
    A knock on the door halted Sly’s mental preparedness. The fishing cabin he’d usurped belonged to an old Army buddy currently posted overseas. It stood near a frozen lake sixty miles west of Snowy Tip. In the summer, big fat trout populated the water. Catching one was as easy as throwing a line at dawn and reeling it in. Sly hadn’t gone fishing since before his tour in Afghanistan, and he missed the delicacy.
    No one in his right mind ventured in these parts of the forest during winter. The secluded cabin offered the perfect hideout.
    “Who’s there?” The girl being deaf, Sly wasn’t afraid to shout.
    “Open up, Serpent. It’s Vince.”
    The petty criminal wasn’t supposed to show his face here ever again. After kidnapping the girl, he and his friend had been more than adequately compensated for their services.
    “Hold on.” Not impressed by the unannounced and unwelcomed visit, Sly yanked the door open. A strapping guy in a bloody uniform fell into his arms. “What the hell?”
    “We have a problem.”
    That has to be the understatement of the year. Sly dumped the body on the floor before wiping his hands on his jeans. “What did you do?”
    A ski mask covered Vince’s head. “I shot the sheriff.”
    “You what?” Sly spat his frustration in the brainless thug’s direction. “Were