Page 86 of Runaway for the Grumpy Daddy

"No."

The word was quiet. Procedural. Final.

"Hutchins."

"The interstate west of Four Corners is under emergency travel restriction. County road crews are pulling back. The road from the highway into Silver Bend is drifting shut now."

"Send the Bronco."

"No."

"I'll drive it."

"You're in custody."

"Open the door."

"I can't do that."

"You can."

"Not yet."

I put my face close enough to the bars that the steel chilled my breath. "She's alone in a Ford that weighs nothing. Tires are half-worn. Heater works when it feels like it. She keeps a quarter tank because the gauge lies below half. She's on that road."

"I understand."

"No, you don't."

His face changed then. Not much. The skin around his eyes pulled down.

"I have deputies turning back from two separate calls," he said. "One plow is stuck north of town. If I send someone blind onto that road, I put another vehicle in the ditch without improving Miss Marsh's odds."

"Her odds aren't a county calculation."

"Today they are."

I pulled once against the bars.

Not to break them. I knew steel. Knew anchors. Knew what held and what only looked like it held.

These held.

Hutchins looked at the printouts.

"She documented everything correctly. Names, times, file number. She told us she was safe when she sent it."

Safe.

At three-oh-four, maybe she had been. At four-twelve, safe had become a moving target with bad tires.

The wind hit the building broadside. Snow rattled hard against the glass and vanished into the general roar.

"When the road opens," Hutchins said, "we'll look."

I stared at him.

He corrected himself.