Arctic Christmas Ambush

by Sherri Shackelford

  Closing her eyes, she murmured, “‘The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?’”

  “Amen,” Shane said softly. He inched a little higher and peered over the dash. “I still don’t see anything.”

  A pop sounded and a plume of snow exploded into the air near the driver’s side fender. Kara shrieked and reached for Shane, clinging to him. Terror clawed at her chest. It was easy to tell herself to have faith and so hard to do when tested.

  “He doesn’t want a head start.” Kara’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs. “He wants to kill us.”

  THREE

  Kara was frozen in terror. If Walt’s death had been because of her, then she risked two lives. Shane was in the line of fire with her.

  A flash of light caught her attention.

  She covered her head. Shane draped his body protectively over hers.

  A bullet ricocheted off the front fender with a metallic thud.

  “Stay down,” Shane whispered harshly.

  “Don’t worry. I’m too scared to move.” Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. “We’re trapped here.”

  His weight eased. “I’m taking care of this guy. We’re sitting ducks.”

  “No.” She clutched his arm. “You can’t go out there. You don’t know where he is. You could walk right into a bullet.”

  “I’m not letting him get to you.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Then we’ll freeze to death.” Shane straightened slightly and slipped his gun from his holster. “We can’t just sit here.”

  “If he kills you, we’re both dead,” she whispered.

  He dropped his hand with a sigh. Both of them braced for another bullet, but none came. Shane reached for his radio and called dispatch. Nothing but static met his plea.

  He replaced the mic. “Great.”

  Kara’s back ached from the awkward position, and her leg throbbed. Her heart was pounding hard enough to make her chest burn.

  Shane was right about one thing. Waiting for the killer to come to them was a poor option.

  Her eyes were level with the gearshift, and an idea took shape. Jack, the man whose murder she’d witnessed, had been a repo man. She’d worked for him that summer, and there was a little-known trick in the business she’d learned when he took her out on one of his runs.

  “This drive is steep.” She spoke her thoughts aloud. “Real steep.”

  “Yep.”

  “That means if we can get the truck into neutral, we can roll backward.”

  “In theory. But we’ll have no power steering, no brakes and visibility is next to nil.”

  “The farther we are away, the more difficult we are to target.”

  “Yeah.” Shane’s brow creased. “How much time does that buy us?”

  She gestured vaguely toward the house. “This guy knows we’ll eventually have to leave the truck. Our only choices are the house or the kennels. I think that’s why his shots are so far apart. He’s trying to lure us into making a run for it. What he’s not expecting is for the truck to move backward.”

  He turned his attention to her. “True.”

  This just might work. “The hot springs snowplow will start running as soon as the blizzard lets up. We can flag down the driver.”

  “That might be a long wait. Especially if the avalanche warning stays in effect.”

  Kara shrugged. “I’ll take a better idea.”

  Her side mirror exploded. She might have screamed; she didn’t know. Shane pressed her farther down, crushing her injured leg. The pain barely registered. Her fear was sharper than anything else that was happening.

  He hunched forward and grasped her fingers with his free hand. “On second thought, let’s make for the road and hope the snow passes soon.”

  His hand was warm and strong, and for a moment she was sheltered in his strength. This time she didn’t fight the comfort. Maybe, just this once, it was okay to lean on someone.

  “This is going to work,” she said.

  He dropped his hold on her and swiveled awkwardly in his seat. “Seat belts. This isn’t going to be smooth.”

  She reached for the belt and tugged. Shane leaned over and covered her trembling hand with his, guiding the metal tongue into the latch with a click. As he did the same for himself, she stared at the junction. The almost paternal gesture yanked her momentarily back to her childhood. Though she knew someone must have, she didn’t recall anyone ever buckling her in.

  Shane cracked the door and fired off a shot. “That’ll keep him busy while we figure this out.”

  Echoes of the gunshot set her ears ringing, making his voice sound tinny and distant. Even in the freezing temperatures, a chill sweat broke out on her forehead. The cold and the shock were beginning to wear on her.

  “There’s one flaw in the plan.” Shane yanked on the gearshift. “This truck is well-outfitted, but it’s ancient. I don’t know if I can wrestle it into neutral.”

  If he questioned her later, she’d tell him she’d seen the trick in a movie or something. “I know what to do.”

  * * *

  Shane had questions, but knowing better than to ask, he kept his own counsel. “What do you need?”

  “A screwdriver,” she said. “The smaller the better.”

  “Got it.” A quick rummage revealed a medium-size screwdriver. “Will this do?”

  “Perfect.”

  Her brow knitted, Kara pried open a tiny plastic cover near the gearshift, then pressed her finger through the opening. “All right. Drop it into neutral.”

  To his surprise, the gear shift easily slid into place. The truck jolted but didn’t move. He’d learned a lot of tricks about cars over the years, but that was a new one.

  Seconds ticked by. An almost imperceptible movement vibrated through the wheels. The truck slowly inched backward.

  “You know your stuff,” he said, glancing over his shoulder in a rapid up and down movement.

  His sight line was poor, which meant judging the turn was going to be tricky.

  Kara grimaced. “I don’t know. We’re barely moving.”

  “Give it a minute,” he said, his back hunched. “Gravity will take over. When I was a kid, I accidentally kicked my mom’s car into neutral climbing over the seat.”

  “What happened? Did you get hurt?”

  “Nah. Crashed into the neighbor’s fence.”

  Maybe the shooter wouldn’t notice they were moving right away. That might buy them a precious few seconds.

  Snow flurries whipped across the windshield. Despite his reassurances, Shane’s pulse thudded. As he held his breath, the truck gradually picked up speed.

  All his doubts about the plan came rushing back.

  He lifted his head slightly. “This isn’t going to be easy, the steering is electric.” With one hand on her shoulder, he kept his body angled over hers, the other hand clutching the wheel. “Given visibility, we’ll be taking the turn blind.”

  “At least we’re moving.” Kara angled her head. “We might actually make it.”

  He prayed she was right. He didn’t think it was possible, but her face had grown even paler. First things first. He’d worry about what to do next as soon as they were out of the killer’s range.

  Shane reluctantly scooted away, removing his hand from Kara’s shoulder. “Brace yourself and stay down. This might get rough.”

  He didn’t dare lift his head any higher than the top of the steering wheel. There was no mistaking the movement now. How aggressively was the gunman prepared to chase them? How much firepower did he have?

  Shane calculated the distance to the bend in the middle of Walt’s long drive. He’d have to angle the wheels early if he was going to make it. Though he’d been to Walt�
�s house a few times over the years, he hadn’t exactly memorized the terrain. He recalled a copse of trees in the bend of the drive and a deep trench on either side of it right before the highway.

  The wheels bumped over the snowy surface. He counted to three and risked lifting his head enough to peer at the rearview mirror.

  A dark shape caught his attention. He yanked on the wheel and the tires angled. The truck skidded. Another couple of feet and they might have made it.

  “Hang on!” he hollered.

  The sickening crunch of metal striking one of the tall pines echoed through the canyon. The impact yanked the wheel from his hands, and his neck snapped back. The steep grade and icy conditions kept the weight of the truck sliding. The front wheels skidded, propelling them sideways down the hill.

  Shane wrestled with the steering wheel, wrenching as hard as he could, but with no traction, the bed of the truck swung around as though it was trying to pass them. Another glancing blow sent them fishtailing.

  Even if he’d had more control over the steering, he doubted he’d be able to maneuver in these conditions. The brakes were worthless and the truck was picking up speed again.

  Unless he corrected their trajectory, they were going to hit the ditch.

  The front wheels glided over the icy drive, and they hydroplaned in slow motion.

  He glanced to his right and his heart stalled. The break in the trees indicated they were nearing the road. If they hit the ditch at this speed, the way they were angled, they’d flip.

  The truck had become a six-thousand-pound out-of-control battering ram headed straight for the disaster.

  FOUR

  Kara instinctively covered her head and cringed.

  Papers careened off the dash and part of the police radio broke loose. For a crystalline moment, time seemed to slow. She watched with detached interest as an empty paper cup sailed through the air. A column of snow, kicked up from the skidding tires, arced gracefully over the windshield.

  Her elbow banged against the dash and pain radiated through her arm. In an instant time sped up. The truck pitched sideways. She frantically groped for anything to stabilize herself against the painful battering. Just when she thought they might flip, the truck righted itself with a sickening thud.

  Her teeth slammed together, and her head cracked against the side window. Agony exploded from her toes to her thigh.

  She might have blacked out for a minute. She wasn’t certain. Afraid to trust in the sudden silence, she remained motionless for an agonizing beat.

  Shane dragged himself upright using the steering wheel. “Are you hurt?”

  She gave herself a quick pat down as though her hands might discover an injury before her brain acknowledged the pain.

  Kara shook her head. “No new injuries. Just shaken up.”

  She’d been in a state of unrelenting panic for the past hour, and the eerie calm was unsettling.

  A dense whiteout cocooned them, muffling the exterior noises. There was nothing but blank space beyond the ten-foot radius surrounding the truck. It was like one of those movie scenes where the character enters an endless, blank void.

  She wasn’t even certain which direction they were facing. There was no way to tell. There were no landmarks to judge her bearings.

  Both of them remained alert, searching for any sign of an impending attack.

  “Do you see anything?” Kara asked in a low whisper.

  “Nothing.”

  He scooted down and pressed a lever, shoving the seat back as far as it would go. Kara followed his lead. They used the extra space to crouch low. A feat that was far easier for her to manage. Shane barely fit. There was no way to switch positions just yet, leaving him to battle the steering wheel and the column.

  He fumbled for the radio and reattached one of the wires. He tried to make a call, but there was no reply. Static sounded, which meant there was no way to know if the radio was broken or if the storm was interfering with the reception. They both instinctively reached for their phones. Neither of them had any bars. They exchanged a glance, saying nothing, yet both conveying the paralyzing uncertainty of their current situation. He pushed his flapped hat back from his forehead, smearing blood across his temple.

  Kara gasped. “You’re hurt!”

  He swiped at the spot. “I’m not good with blood. Especially my own.”

  She flashed a half grin despite herself. “You’re joshing me. You patched me up just fine.”

  This was the part of being an adult she’d never quite mastered. Should she offer to help him? Ask him if he needed a Band-Aid? She knew what to do when an animal was hurt or in pain; she wasn’t so certain about people.

  “Looks like I’ve got you fooled,” he said.

  She adjusted her leg and winced.

  When she straightened, her head swam. “It’s weird. I feel like we’re still moving.”

  “We took a good hit,” he said. “It’ll pass.” He patted the dash affectionately. “At least the department will finally qualify for an updated vehicle. This one had seen better days five years ago.”

  The conversation was forced, with Shane trying to assume an air of normalcy to alleviate the terror, and her trying to process everything that had happened. How long before it was safe to venture out? At this point, there was nothing to do but wait.

  “If you get any say about the new truck, make sure it has a key fob this time around,” she said. “Come to think of it, do they even make cars that use keys anymore?”

  He snorted at the good-natured ribbing. “It’s my fault. Bill, one of the safety officers, loses his keys every other week. I should have checked to make sure he put the spare key back.”

  Her own car was ancient. She was still paying off her student loans, which meant it’d be a while before she replaced it.

  “I don’t think anyone could have planned for what happened,” she said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  From his expression, she surmised that he could, and he would, blame himself no matter how many words of consolation she provided.

  Her legs tingled with pins and needles. She shifted, and a stinging pain ran from her wounded thigh to her foot.

  With a grimace, Kara started to rise.

  Shane flashed his palm. “I don’t trust this guy. He isn’t behaving normally. Most killers don’t stick around once the police arrive.”

  Her teeth chattered. “Do you really think he’s still out there?”

  “He’s somewhere.” Shane narrowed his gaze at the emptiness outside the windshield. “Depends on how badly he wants us.”

  The pins and needles were traveling up her calves. “For all he knows, you did have another set of keys. Maybe he thinks we’re long gone by now.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Shane swiveled in his seat, then stretched his arm and grasped his shotgun from the rack. “But we’d better plan for the worst. You know how to use this?”

  The wooden stock was smooth and cold against her bare fingers. “Well enough.”

  Gun safety was one of the first things Walt had taught her. She’d initially resisted his insistence that she learn how to shoot. She’d already seen too much violence in her life. Even the sight of a gun brought back memories she’d prefer to forget.

  Walt had persisted. He’d gradually worn down her defenses with his calm, steady example. In Alaska, guns were survival. They were a tool, the same as an ax or a shovel.

  “There’s one shell in the chamber and two in the magazine,” Shane said. “Be careful.”

  “I know.” Emotion tightened her throat, and she checked the safety mechanism. “I was taught by the best.”

  The last two words were barely more than a squeak.

  Shane tenderly cupped the back of her head with his enormous hand. “I know this is hard. You’re holding up great. I promise when this is over, you can
mourn properly for Walt.”

  She allowed herself a moment of weakness before leaning away. “Sure.”

  He removed his hand, though the warmth of his touch lingered.

  Keeping her face averted, she swiped her nose against her sleeve.

  Only two weeks ago, she and Walt had traveled the south border of his property searching for a wounded wolf he’d seen earlier. There had been nothing special about that day. Nothing to mark that it would be the last time they tackled the outdoors together.

  Walt had talked about the new litter of puppies. He’d even promised to give her one as a Christmas present. She’d protested. Her job was unpredictable, and the hours were long. She took care of enough dogs already.

  Walt had only smiled. He knew she had a soft spot for Christmas. Her birthday was on the twenty-third of December, and people always forgot it. No one ever forgot Christmas.

  Walt had introduced her to the Candlelight Mass. It was a tradition she and Walt shared.

  Emotion threatened to overwhelm her, and she shut down the flood of memories, forcing her mind to go blank. She’d opened herself to joy, and this was the consequence. That’s why it was better to feel nothing.

  Using his elbow, Shane wiped a larger circle in the growing condensation. “I can’t even tell if we’re on the road.” He depressed the call button on the police radio and static sounded. He shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Jeff is at the duty station tonight. Keep trying him. I’ll be back in a few.”

  Her heart dropped. “Where are you going?”

  The note of hysteria in her voice was lowering. She was a strong, independent woman. She simply didn’t want to be alone in the wilderness with a murderer on the loose—a perfectly reasonable fear, considering her leg injury had her at a disadvantage.

  “I need to get the lay of the land,” Shane said, his attention focused on the fathomless abyss swirling outside the windshield. “See if I can figure out where we are in reference to the road. Then we can make a plan.”

  She knew him well enough to know there’d be no talking him out of the decision.