Page 112 of Jack

Her wrist caught on the tread of the wheel, and she wrenched it free, then crouched and took off toward the shell of a nearby house.

Another shot—wide—and she dove over a snowbank, then into the garage of a house, feeling along the edge before she came out the back and took off again.

Her feet crunched, her breaths puffing out in the cold, but she kept low and kept running.

Along the block foundation of a third house, and then up the shoreline, she spotted the clutter of the boatyard.

She kept to the debris of the worksite, hiding behind dumpsters and half-built stacked-block walls, and then finally broke out into a run toward the fence.

Scale the fence. Hide in the boatyard?—

A shot, this time just ahead of her, and she yelped and dove onto the ground.

Her black attire against white snow—in the moonlight, he’d see her.

So, not over the fence.

She spotted a long building, probably the administrative offices. Shadows on the far side might hide her?—

Scampering into the shadows, she leaped up the fence. A drainpipe helped her climb. She spidered up, threw a leg over—her sweater caught, ripped, but she clambered over the other side, slid along the building all the way to the front.

Maybe if she got inside she could call?—

“You can’t hide from me!”

She pressed herself against the building, his voice way too close—maybe on the other side of the fence?—

Why hadn’t she listened to Jack and stayed put?

Pushing herself away from the building, she sprinted toward the racks of boats, then dove between them, ducking, then sliding under their elevated keels, working her way deeper into the yard. She emerged between a couple of boats, one of them a motor yacht rising high on a lift above her. A swim platform jutted from the back.

Hide.

Here went nothing. She loosened the bottom strap, then pulled herself up onto the swim platform. Ducking under the canvas, she crawled into the back of the yacht, along the deck, and then—there. The cabin.

She opened the door and climbed down the stairs. Then she slid onto a bench, her back to the wall, pulled her knees up against herself, held her breath, and hoped very, very hard that Jack would miraculously come and find her.

TWELVE

“About time.”

Jack rose from where he sat in the lobby of the Duck Lake sheriff’s department, having been released thanks to Elton’s admission of swinging at him.

Or maybe thanks to that moment in the back seat of the cruiser, before Jenna and her partner got in, when Jack had suggested that he might be willing to drop his charges if Elton dropped his accusation of assault.

Done.Now he’d have to deal with the B & E, but with no evidence of forced entry, and the fact that Jobhadopened the door for him?—

In the last hours of the day, Nat had gotten the local judge to release him on the basis of Boo’s wedding tomorrow, Jack’s longtime ties to the community, and the fact that the minor offense of trespassing would probably be dismissed.

It helped that Jack had played hockey with Judge Darlene Strickland’s son.

But the release had left him waiting in the lobby for rescue. Last thing he wanted was to call Boo or Austen or even his father. Which left one of his brothers.

And as he waited for Conrad to show up, he practically memorized the bulletin board. Same notices as yesterday—a 1998 Ford Bronco, Daisy the lost goldendoodle, whose poster had been updated with a one-hundred-dollar reward, and the set of keys with the boat float. He’d gotten a close look at it—loon-shaped foam with a number imprinted on the back. And, more interesting, in the description of the theft from Echoes on Tuesday night was a note to call Tallulah.

Now, Conrad walked over to him, his rescuer. “I had to sneak away, otherwise I would have raised questions. This is a little different for you.” He gestured to the manila envelope with Jack’s possessions.

“Not as different as you might think.” Jack walked through the open door that Conrad held for him.