Page 120 of You'll Be Sorry

Goddammit. She was the one who claimed she was capable of anything. Like hell she was going down like this.

Grunting now. Pulling herself forward with her left arm as she scrabbled around with her right. Small bones, sharp bones, long bones. No, no, no. She set her gaze on a heavier-duty prize.

The impact-resistant, industrial-grade LED lantern hanging nearby.

Thrusting herself up against the wall. Shrieking now despite herself. Both men turning as one.

She grabbed the handle of the lantern. Took aim. And given she’d never have the strength to throw it, bowled it straight to Theo’s feet. In a split second he scooped it up, and as Mason the historian stared at them in shock, Theo smashed him over the head.

Theo by her side. Theo bending over.

“You have to move. Come on, love. I will never ask anything of you ever again. I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life keeping you safe. And spoiling you. Ridiculously. All the decrepit haunted New England properties you want—I’ll buy them. But you gotta move. We don’t have much time.”

She was trying, trying so hard. He threw her right arm across his shoulder. She screamed again.

A shadow passed over them both. She opened her mouth in warning as a second figure suddenly loomed behind Theo.

“What the hell?”

Detective Adams stood before them, wild-eyed, snow-covered, and wielding a rifle.

Theo didn’t wait. “Help me, he’s going to regain consciousness any moment.”

“Who?” But Adams was already grabbing her feet. Together they heaved her up and crab-walked their way to the entrance.

“Mason Carhart. Ambushed us. Wants the treasure. Let him have it.”

“She’s been shot. Jesus, and you’re injured, too.”

“Don’t care. Go, go, go.”

Outside. A bracing slap of cold against her overheated cheeks.

“Set her down over there. And you, take a seat as well. I’ll go get help.”

“He’s got a—”

But Theo no sooner started the sentence than a crack of gunfire exploded from the cave entrance.

Adams dropped to one knee as Mason staggered forth, pistol at the ready.

“Go,” Adams gritted, awkwardly raising his weapon.

Lying on her back in the snow, Raquel registered a second gunshot. Followed by a third.

Theo, she thought. Detective Adams.

Then, the blackness consumed her, and she didn’t have to think anymore.

And so it ends.

Now he’s running, burning legs punching through knee-deep snow. Her awkward bulk is clasped desperately against his chest. His heart, pounding to the point of nearly bursting.

A trail of red dotting the white-blanketed wilderness behind them.

He staggers forward through the fierce blizzard, head down, shoulders rounded. Fighting against the wind, the stinging cold, the sheer intractability of Mother Nature. Must keep moving. Faster, farther, only hope they have left…

“No secrets no secrets no secrets,” he mutters in her ear.