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“Oh, Jesus, please let there be keys,” she whispered. “Please.”
But before she could look, she heard a faint noise . . . a rumble that broke through the stillness of the forest. She stopped dead in her tracks. The little hairs on the back of her arms lifted as the noise, the sound of an engine coupled with the whine of a four-wheel-drive, reached her ears.
“Oh, God,” she whispered as the ghostly image of a truck appeared through the veil of snow. She had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
The killer was back.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Pescoli blinked snowflakes from her eyes. Billy Hicks?
The man behind the wheel of the truck was Ivor’s son, Billy?
She recognized his image as the big truck groaned up the hill, wipers tossing aside the diminishing snow, the driver staring straight at her through the glass.
Now he knows you can ID him.
Regan had been forced to drop the poker because it would impede her escape but her hand tightened over the hilt of her knife as their gazes locked. He was swearing. Angry. His eyes burning hellfire. Well, she felt the same way!
She sprang from her useless hiding spot near the snowmobile. Before Billy’s truck’s engine died she started sprinting away from the lean-to, racing through the snow. She couldn’t let him catch her! She had to find a way to save herself! To thwart him!
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Lisa Jackson
Knowing she didn’t have a prayer of outrunning him, couldn’t expect to elude him, she concentrated on outsmarting him. It was her only chance. Keep moving.
She was halfway to the tree line when she heard the Jeep’s engine die and the creak of a door opening. “You stupid bitch!” he screamed. Thud! The crunch of metal hinges. As if he’d pounded a fist into the side of his truck. She didn’t look over her shoulder. Just ran. Putting distance between them. Go, go! Faster, faster!
Her mind was whirling, her body protesting, but she kept running.
Billy Hicks?
A diabolical and well-organized killer? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, but as she ran, hoping the snowfall dropping from the sky would become her cover, she remembered that his mother had been a descendent of a silver miner in the area, his grandfather a man who had owned the largest mine near Grizzly Falls. And Billy worked at his own carpentry shop; made his own hours by himself. There was no one keeping tabs on him and he would have the skills to make the mines safe and liveable. The large table, the hand-carved armoire, Billy had built them with his own hands. Strong hands.
Brutal hands.
She heard the door of the truck slam and hazarded a quick glance back. Oh, he was coming now. Moving to a jog behind her, but he’d taken time to grab some tools. A thick coil of rope was wrapped over his shoulder, a hunting knife, much larger than the one she’d pocketed, gripped in his strong fingers.
CHOSEN TO DIE
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Terror cut to her core. He intended to lash her to a tree as soon as he caught her. He was upping his game! She nearly stumbled, saw a deer flash through the icy underbrush from the corner of her eye.
Don’t do it, don’t let him freak you out. Think, Regan, you can outplay this psycho.
If only she had a phone.
Or a damned gun!
Her mother’s admonition, If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, tore through her mind as she cut between the pine trees, darting behind them and over fallen logs, scrambling through the snow. Keep running. For God’s sake, keep running! She was breathing hard, cold air blistering her lungs. Both legs ached and her right arm was a dead weight, still useless after her battle with him while still in handcuffs.
Don’t think about the pain. Work through it! Run down- hill! Eventually you’ll reach a road or far
mhouse . . . But how long would it take? It could be miles. The Kress mine was in a remote area near Mesa Rock on a large tract of land. Her stamina was in short supply and—
Don’t think about it! Keep the hell going! Gripping the knife in her good hand, she angled around a tall spruce, between two bare aspens. Cutting around a rock, she twisted her ankle. Pain ricocheted along her shin. “Oh, God!” She landed wrong, her foot hitting a tree limb buried in the snow, throwing her forward. Her knees began to buckle. “Hell,” she bit out, trying to catch herself. No! Stay on your feet!
