He’d been hit! Jasper couldn’t believe it. Amarok had shot him, even though he wasn’t carrying a flashlight or anything else that would give his location away.
Jasper couldn’t feel any pain. He supposed the adrenaline and the fear were compensating. He’d never come up against anyone as capable as Amarok. That made him hate the sergeant even more.
He shouldn’t have started this fight. Had he hit Amarok with his first bullet, as he’d hoped when he opened fire, the situation would be different. But he’d missed, and now he needed to get out of there as fast as possible. Amarok could not only shoot better; he could also move around in the snow better. Jasper hadn’t bothered to put on any snowshoes. That was why he’d had to stick so close to the cabin. If he had to take off running, it’d be like running through cement.
He fired again, randomly. Then he ducked. He knew he’d receive a hail of bullets in response, and he did. He could hear them hitting the wood behind him—right where he’d been standing before crouching down. Amarok was like an owl; he could see in the dark. But Jasper had only intended to distract him so he could get away from the cabin and its light. He needed to return to his truck before Amarok guessed he was planning to run instead of fight. If the trooper figured out it was safe to go into full pursuit, things might not end well.
After a brief pause, he heard Amarok fire off another bullet. He didn’t know if that was a test shot, to see if he’d respond, or if Amarok was using it to cover his approach to the cabin. The sergeant could already be hustling down the mountain, but if Jasper couldn’t see him clearly he couldn’t hit him.
His left arm tingled where he’d been shot. He assumed there was blood dripping from his sleeve, but he couldn’t feel it. He had no idea how badly off he might be; his hands were numb from the cold. He’d removed his gloves so he could fire his weapon and barely remembered to stuff them in his pockets before hurrying away.
A bullet whizzed past him. Amarok was adjusting his shot, somehow following his movements.
Shit! Jasper knew he’d made a gross miscalculation. He’d thought the element of surprise would be enough of an advantage, but he’d attacked Amarok in Amarok’s element. The cold didn’t seem to affect the sergeant; he was prepared for it. The dark didn’t seem to hamper him, either.
Jasper didn’t dare turn on the flashlight he’d brought so he could find his truck. He stumbled, hit rocks that gouged his shins and ran into tree branches that clawed at his clothes. At one point, he thought he heard footsteps behind him and his knees went so weak he almost fell.
It took a moment to realize Amarok wasn’t close, that it was only his imagination.
He paused to catch his breath and think. He was fine; he needed to calm down.
After shoving his gun in the waist of his pants, he turned on his flashlight. He was getting disoriented, had to see.
Luckily, he wasn’t lost; he was almost at his truck. If not for that, he suspected Amarok would be right—he’d be going with the trooper, either in handcuffs or in a body bag.
Jasper kept the flashlight up his sleeve so he could cover the beam with his hand. That way, it emitted hardly any light, and he turned it off as soon as he caught a glimpse of where he was going. He still had one major advantage. The sergeant wasn’t like him. Amarok might suspect he’d just been in a gunfight with Jasper, the man who’d nearly killed Evelyn, but he wouldn’t know for sure. And that doubt would make him hesitate. He had no real blood lust. Unless he was being shot at or directly threatened, he’d try to capture, not kill. By taking advantage of Amarok’s humanity—the same as he did with everyone else—Jasper could escape.
Once he reached his truck, he climbed in, started the engine and tore off. He was risking his life traveling that narrow road so fast, but he couldn’t let Amarok catch sight of the make and model of his vehicle or, especially, his license plate.
“Go, go, go,” he chanted. He only needed a few seconds, because he already knew Amarok wouldn’t be chasing him down.
*
Amarok spotted a dim light. It appeared and then disappeared. He also heard the engine of a vehicle. Whoever had tried to shoot him wasn’t still stalking him; he was getting away.
Amarok had been descending the mountain cautiously. Now he whipped his rifle back around, hoping for an opportunity to shoot. If he couldn’t hit the driver because of the distance and the darkness, he could possibly take out a tire or hit the vehicle somewhere that would provide proof later. He had to do something.
Problem was, he couldn’t see the vehicle for all the trees. There was a brief flash of brake lights and he immediately fired, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t hit anything. Those lights disappeared almost instantly.
With a curse, he moved as fast as he could in his snowshoes—so fast his lungs were burning by the time he reached his truck. He had to catch whoever it was, but he also had to remove the snowshoes that had made it so easy to walk in the deep snow.
He tossed them in the bed of his truck. But the moment he started the engine, shoved the transmission into Reverse and began to back up, he knew something was wrong.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled, and smacked the steering wheel before getting out.
Sure enough, Jasper, or whoever it was, had slashed his tires. Since Jasper hadn’t been near the truck while he was fleeing, he’d done it when he first arrived.
Amarok cursed again. He’d been in such a hurry he hadn’t even noticed, but all four tires were flat, and he had only one spare.
He studied the darkness surrounding him. If the shooter came back, he’d be a sitting duck. He’d be in real trouble if he went inside and fell asleep.
But he couldn’t hang out in the forest forever, watching and waiting. He’d freeze to death.
The cabin was his best bet. He could barricade himself inside, where he’d have warmth and shelter and could keep his gun handy as he waited for daylight.
He was listening for the sound of a car as he started to trudge back.
That was when he smelled smoke.
*
The first thing Evelyn realized was that Amarok hadn’t been to bed. According to the alarm clock it was nearly eight in the morning, and yet she hadn’t heard him come in.
When she moved, Makita’s collar jingled as he lifted his head. “You’re worried, too, huh, boy?”
He stood, eager to go out, and she nudged Sigmund, who was curled up beside her, so she could climb out of bed and put on her robe. She hoped Amarok had at least called, that she’d been sleeping so deeply she just hadn’t heard the phone. But when she reached the living room and woke Phil, who was snoring loudly on her couch, he said he hadn’t heard anything, either. “He’s probably over at the trooper post,” he added. “There’s a couch. Or he could be sleeping at his desk.”
That did little to alleviate Evelyn’s worry. Amarok had never slept at his trooper post before, certainly not since she’d moved in with him—
The phone rang. She jumped at the noise and then, relieved, hurried over to answer it. She thought for sure it would be Amarok.
“Evelyn?”
Not Amarok. Ashton Cooper. Evelyn easily recognized the attorney’s deep, gruff voice. “Hi, Ashton.”
“I hope it’s not too early. If so, you can call me later.”
He’d probably read the disappointment in her voice. It wasn’t too early. She just wasn’t in any frame of mind to think about Fitzpatrick. She was too concerned about Amarok. But she didn’t want to put Ashton off when she’d called him first and said she hoped to hear from him soon.
Pushing her worry down deeper, she said, “No. It’s fine. How nice of you to get back to me so fast.”
“I’ll admit I was surprised to hear from you. It’s been a while. I’ve been following your progress, though, whenever something comes up in the news.”
She glanced nervously at the clock over the sink. Eight ten, and the minutes were ticking away. “Then you know I’ve had a bumpy start with Hanover House.”