Devon’s nails dug into her palms, and she stared straight ahead, too consumed by fear over her family’s well-being to speak. Blake gripped the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline, channeling all his energies into getting them where they needed to go as quickly as possible.
“I wish I’d bought an SUV,” he muttered. “It would plow through this faster.”
“We’re almost at Route 55,” Devon replied calmly, as much for herself as for Blake. “East is our exit.” She swallowed hard, her composure slipping. “Why doesn’t the sheriff call? Why aren’t the police there yet?”
“They’re battling the same weather we are. But so’s Luis.” Blake threw on his directional signal and slowed down as he maneuvered the car to the right. “We’ll reach them in time.”
“We have to.” Devon peered out the window and winced as they skidded off the exit. “My family’s counting on me. Monty put their lives at risk by calling me.”
“He has faith in you.”
“I hope it’s warranted.”
“It is.”
“He had no choice,” Devon consoled herself aloud. “His hands were tied—literally. If he tried anything, your grandmother would have shot Merry. But, God, what if it’s too late? What if—” She broke off, shaking her head adamantly. “I won’t go there. I can’t.”
“Don’t. We’re almost at Clove Mountain.” Blake slowed down to avoid a collision. Route 55 was completely snow-covered, and the smattering of cars on the road were skidding badly.
It was worse when they turned onto the side streets.
One by one, the drivers thinned out, until there was no one left on the road except them.
West Clove Mountain Road lay just around the bend.
Blake veered onto it.
The initial section was a disaster—slick, snow-covered, and without a single tire tread or car to pave the way. The section they were heading toward would be a death trap.
They had to tackle it, and win.
“There’s the roadblock,” Devon exclaimed, pointing. “See it?”
“Barely, but yeah.” Blake squinted through the pelting snow that was now coming down in a hard, relentless blanket.
“There’s a set of tire treads on the other side,” Devon reported, spotting the dark lines etched on stark white. “Someone’s been here. Probably Luis, since we haven’t heard from the sheriff.” Grimly, she tightened her seat belt, preparing for a jarring ride. “We’ve got to hurry.”
Blake accelerated, slamming into the barrier and sending it careening down the hillside.
The road was buried by snow. Both sides were thickly wooded, with tree branches that hung over the road. Dark and forbidding, they made the already poor visibility nonexistent. To Devon’s right, a steep cliff pitched downward, disappearing past a tangled mass of tree limbs into a bottomless pit.
Devon kept her gaze focused ahead, searching for any sign of movement. She couldn’t allow herself to consider the possibility that they were too late.
“I see red lights ahead,” Blake informed her, leaning forward. “Two of them. They must be taillights.”
“I see them, too.” Devon gripped the dashboard, her heart slamming against her ribs. “It’s definitely a car.”
Blake switched off his own headlights. “I don’t want to clue Luis in to the fact that we’re here.”
“Don’t slow down,” Devon instructed. “The car’s definitely Monty’s. And it’s stopped. Luis must be getting ready to shove the car over the cliff.”
“That’s no
t happening,” Blake said flatly. He downshifted and accelerated, blasting ahead. The Jag skidded, but obeyed Blake’s command, roaring up to the Toyota.
“There’s our guy,” Devon muttered, seeing the bulky form of a man standing next to Monty’s Corolla and leaning into the driver’s seat.
Luis’s head snapped around. Panicking, he scrambled out of the way as the Jag lurched forward, shearing off the open Corolla door, and showering him with a spray of snow.