Chill Factor

Sticking to the crude path, she arrived at the shed. Snow had formed deep drifts against the exterior walls, but when Tierney had forced open the door, it had pushed aside some of it, leaving the doorway partially clear.

She waded th

rough the snow that had accumulated since he’d been there and gripped the door latch. She pulled hard, but the door didn’t open. In fact, it didn’t budge. She tugged on it several times, but it seemed unmovable. Putting all her strength into it, she tried again. When it did give way, it did so suddenly, startling her. She fell back a step and almost lost her balance.

Laughing at her clumsiness, she entered the shed. It was darker inside than she had expected. She chided herself for not bringing the flashlight because she wanted to find the ax quickly and leave. There were always spiders in the shed. Probably mice. She’d never gone into it without the fear of disturbing a snake.

Although all sensible creatures were snug in their beds today, the dank environment alone was enough to give her the willies. It also had the unpleasant, musty odor of enclosures with earthen floors.

She gave her eyes time to adjust to the gloom, then took a glance around. The ax was nowhere in sight, but she remembered it being in the toolbox.

The sound of her own breathing was loud. It wasn’t a bona fide wheeze, but it was getting close. Maybe she’d made a careless decision by walking here. Ordinarily, that amount of exercise wouldn’t have been harmful or particularly taxing. But in light of yesterday’s severe asthma attack, as well as the subfreezing temperature, she probably shouldn’t have done anything this strenuous. All the more reason to retrieve the ax quickly and return to the cabin. To Tierney. To bed with Tierney.

She didn’t remember the lid to the large wooden box being so heavy. Her first attempt to lift it failed. She managed to raise it only an inch and was winded by the strain. If she had an attack out here, Tierney would never let her hear the end of it.

She bent her knees and placed the heels of both hands against the edge of the lid. By straightening her knees and pushing with all her might, she managed to raise the lid and push it up. When it was perpendicular, its own weight caused it to fall against the wall behind it before Lilly could catch it.

It landed with a racket that she never heard.

Because she was staring down into Millicent Gunn’s dead, milky eyes.

Breath was expelled in a rush, but when she tried to suck it back in to form a scream, her bronchial tubes had already constricted. All that came out was a thin whine.

Mindlessly she backed away from the horrifying sight, instinctively seeking escape. She spun around but froze when she saw Tierney standing silhouetted in the rectangle of light formed by the open doorway.

She took everything in at once. He’d put on his jeans and boots, but beneath his coat, which hung open, his chest was bare. It was rising and falling rapidly. He was out of breath. He’d been running.

“Tierney,” she gasped. “Millicent . . .”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

And then, in a blinding instant of clarity, she understood why his features were hard and set, why he had raced to the shed after her, why he wasn’t at all astonished by the sight of Millicent’s body, which had been crammed without any care or respect into a rough, crude box of rusty tools.

He was coming toward her with his long-legged stride, closing the distance between them rapidly, yet Lilly couldn’t move. She’d been stricken with paralysis, the kind experienced in nightmares when one is confronted with mortal danger yet is helpless to outrun it.

But at the last possible second, she discovered she could move. When he grabbed her by the shoulders, she fought him with every resource she had—nails, teeth, flailing limbs.

She left ribbons of fresh blood on his cheek before he wrapped his arms around her tightly, pinning her arms to her sides. “Lilly, stop it!”

He was grunting and gasping.

No, that wasn’t Tierney making that awful noise. It was her own asthmatic wheeze.

“Goddammit, Lilly! Give it up!”

“You’re a murderer!”

Then she saw his hand descending with lightning speed toward the side of her neck.

It didn’t hurt at all.

CHAPTER

29

SPECIAL AGENT CHARLIE WISE SPRANG upright when his cell phone rang.

Blindly, he fumbled for it among his keys, change, badge wallet, and eyeglasses, which he’d left on the nightstand when he went to bed. He’d slept like a dead man, but the chiming ring of his cell was as effective as the piercing shriek of a fire alarm, unmercifully yanking him out of unconsciousness. He could very well suffer cardiac arrest for being awakened so abruptly, but before he did, he must answer this call.