A pair of wool socks lay draped across the console in the stream of hot air from an upper vent. They would be too big. She didn’t care. She snatched them up and pulled them onto toes that appeared dangerously pale in light from the dash. With the socks on and her feet pressed to the lower vent, her toes felt cherished at last.
Outside, Chris scraped away at the cloud of ice on the windshield, creating an opening just large enough for safety, then moved to the back for the same treatment. The rasp of the plastic blade against glass set Lauren’s teeth on edge. Guilt. She was growing warm. He was outside in the cold. If the men found them, she was far safer than he was.
Because of her. Because he had known Ryan would come to her.
Which was why she had felt the need to break off their engagement five years earlier. She couldn’t drag Chris down, risk his career, when she knew her father was out of prison but still walking along the edge of criminal behavior, with her knowing he would cross it again. She didn’t think Ryan had. But maybe that was wishful thinking and not reality. At least it definitely was now, with what Ryan had done in that courtroom.
The driver’s-side door popped open. Chris tossed the scraper onto the floor behind his seat and climbed in.
“Thank you for the socks. My feet are warm now.”
“I’m glad.”
Chris put the SUV into gear and headed out of the driveway. “Put on your seat belt.”
Lauren grabbed for the shoulder harness. A moment after she clicked the lock on the seat belt, they hit the snowbank, slamming over it onto the road, and slid on black ice across the highway to the other lane. Clear. Thankfully. A scream crammed into Lauren’s throat. She tried to hold it back. Failed.
“I got it.” Chris’s extra soothing tone was more irritating than calming.
“You should know better than to drive that fast when you know the pavement is icy.” The words burst from Lauren in unchecked anger.
And Chris laughed. “You sound like my mother.”
Or a wife.
Lauren pressed herself back against the seat and covered her face with her hands. She breathed into her palms. She would be calm. She wouldn’t say anything else.
Chris, competent as ever, got the Jeep under control and headed in the right direction—at what felt like a snail’s pace—to the nearest town. To a sheriff’s office. To a working telephone. They would say goodbye there.
Lauren’s hands fell to her lap. If they had only a few more minutes together, she needed to say something to Chris one more time. But before she got out the “I’m sorry” she intended, she caught a flash of light in the rearview mirror.
A snowmobile was streaking down the highway behind them and gaining.
SIX
“Why are they following us on the snowmobile?” Lauren cried.
“They can go faster.” Chris’s face looked grim.
“But we can’t.”
“Not and stay on the road.”
“Will they catch us? Will they shoot at us?”
“I don’t know. Will you watch while I drive?”
“Of course.”
Watch for what, she didn’t know. Watch how close their pursuer or pursuers got. Watch for a muzzle flash.
She shivered despite the warming cabin.
The windows were fogging from the difference between temperature outside and in. Chris flicked on the defroster. The blast of cold air streaming off the windows felt like an insult to her senses. The sight of the snowmobile behind hurt her eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was gaining. She hoped that whoever was driving was alone and too occupied with keeping up speed to fire at them. Better yet, that he was out of ammunition.
“Town is close.” She made the announcement as much to encourage herself as Chris. “It’s just a village. But there’s a sheriff’s office and a diner and a couple of stores.”
Only the sheriff’s office would be open that late.
She glanced at the clock. She expected it to say midnight or later. The time said half past nine.
“Is your clock wrong?” she asked.
“It’s right on time last time I checked. We really were only out there for less than an hour and a half.”
“I thought—yikes.” Half-turned to look out the rear window, she clutched at the seat back as Chris swerved right to pass a salt truck creeping along at half their speed.
The driver blared his horn.
“That won’t keep them away from us for more than a few minutes, but it’ll help,” Chris said with a note of satisfaction.
Glancing back, Lauren saw only the salt truck, not the snowmobile. Ahead, she caught the lights at the widening of the road that was the nearest town. A gas station first, its lights brightly announcing it was still open after all. She wanted to beg Chris to stop. The station had a little store with hot coffee and chocolate.
“The sheriff’s office is on the other side of the library,” she said instead.
“This place has a library?”
“Tourists and summer residents want books and sometimes need computer and internet access. This time of year, it’s open two days a week. Right there.” She pointed to the old house now serving as the library and municipal offices. “There’s parking behind.”
Chris turned into a driveway not yet touched by plow or shovels. The Jeep’s tires spun, sought traction, gripped. The engine strained with all-wheel drive, then they were up a slight incline and pulling behind the building with the comfort of bright lights turning the snow and ice to wedding-cake frosting.
Reluctantly, Lauren pushed her feet into her cold, stiff moccasins and prepared for another dousing of the deep freeze outdoors.
“They won’t let us in the back door,” Lauren said.
“They will. Or are you forgetting my deputy US marshal credentials?”
“How could I forget that?” Her voice held a little more harshness than was polite. At that moment, she didn’t care.
They were about to step into the world of law enforcement, where Chris was the good guy and she the sister of the felon. One of the enemies. Who the others were, she had no idea. Ryan probably did.
They slogged to the back door of the sheriff’s station. Chris pressed the bell.
“Who is it?” An impossibly young-sounding voice came through the speaker.
“Christopher Blackwell, Deputy US Marshal.” He held his credentials in front of the camera.
“Who’s with you?” the disembodied voice asked.
“Lauren Wexler,” Chris said.
“Is she under arrest?”
Chris glanced at Lauren, then back to the camera. “She has vital information to an investigation.”
“You have the vital information,” Lauren reminded him, thinking of the USB drive.
“That’s Ryan’s information. I’m still waiting for yours.”
Lauren flinched and opened her mouth to tell him she knew nothing to help him. But maybe she did. She hadn’t taken time to think. She was too cold to think.
The vroom of a small engine cut through the quiet night, and she whipped around in time to see a snowmobile speed into the parking lot, execute a one-eighty so fast it nearly tipped onto one runner, then sail out of the lot again.
“Are you going to let us in or not?” Chris’s query was sharp, demanding.
“Yes, sir.” The door buzzed and a release clicked.
Chris palmed the door open and held it for Lauren to go ahead of him. She stepped into a narrow hallway lit with unstable fluorescent lights and smelling of burnt coffee. At the far end, a young man in uniform stood backlit against brighter lights.
“Deputy Davis, at your service.” Lauren expected him to bow. Instead, he held his hand out to Chris. “What brings you out on a night like this?”
“It’s a long story.” Chris glanced to Lauren, then back to t
he sheriff’s deputy. “Are you the only one here?”
“Right now, I am. Everyone else is out on accident calls and a fire emergency.” Davis glanced from one to the other. “You two look half-frozen. Can I get you some coffee or tea or cocoa? It’s just the cocoa packets, but they have marshmallows.”
Lauren’s lips twitched. She dared not look at Chris, but caught his expression from the corner of her eye. His lips were compressed as though he was trying not to laugh.
This boy in uniform looked about sixteen.
“Some cocoa with marshmallows sounds perfect,” Lauren said. “And maybe you have some blankets we can wrap up in until we dry?”
“Come sit at the front desk, ma’am. I got a space heater under it.” The boy led the way to a desk bearing two telephones and a brand-new-looking computer. Billows of heat poured from the kneehole.
Lauren didn’t need a second invitation to sit. She perched on the vinyl desk chair and immediately began to warm.
“Any chance I can use your telephone?” Chris asked. “We don’t have our cell phones.”
“Reception’s bad here anyway.” The officer glanced at the phones, each of which seemed to have four lines. “It’s quieted down now. I guess it’s all right, but maybe I should call the sheriff.”
“You do that.” Chris handed Davis his credentials. “He can check to make sure I’m legitimate.”
Davis flushed. “Guess I should’ve done that.”
“It’s all right.” Chris patted the boy’s shoulder. “Being here alone on a night like this is a lot of responsibility.”
Embarrassment turned to pride. “Yes, sir.” He reached for the phone and tapped out a number he obviously knew by heart. The conversation was brief and mostly one-sided—the sheriff doing most of the talking. Davis nodded a great deal, as though he were on a video call. Then he hung up and nodded again toward Chris. “He says you can use his office.”
“Thank you.” And Chris was gone into another room.
Through the glass-paneled door, Lauren saw him seated behind another desk like the one before her. She hoped it too held a space heater beneath. His voice was muffled, not a word distinct, but her ears burned. He was talking about her. If he wasn’t, she would give up the cup of cocoa with marshmallows Davis set before her with a proud “I made it with milk, not water. Tastes better that way.”
He then brought her a selection of aging magazines to read. Game and Fish, Woods and Water and Michigan Golfer. None were to her taste, but she pretended to read, while listening to the subdued rumble of Chris’s voice go on and on behind the closed door and watching Davis pace the waiting room. The phone didn’t ring once. Not a vehicle rolled past the front window. The three of them might have been alone in the world.
Then headlights flashed out front and an SUV roared up the driveway. Moments later, the back door banged open with a blast of frigid air. “Where are our visitors, Davis?” shouted a booming voice.
Lauren rose, expecting to find a man of equal size—great height and girth to match the basso profundo. The man who strolled into the front office was of no more than average height and weight, with beautiful golden-blond hair waving from beneath his hat. He, like Davis, looked far too young for his role, not more than a year or two older than Chris.
He yanked off his cap and held out his other hand to Lauren. “Sheriff Matt Davis.”
“Davis?” Lauren glanced at the deputy.
“My nephew.”
“Aha. I’m Lauren Wexler.” Lauren shook the proffered hand.
“Own the lake house about five miles south.”
“I do.”
“So how’d you get picked up by a deputy US marshal?” Sheriff Davis glanced to his office.
“It’s a really long story. Maybe he should tell you.” She saw Chris rise and approach the office door.
He exited the office and introduced himself. “I’m happy to tell you what happened at Miss Wexler’s house tonight, but first—”
What Chris said next flew right past Lauren while she recovered from him calling her Miss Wexler like she was a stranger. Or, worse, like he wanted to keep a barrier between himself and her.
“I only hesitate to say yes on the computer use,” Davis was responding to Chris, “because our machines are new and I don’t want a virus or something destroying them. Can you guarantee this USB drive doesn’t have something destructive on it?”
Chris looked at Lauren. “What do you think?”
Chris asking her opinion about Ryan’s USB drive made her feel like the nerdy high school girl getting asked to prom by the best pitcher on the baseball team—far better than the quarterback, since she didn’t like football much. She nearly forgot to respond.
Because she was a fool to care.
“Lauren?” Chris prompted.
Realizing all three men were staring at her, she swallowed, licked her cracked lips. “I can’t guarantee it. I have no idea what’s on it. But I know how to take steps to protect your system.”
“She’s a computer genius,” Chris explained.
Lauren ducked her head. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I know a few tricks.”
“As long as they work,” Sheriff Davis said, “go right ahead. You can do that while Blackwell here tells me what this is all about and why knowing what’s on that USB drive is so urgent.”
Lauren held out her hand for the oblong plastic Ryan had given her a lifetime ago.
Chris fished it from the pocket of his sweatpants and laid it on her palm, then rested one hand on her shoulder. “No tricks if you don’t want to join your brother in prison.”
* * *
Fragile beneath the wool blanket, Lauren’s shoulder went rigid under Chris’s hand. He regretted his choice of words before she glanced at him, her eyes wide and bleak. “Did they catch him?”
“Not yet, but we will.”
Chris had his doubts about whether or not anyone would catch Ryan except the men who were not law enforcement. Marshals were traveling to this area, where Lauren said she had last caught a glimpse of Ryan Delaney racing for the trees and trailing drops of blood on the snow. But the storm slowed everyone down. Calling people back from their Christmas vacations slowed everyone down. Not knowing the terrain slowed everyone down.
Nothing seemed to have slowed the men chasing Ryan and now Chris and Lauren. They knew Chris and Lauren were in the sheriff’s station. All they needed to do was wait for them to leave and ambush them. And leave they must. Chris had to get Lauren someplace where she could wait for Ryan to be placed in custody, possibly in custody herself so she didn’t help her brother. Chris needed to get into the extra winter gear in his Jeep and join the manhunt.
“How can I join Ryan in prison if he isn’t there?” Lauren asked in her soft, low tones.
“By destroying the data on that USB drive.”
Chris ignored the literal words of her question. She knew what he meant.
“Or warning him of our location while you’re on the computer.”
“I doubt he has internet access wherever he is. And you’re probably not the only marshal looking for him.”
Chris touched his fingertips to her cheek so she would keep looking at him. A mistake. Her skin had warmed. His fingers had warmed. Instead of feeling skin smooth like marble as he had in the woods, he now felt the satin texture of her complexion. He wanted to trace his fingertips across her cheekbones, her jawline, her stubborn round chin. He wanted to brush his thumb across her lips and—
He jerked his hand and gaze away. “Do you know where Ryan might be?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.” She began to type into the computer, her fingers a blur on the keyboard. “He needs to be captured for his safety, and to explain why he escaped custody. I know you don’t believe me, Chris, but I know it’s true.” She pushed the USB drive into a port.
&nb
sp; Messages began to flash on the monitor. Password demands. Warnings.
“Of course it’s password protected.” Chris nearly groaned in frustration. “I can ship it to the nearest office with a computer forensics expert, but that’ll take at least another day. We were hoping to email this information back to the Northern District of Illinois.”
“I can break the password faster than anyone can deliver the USB drive, especially in this weather.” Lauren spoke with calm confidence.
Chris didn’t doubt her for a moment.
“What do you need?”
“Just this computer and some decent coffee. Some food wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chris left Lauren to her skills. From the smell in the station, decent coffee wasn’t likely, so he was pleasantly surprised to learn they possessed a Keurig and the burnt-coffee odor stemmed from reheating cups in the microwave.
“I’ll pay you back,” he assured the sheriff and his deputy, then made Lauren a cup of coffee and plundered a cabinet of snacks for chips and a granola bar.
“I’ll go down to the gas station for deli sandwiches,” Deputy Davis offered. “They close up at eleven and practically give away what’s left over at the end of the day.”
“That’s good of you, considering the weather.” Chris produced his wallet and handed Davis some bills. “Buy whatever will get us all through the night.”
The boy departed and Chris told the sheriff what was going on. Finished with his explanations, Chris began to pace the confines of the station. Sheriff Davis was in his office, talking to men patrolling the roads of the county, which seemed to include the drivers of a snowplow and a salt truck. “Have you seen a snowmobile or a pickup truck with extra large tires?” Davis asked each of them.
Chris had nothing to do. This wasn’t his jurisdiction. He couldn’t give orders. He got his information secondhand. He couldn’t help Lauren. He had good computer skills, but they were utilitarian for everyday usage, not specialized like hers.
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