As if he will think I went somewhere else.

The land around the cabin was bare of trees and shrubs in every direction for fifty yards. Her only options were to hide in the outhouse or behind the woodpile or to run through the undisturbed snow for the tree line. She stared longingly at the trees to her north; it wasn’t worth the risk.

I’d get a bullet in my back.

Where is Eden?

The thought screamed through her mind as she realized she hadn’t seen footsteps in the snow in the direction of the compound. The teen had to be either in the outhouse or on the other side of the woodpile.

Sweat ran down Mercy’s back as she peered around the corner to check the east side of the woodpile.

No Eden.

Looking west, she could see part of the outhouse. The door was closed.

Which will Sean check first?

“Mercy! You damned bitch!”

A shudder racked her entire body, her hands tightening on the ax handle.

The ax was no defense against his gun. As she held the blade to cover her heart, the extreme unlikeliness of her surviving the situation sank in.

If he checked the woodpile first, maybe Eden could take the time to get away. She cursed the teenager for not following their plan. She’d drilled immediate escape toward the compound into Eden’s head. Eden must have panicked.

Footsteps crunched along the west end of the woodpile. As her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest, Mercy slipped around the corner to the east, wondering how long they would play cat and mouse, circling the pile.

At least he didn’t go to the outhouse first.

“Stupid woman,” Sean yelled, fury in his tone. “I should have shot you with Nelson. Left your body beside his in the snow.”

His footsteps sounded closer, and Mercy turned another corner, the cabin coming into view a good thirty yards away.

Can I get back in time and bar the door?

His rifle had been in the corner near the sink, waiting to be used—unless it was currently in his hands. She eyed the expanse of snow between the cabin and woodpile, the well-broken path beckoning her to run.

“I was nice to you!” Sean shouted, disgust and disappointment filling his words.

A corner of her mind latched on to his statement. He’d threatened her, tried to blackmail her, sexually harassed her, cuffed her to a bed, and kept her captive for days. But since he hadn’t killed her, he was nice.

And now he expected her to be submissive because he was nice.

Fuck him.

The roar of his gun coincided with the tiniest brush of wind over her head.

She dropped to her knees, her hands protecting her head, banging the ax against her skull.

He saw me.

“Ha!” he shouted. “Don’t move!”

A thump and small grunt came from his direction, and she recognized the sound of someone landing from a leap. He must have climbed partway up the side of the woodpile and spotted her head. Now he was running along the east side.

The shot still ringing in her ears, she darted around another corner, staying as low as possible, her leg muscles straining from the exertion. The outhouse was in view again, its door still closed.

How long will we circle this damned pile?

“You haven’t done anything wrong yet, Sean,” she called out. “You can still make the best of this by letting Eden and me go.”

No answer.

His steps had gone silent, and she strained to hear, wondering if he’d changed direction. Clutching the ax to her chest again, she whipped her head around, checking both corners, north and south, expecting to see him come around one with his gun aimed at her head.

She didn’t know which way to go.

Terror tightened her chest, and she fought to breathe.

“You didn’t kill me and Eden because you knew it was wrong,” she yelled, wincing as her voice broke. “Right now all you’ve done is keep us in the cabin. Killing me would raise things to a whole other level.”

His laugh echoed through the silence. “I’ve read the negotiator’s handbook too, you know. You’re trying to convince me that my current legal consequences aren’t that bad. Did you forget there’s a body out front? What’s one more death? Or two?” He laughed again, but this time it was hollow, carrying a twinge of regret.

The voice had come from the southeast corner of the pile, so she ran north. His boots pounded on the frosted ground.

Another shot boomed.

Mercy froze. That wasn’t his handgun.

“Fucking little bitch! Don’t move!”

Eden.

Mercy whirled around and spotted Eden near the corner of the cabin, Sean’s rifle in her hands pointed at the south end of the woodpile. Eden didn’t flinch, her legs planted, her eye lined up with her sights. She fired the rifle again. But then panic crossed her face as she lowered the rifle.

She ran.

Sean entered Mercy’s view, tearing toward the teenager, his weapon in hand.

“No,” Mercy muttered. “No!” Tightening her grip on the ax, she sprinted after the man.

Her lungs gasped for oxygen; her gaze locked on Sean’s back. Eden had run south from the cabin, out into the clearing.

No! She’s completely exposed!

She faltered as she understood the teen had been trying to lead him away from Mercy. Energy and fear and anger ripped through her, pumping her legs to run faster.

Sean halted in the snow, planted his feet, and formed a perfect isosceles stance, his arms and weapon pushed forward, Eden’s back in his sights. His shoulders rapidly rose and sank as he panted. He fired.

Eden continued to run without missing a stride.

Mercy knew he wouldn’t miss the second shot.

“No!” Mercy shrieked as she caught up and swung her ax like a bat at Sean’s right side. It was like hitting a rock. The impact flew up her arms and into her shoulders as he stumbled to his left. The ax didn’t penetrate his coat but probably cracked a rib or two. He caught his balance, clamped a hand to his injured side, and spun in her direction.

Fury and pain raged in his eyes, his teeth clenched, as he pivoted his weapon toward her. The open end of his barrel came into focus as Mercy swung again, her gaze locked on the gun in his hand.

Her aim was perfect, and the ax smashed into his fingers.

His weapon flew out of his grip, and Mercy lost her grasp on the ax. It spun through the air and sank in the snow.

Their gazes collided, and Sean dove at her, knocking her onto her back in the snow. The air exited her lungs as he landed on her chest.

Snow fell onto her face as she sank deep into the fluff, and he latched his hands around her neck.

Mercy fought, swinging at his face, kicking with her legs and pounding on his arms.

He was immobile.

She spit the snow out of her mouth, and more tumbled into its place. Her head turned from side to side as she tried to shake the snow out of her eyes. It was impossible; she was blind and choking under several inches of miniature ice crystals.

His hands tightened, his fingers digging into her airway and the vulnerable vessels in her neck. The snow blocking her vision grew black.

I’m going to die.

His face was beyond her fists and nails. She flung her arms to the side, digging, grasping for anything, trying to picture where his gun had landed. Her fingers felt nothing but fine grains of snow.

I’m sorry, Truman.

She dug deeper and found frozen packed ground. Her fingernails scraped the dirt, shooting agony up her arms as they ripped. Her right hand found something large and rough and round. She gripped it, seeing the irregular shape of the rock in her mind. Sucking in a desperate, ragged breath, she clutched the rock and propelled her fist out of the snow, aiming for where his head should be.

He gasped as the collision sent waves down her bones, and he released her neck. His balance rocked, and she sank her strength into rolling to one side, flinging him off her body and into the snow.

Mercy scrambled onto her hands and knees toward where her ax had landed. Her fingers found the wood handle as she felt him grab the back of her coat. She let him pull her upright, both her hands now gripping the ax. Moving up to one foot, she spun with all her weight and knocked him off balance again.

She swung blindly with her ax. He shouted, and the sound of metal meeting teeth told her she’d struck home. He landed on his hands and knees and then clasped one hand to his bloody mouth.

Standing behind him, Mercy raised the ax over her head, her gaze locked on the back of his skull.

He’ll die.

Good.

She paused as he spit blood and moaned.

Fierce barking sounded to her right, and she turned to see a black wolf rushing her, its jaw wide open, its pointed teeth white in its dark mouth.

“Stop!”

Ten feet away, the black wolf slammed to a stop. The beast growled, low and threatening.

It’s a dog.

Mercy lifted her gaze, her ax still raised, searching for who’d shouted at the dog.

“Mercy!”

THIRTY-SIX

Truman and Bolton were silently trudging after Rowan through the snowy wilderness when a gunshot sounded, echoing across the bleak sky.

At the noise, they stopped and stared at each other.

A second gunshot boomed.