Page 111 of Jack

He drew in a breath. “The podcast case.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Did you kidnap Penelope?”

He made a noise she couldn’t decipher, so?—

“Did you kill Penelope?”

He met her eyes in the rearview mirror, dark and fierce in the fading light. “No.”

She wanted to believe him.

Farmland, vast fields of white, peeled out around them, the light fading fast. A few miles out of Duck Lake, he directed her north on a county road toward Loon Lake, and her brain went to the blueprint she’d seen in S & W Development.

She glanced again in the mirror. Could he be Holden Walsh himself?

They cut south, around Loon Lake Drive, and she passed a boatyard full of motorboats, and yachts on stands, many covered in canvas.. Small fishing boats were stacked three high, all dark outlines against the gray sky, the rising moonlight. A fence cordoned out would-be vandals.

Farther, a snowy construction street veered off the main road, and of course—she just knew it—they drove past a sign for Loon Lake Estates.

A few skeletal homes, draped in winter, stood half-completed along the shoreline. A lonely excavator rose, cold and abandoned, against the night.

He directed them toward one of the houses, the basement dug but not poured, and suddenly old mafia stories thudded into her mind.

“Stop here.”

In the drive, by the open grave.

“Get out.”

He slid toward her side, got out, holding the gun on her. The light of the open door illuminated Tommy, gray and maybe not breathing.

Oh.She fought her rising scream.

“Get him out of the car.” He motioned with his gun.

“So, we’re upgrading from when you shot Ty, huh? No more just leaving a dead guy in the car—he might live.”

She glanced over. Not a flicker of a response, but then again, darkness hid his face. Opening the door, she crouched next to Tommy. He still clutched the parka to himself, but as she drew it away—find the phone!—his hand fell.

“Pull him out!”

She stood up, gripping his jacket. “He’s too heavy.”

The man cursed, then walked over, and before she could brace herself—totally didn’t see that coming—he pushed her. Hard. She flew away from the car, landed with a splash of pain on the frozen, rumpled ground.

He reached in and grabbed Tommy. Yanked him out.

Tommy fell like a sack of sand onto the snow.

Harper rolled, found her feet, and took off.

Run!A shot destroyed snow just ahead of her, so she aimed for the excavator, took cover behind it.

She wished she’d scooped up her parka. But she wore a blue sweater and black pants, and maybe they would hide her.

Another shot. It pinged against the metal, so she scrambled to the far side. Tripped. Her hand caught the grimy, frozen wheel before she went down.

“You can’t get away. There is nothing out here. You’ll freeze to death?—”