Page 64 of K-9 Prime Target

When he reached the log outhouse, he could make out snowmobile tracks fifty yards away, veering away from the hut. He’d been right, then—someone was headed to the hut beyond this one. Funny they had traveled this way, since that hut was actually closer to a different trail. They’d either gotten confused, or purposely taken a longer route.

He emerged from the outhouse a few minutes later and called the dogs. He hadn’t bothered to don his mittens when he left the hut, so he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his parka.

A heavy weight slammed him in the back, and he staggered, then gasped as something tightened around his neck. He clawed at the binding—a rope or string—fighting desperately to breathe as the ligature tightened. The person who had jumped him clung to his back, a burden he couldn’t shake. He was vaguely aware of a dog—Sky?—barking, then the world grayed, and he sank to his knees, then toppled over, surrendering to blackness.

Chapter Seventeen

Nina watched the dance of the flames in the wood stove while she waited for Liam to return. He had been gone for a long time, hadn’t he? Were the dogs giving him trouble, refusing to come back inside? Should she go out to help him? But that would mean getting up, getting dressed and braving the cold. She was so warm and cozy here.

She jumped as something hit the front deck with a heavy thud, then relaxed as she recognized the sound of someone stomping snow from their boots. Smiling, she sat up, the blanket pulled around her. The door opened, ushering in a rush of icy air. “Hey, shut the door!” she called.

She threw off the blanket and turned to greet Liam, then gasped. A dark figure stood by the door—a man dressed in black, with a black ski helmet. He unfastened the helmet strap and pushed it up and off his head, revealing reddened cheeks and mussed brown hair. “Hello darling,” he said. “It’s so good to finally see you again.”

* * *

Wet. Something wet and warm. On his face. But the rest of him was freezing. Liam tried to push whatever it was away, but he couldn’t move his limbs. The wet warm thing was tugging at his arm, and shouting so loudly it hurt his ears.

He opened his eyes to darkness and the painfully loud, sharp barking of a dog. His throat burned, and when he tried to swallow, he couldn’t. Breathing was hard, too. He groped at his throat and felt the binding there. Fighting panic, he dug both thumbs beneath the ligature and pulled. The skin of his neck tore, but whatever held the string in place released. He yanked it away and tossed it aside.

The barking ceased, and Angel and Sky swarmed over him, licking his face and hands. He moved them gently away, then braced against Sky and shoved onto his knees. The effort winded him. He had to wait for his vision to clear before he could stand. His throat ached, and his head pounded. The memory of his attack came into focus, and he looked around for the person who had tried to strangle him.

The snow around him was trampled and spotted with dark drops of what might have been his own blood. He put a hand to his neck and felt dampness where the string had cut deeply into his skin. The reality of what had happened hit him with the force of a truck. Where was Nina? Had the person who attacked him gone after her?

He stumbled forward on feet that didn’t seem to want to work right and moved toward the cabin. He was still ten feet away when a terrible scream rent the air, the sound cutting him in two.

* * *

“Shut up!” Nicholson ordered. “It won’t do any good to scream. No one will hear you.”

He had aged since Nina had last seen him. His face was heavier, with sagging jowls, and pockets of loose skin shadowed his eyes. His hair was thinner, too, the brown color the dull of dry earth. She backed away from him, her gaze focused on the knife in his hand.

“You’ve been very naughty, darling, trying to run away from me,” Nicholson said. He took a step toward her.

Cool air on her bare legs reminded her she was wearing only her thermal top. Heart racing, she grabbed the first item of clothing she saw—a pair of insulated snow pants that had been drying on a chair by the fire—and pulled them on. She added the wool sweater hanging next to them. Finally, she grabbed the pair of wool socks.

“Why are you putting on all that?” Nicholson asked. “I liked you better the other way.”

“I’m cold,” she said, and pulled on the socks. She felt less vulnerable with the heavy clothing on, despite the knife he held.

Her gaze shifted to the door behind him. Liam would be back soon. And the dogs. All she had to do was keep away from that knife until Liam returned.

“Don’t think that Irish dolt is going to help you,” Nicholson said. “I’ve already made sure he won’t.”

Ice formed in the pit of her stomach. “What have you done with Liam?” she asked.

Nicholson frowned. “Why do you care about him? I’m the one who really loves you. I always have.”

Had he killed Liam? Had he stabbed him with the knife he threatened her with now? Her gaze flickered to the blade, but she saw no blood. And she couldn’t ask him the question. The answer would be too horrible. Instead, she tried a lie. “I wasn’t looking for Liam,” she said. “But we have friends joining us. When I heard the snowmobile earlier, I thought it was them.” But it must have been Nicholson.

“Liar!” He took another step toward her, knife brandished. “I heard your friends talking this afternoon. About your romantic little getaway to the mountain hut. As if I’d never find you here.”

“Friends? They were talking to you?”

“When you left your house and I couldn’t find you, I started following your ski patrol buddies,” he said. “I knew sooner or later they’d reveal where you were. I didn’t realize they’d give up your location so quickly.”

“Are you saying they told you where I was?”

“They were talking about it openly, in a bar. Anyone could have heard them. After that it was easy for me to find you.”