Page 122 of You'll Be Sorry

Mandy squeezed his hand one more time, then raced downhill.

The snow both helped and hurt. Helped because she could make out a trail as she descended through the woods. Hurt, because the heavy flakes were filling in footprints and obscuring blood droplets almost as fast as she spied them.

She slipped, sliding down several feet until she nearly collided with a tree. Just got her feet beneath her before repeating the same pattern. Her heavy patrol boots were shit in these conditions. She needed microspikes, snowshoes, hell, a toboggan.

She emerged from the tree line into the open meadow just in time to see a lone figure staggering through the snow drifts. Way too far ahead for her to make out individual features, but given the rifle in hand, she was guessing it was Mason.

Mandy shouted his name, but the wall of heavy flakes muffled the sound.

At this distance, her pistol shooting skills were useless. She debated firing off a warning anyway, but given Mason could turn on her with a hunting rifle, that didn’t seem wise.

Which left her with trying to close the gap. Could she wade through the nearly knee-deep conditions faster than a septuagenarian? After twenty yards of gasping and heaving, she wasn’t convinced.

WWMFD, WWMFD, WWMFD, she thought bitterly. What would my father do?

He’d fucking get the job done. He’d push through hell and high water to protect his town and save his neighbors. Which were now her town and her neighbors, goddammit.

“Move, move,move!” She was screaming at herself. She didn’t care. Rant, rage, curse, just as long as she lurched forward one more lung-bursting step.

Straight ahead, Mason came to a full stop. As she watched, he raised his weapon. Positioned the buttstock against his shoulder pocket. Started zeroing in on a target.

He’d finally caught up with the Collinses.

Time was up. To hell with the risk to herself, Mandy pointed her Glock and squeezed off three rapid shots. Probably nowhere close to hitting him in these conditions.

But it did get him to twist around and aim in her direction.

Mandy threw herself to the side, just as the rifle cracked. And the snow exploded not in front of her, but beside Mason, as a snarling dog launched itself through the air, latched its jaws on Mason’s extended arm, and took the screaming man down with him.

39

Warm, wet swipes across her face. Terrible breath. More insistent licking, across her eyes, cheeks, mouth. A cold snout now poking into her ear.

Raquel raised a feeble hand in self-defense, which only earned her further slathering.

“Don’t move. You’ve been shot. Help is on the way.”

Raquel opened her eyes to discover the police chief standing over her. Mandy had unslung her heavy jacket and was draping it over Raquel’s form. Which in hindsight made some sense, as Raquel was shivering uncontrollably. She felt cold from the inside out, while simultaneously nearly burning up.

Snow. She was lying in a bank of it. More cascaded down, icy pricks against her exposed skin. She could feel a weight around her waist. Theo’s arms, draped on top of her.

Her gaze flew to Mandy, who was muttering, “Sit. Okay, fine, don’t sit. At least stay out of the way.”

That didn’t seem to be working, either, however, as Mr. Man’s face once more filled Raquel’s line of sight. The dog whined, then plopped down heavily, his liquid brown eyes fixed on her face.

“Theo?” Raquel managed to croak out.

“Everything will be fine.”

Which wasn’t the same as all right. “Mason…”

“He’s not fine, but in a deserving sort of way. Mr. Man here officially wields a bite worse than his bark.”

“Mr. Man.” Raquel stared groggily at the dog in question. “We locked him in the house.”

“Apparently, he’s also very good at jailbreak. You can thank him later.”

“Theo,” Raquel murmured again.