Chapter 9 - Flight Through the Blizzard

Before the deputy could swing a heavy tool against the frame, the front door burst inward, not from the lawman outside, but from Derek slamming through the threshold with snow clinging heavily to his dark jacket. He took in the scene in a fraction of a second—me clutching the counter, gasping for breath, and the heavy pounding echoing against the outer wood. Without a word, Derek grabbed my arm, his face hard as granite. "Through the back, now. They brought a snowmobile up the ridge."

We didn't bother packing. Leaving the kerosene lamp burning on the table, we bolted out the back door just as the front hinges groaned under a heavy kick. The freezing mountain air hit my lungs like shattered glass, stealing my breath as we plunged waist-deep into the drifted snow behind the cabin. Behind us, a bullhorn cracked through the quiet winter woods, ordering us to halt in the name of the county court.

Derek scooped me up into his arms despite my protests, carrying me through the blinding white flurry toward the hidden logging trail where he had left the four-wheel-drive truck idling beneath a camouflage tarp. My chest burned with every ragged breath, the stress of the chase threatening to push my body into early labor. We scrambled into the cab of the truck just as the roar of an approaching snowmobile engine echoed through the trees behind us.

"Hold on to the dash," Derek snarled, slamming the transmission into four-wheel drive and spinning the tires violently across the icy track as we rocketed down the mountain toward the interstate highway.

May you like

The Leather-Bound Menu Folder With a Gold Seal...

The warmth of the crystal chandeliers felt heavy against the back of my neck, casting long, wavering shadows across the polished s...

The Ten Seconds Behind The White Belt Tied Securely Around My Gi...

The fluorescent overhead lights of the dojo hummed a steady, high-pitched note that blended with the damp smell of disinfectant, r...

THE GHOST IN THE WHEELCHAIR

The screen of the cracked smartphone buzzed in Vincent’s palm like a live wire.On the four-inch display, bathed in the soft glow o...

By midnight, we had crossed county lines and checked into a nondescript, fluorescent-lit motel off the highway, far from the reach of the local sheriff. I sat on the edge of the sagging double bed, trembling from the cold and adrenaline, while Derek paced the small room with the burner phone pressed to his ear.

"Evelyn," Derek said grimly into the receiver. "The cabin is burned. They used a local wellness check to run us out. We need a permanent safe house in the city, close to a trauma hospital. Elena's contractions are getting closer."