Page 13 of Chill Factor

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They stopped frequently to catch their breath. Once Tierney stopped suddenly, turned away from her, and vomited, leading her

to believe that he had a concussion. At the very least. She noticed that he had begun to favor his left leg and wondered if he also had a fracture.

Finally, walking became such an effort for him she insisted that he place one arm across her shoulders. He did so reluctantly, but out of necessity. With each footstep he leaned more heavily upon her. She slogged on.

They reached a state of total exhaustion and continued only because they had to. The distance she had covered in three minutes by car took almost an hour on foot. They were stumbling over each other by the time they reached the cabin’s porch steps.

Lilly propped him against a support post on the porch while she unlocked the door, then assisted him inside. She paused only long enough to shut the door and dump her handbag on the floor before collapsing onto one of the sofas. Tierney slid his backpack off and sprawled on the sofa facing hers, separated by the coffee table.

For several minutes they remained where they’d landed, their breath soughing loudly in the darkness. Because she had turned off the heat before leaving, the room was cold. But compared with outside, it felt balmy.

Lilly didn’t think she would have the energy ever to move again, but eventually she stirred and sat up. She reached for the lamp on the end table and switched it on. “Thank goodness,” she said, blinking against the sudden light. “I was afraid the electricity may have been shut off by now.”

She unloaded the cans of food from her pockets and set them on the coffee table, then fished out her cell phone and punched in a number.

Suddenly alert, Tierney sprang up and asked, “Who are you calling?”

“Dutch.”

CHAPTER

5

LILLY’S PREDICTION ABOUT THE CHAOS IN town had been correct.

Dutch had been back for only a couple of hours, and already he was wishing for the peace of his mountain cabin. Formerly his cabin, he thought bitterly.

Rush hour in downtown Atlanta had never been as congested as Main Street in Cleary this evening. It was bumper to bumper in both lanes, a ribbon of red taillights on one side, a ribbon of white headlights on the other. Everyone on one side of town seemed bent on getting to the other side, and vice versa.

The sheriff’s office was dealing with the outlying areas of the county, leaving the township itself up to Dutch and his department. Now would have been a good time for a burglar to burgle, because no one was at home where they should be, and every police officer was busy trying to control the pandemonium generated by the approaching storm.

The signal light at Moultrie and Main was busted again. On any other day it would be no big deal. Drivers would take turns, politely waving one another through the intersection and joking about the inconvenience. But today, when patience was wearing thin, the malfunctioning traffic light had caused a gridlock that was making motorists fractious.

The officers not on the streets directing traffic were monitoring the crowds in the market, trying to prevent fistfights over the scant merchandise left on the shelves. There had been one altercation already over the last tin of sardines.

With sleet pellets larger than grains of rock salt, the rapid accumulation would soon become nasty. As the weather system moved over the mountain and swept down the eastern face of it into the valley, picking up moisture, conditions were going to get even more unmanageable. Until the storm was over, and all the ice and snow had melted, Dutch could count on little or no rest.

Glancing up toward the crest of Cleary Peak, he saw that it was completely engulfed in cloud. He’d come down just in time and was relieved to know that Lilly had been right behind him and was well on her way south to Atlanta by now. If she made good time, she could probably outrun the storm, arriving home before it caught up with her.

He still thought of her constantly, of where she was, of what she was doing. It was a habit that no goddamn decree of divorcement could break. Remembering how she’d looked at him before he left the cabin created a weight in his chest as heavy as an anvil. She’d been afraid of him. Which was nobody’s fault but his own. He’d given her reason to fear him.

“Hey, Chief!” Wes Hamer was shouting at him from the sidewalk just outside Ritt’s Drug Store. “Get over here. I’m a taxpaying citizen, and I’ve got a gripe.”

Dutch pulled his Bronco out of the line of cars inching along Main Street and into the handicapped parking space in front of the drugstore. He lowered his window, letting in a blast of frigid air.

Wes came toward him with the shoulder-rolling amble of a former football player. Both his knees and one hip were afflicted with osteoarthritis, but that wasn’t something Wes advertised. He would do damn near anything to keep from owning up to a weakness of any sort.

“You got a complaint, Coach?” Dutch deadpanned.

“You’re the number one peace officer around here. Can’t you clear the streets of these morons?”

“I’d start with you.”

Wes guffawed but immediately sensed Dutch’s dour mood and leaned in closer. “Hey, buddy, why the long face?”

“I said good-bye to Lilly for the last time. Couple hours ago. Up at the cabin. She’s gone for good, Wes.”

Wes turned away. “Scott, go warm up the car. I’ll be right there.” Scott, who’d been standing beneath the awning outside Ritt’s store, caught the set of car keys Wes tossed to him, raised his other hand in a farewell wave to Dutch, then sauntered off down the sidewalk.


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