“And if you go out in this you might become one of them.”
“I’ve got four-wheel drive.”
“Which doesn’t do shit on ice,” Mike argued. Not that it mattered one bit. He followed Dean as far as the elevators, his expression worried as they parted company. “Be careful, man.”
Dean nodded as the doors closed.
Outside, the sidewalks had been salted, but the parking lot was like a skating rink. It was a few minutes after three p.m., but the looming, oppressive clouds blocked out any hint of afternoon light. Between the dusk-like dark and the thickening fog, the automatic sensors had tripped for all the street lights in the lot.
He started his vehicle and turned the defrost on high to melt the build up on the windshield while he scraped the other windows and engaged the four-wheel drive. His hair was wet by the time he slipped into the driver’s seat.
Once on the road, the city streets were okay, and the highway wasn’t too bad. The radio reported trees and downed power lines to the west of the city with more outages expected as the wind speeds increased. He thought about texting Gina that he was on the way, but didn’t want her to worry about him on the slick roads. As for Jack, if he did decide to take their bait, it was unlikely he’d beat Dean to the house now.
He left the defrosters on high to keep up with the ice forming on the windshield, and had to shrug out of his suit coat when he began sweating. Once he was off the highway, his hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he eased the SUV along at 35 mph. With the road built into the side of the mountain, no guardrails and a steep drop-off peppered with trees and boulders to his right, this was where he really had to be careful.
Numerous times he navigated around large, fallen tree branches, but the little sticks that littered the pavement and became stuck in the ice helped provide some traction for his tires.
He’d seen one other car about ten minutes ago, but since then, nothing else until headlights flashed in his rearview mirror. Dean glanced up, squinting against the glare as he realized the vehicle was approaching way too fast. His grip tightened on the wheel as he carefully steered toward the side of the road.
“Slow down, idiot,” he muttered. The person behind him flashed their brights, and he added, “Stupid bastard.”
The vehicle moved past, and Dean did a double take as his heart lodged in his throat. That looked a lot like the truck he’d seen parked in Jack’s driveway last weekend. Pulse instantly at high throttle, he turned the steering wheel to get all four tires back on the road. When the red taillights ahead began to disappear in the fog, urgency pressed his foot down on the gas.
The SUV began sliding sideways. It lurched when the tires caught for a brief moment on the graveled shoulder, then tipped at an angle over the edge.
It rolled three times before jolting to a stop on the driver’s side. After a moment of disorientation, Dean sucked in a breath, battered, bruised, but still in one piece. He batted the deflating airbag out of his way and reached to turn the car off, his fingers clenching on the keys for something solid to hold on to.
A picture of the vehicle that had passed him flashed in his mind as the smell of gas began to permeate the SUV. Spurred into action at the possibility of an explosion, he fumbled for his seatbelt. The driver’s side door was obviously out of the question, so he grit his teeth against the pain radiating through his body and maneuvered until he could reach the passenger door handle. It wouldn’t budge, and the gas smell grew stronger by the second.
His frantic glance caught sight of a smashed back window. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt collar, he scrambled for the opening and tumbled out into the cold, wet elements. With the gas fumes just as strong outside, he crawled up the hill toward the road, his movements crunching the ice-covered leaves and brittle remains of winter snow.
As the cold rain ate right through his thin cotton dress shirt, too late he remembered his suit coat lay in the car—with his cell phone in the pocket.
Chapter 21
The power had gone out over an hour ago, but it was still fairly warm in the house. Right now, Gina was biding time since the slot beside the hearth in the great room was only half full of wood. She’d readied the fire, but with luck, the power would be back on before she needed to light it for heat.
She swept aside the red, mink Sherpa throw covering her legs and set her laptop and notebook aside on the table in front of the couch. She had a number of candles lit to keep the lengthening shadows at bay, and decided to go pick out a book from Dean’s study for when her laptop battery died.
Halfway through the kitchen, a loud bang from the garage nearly stopped her heart. When another noise followed, it started beating again, ten times as fast. That was way different than the occasional muffled thump of a tree branch hitting the roof or scratching against one of the windows. More like a person had stumbled over something out there.
For a brief second, she wondered if Dean had come home.
No. He’d have called. And there was no way he’d make it in this weather.
Which meant she had no clue who might be out there trying to get in.
Backing toward the study while attempting to get some oxygen into her constricted lungs, she rationalized the noise had come from outside the main house.
And she’d set the security system—oh, shit, was it even on with the power out? Her gaze cut to the small panel alongside the French doors in the kitchen. Green light. Dean must have a battery backup. Thank God.
From one second to the next, green switched to blinking red.
The door that led from the garage to the back hall thumped against the wall, lodging her heart in her throat.
Someone’s in the house.
She bit back a scream and forced her shaking knees to carry her to the study. She could lock that door and it would give her time to hide—