“I wish I could say I’ve never heard that story before.”
“Yeah, so the fact this asshole has turned his eye on you has me worried. Just because Cherise has the upper hand in the relationship doesn’t mean Owen is harmless.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I’d never not tell you. As much as I hate making this place any scarier than it is.”
I hug him, and he pulls me into his arms as we curl up for sleep.
TWENTY-NINE
We’re asleep, and I’m dreaming of Abby. Dreaming that she’s lost in the woods, and I hear her crying, and I can’t find her. I’m running through the forest, bottle in hand, thinking she’s hungry and I need to feed her. I’m following her cries … and then she stops. Just stops.
I startle awake. Storm whines, and I realize she was already up. She’s still lying on the floor beside me, but she has her head raised, and she’s whining deep in her throat. She smells or hears something.
The cabin is silent and nearly dark, with just enough moonlight streaming in for me to see the outline of Storm’s massive head. She glances my way, and I catch the gleam of her eyes. Another whine, sharper now. She rises with the huff of propelling her big body off the floor. Her nose nudges me, and I run my hand over her head as I listen for what woke her.
A whisper of movement. That’s what I catch. The soft sound of a foot in snow. Then another. A noise follows. A grunt? I think of bears, but even if one woke from hibernation, the sounds are too soft for that. They’re too careful for that. Something is outside, and it is staying as quiet as it can.
A bump startles me. It’s a soft thud. Someone bracing against the wall? Trying to peer in a window?
I glance at Dalton, but he’s sound asleep. If I rouse him, however gently, he’ll startle awake with enough noise to scare off whoever is out there.
We’re several hours’ walk from Cherise’s camp, and I can’t imagine she’d have let Owen follow us. But they may have tracked us after sundown.
Another bump against the wall, and I peer at the window. Storm whines again. She’s rigid, staring at that wall, her tail sweeping the floor. It’s not a happy wag. It’s cautious, uncertain.
I slide out of bed and keep bent over beneath window level. I tug on jeans, a sweatshirt that turns out to be Dalton’s, and my parka. Then I retrieve my gun.
I glance at the bed again, in hopes my moving around has brought Dalton closer to waking, but he’s still dead to the world.
I head for the door. Storm follows, nails clicking. I back up and tell her to stay, adding reassuring pats. She is not reassured. When I pull on my boots, her butt bobs off the floor.
I consider. When Owen and Cherise first caught me, I’d wished Storm hadn’t been there. She was a weakness they could use against me. Yet she may have saved my life. It’s like Dalton with me. He’d love to tuck me away in a safe spot when danger strikes, but he knows I belong at his side, where we can look after each other. I need to start thinking the same with Storm. We trained her for work, and I have to let her do it, not play overprotective mom and tuck her away.
I give the release sign, and when she comes over, I tell her to stay close and stay quiet. As I ease open the door, she’s right beside me.
We slip outside, and I pull the door shut behind us. There’s a flashlight in my pocket, but I keep it there for now. I have my gun in hand instead, as I look over the snow-covered field. It’s a three-quarter moon on a cloudless night, and the light reflects off the snow, lifting the glade to soft daylight.
I adjust my gun and glance at Storm. Her nose works madly, but she’s still processing the danger, not ready to commit to a decision.
We start along the wall, toward the spot where I’d heard the thumps. The squeak and crunch of snow announces our approach, and there’s little I can do about that except keep my gun trained and my ears tuned for the sound of flight. Nothing comes.
I reach the corner and duck before peering around with my face at a height any intruder won?
??t expect. There’s no one in sight.
I ease around the side and check the back, in case the person ducked there. Nothing.
Backing up, I look at the snow. It’s trampled in a path from Cypher walking to his storage shed. I don’t see any other trail.
I bend to examine the prints. They all look to be from the same set of boots, which suggests they’re Cypher’s, but even as a prank he’d never sneak around a cabin with two armed cops sleeping inside. I’m still bent when I see smaller prints leading from the forest and back again, and I’m leaning in for a closer look when Storm growls. I turn to find myself looking at a pale figure poised at the forest’s edge.
I’m on eye level with it, and our gazes lock. I tighten my grip on the gun and rise as slowly as I can, while giving Storm the signal to stay where she is. She does, but she’s growling, her hackles raised. The intruder isn’t watching me now. He’s looking straight at her. He takes a step our way. Then another.
Storm feints, obeying the order to stay while surging forward in warning. He stops, tilts his head, considers, and then cannot resist another careful step.
It’s the lone wolf from the other day.