Page 89 of Conrad

She kept running, the beach house ahead of her. It sat mostly encased in snow, but a trail ran down to the lake from the house, which was clearly used as a warming hut.

She scampered up the steps of the porch, tried the door—locked. Glancing behind her, she spotted a figure getting out of the car.No—no?—

Running to the far edge of the porch, she leaped off it, landed in the snowy darkness, and kept running.

And running.

The park flattened out near the playground, but she edged around it, staying in the shadows, thankful now for the dark-blue Blue Ox jersey she wore over her white parka. She hit the far edge of the park, with the towering oaks and maples, and zigzagged through them, finally secreting herself behind one.

Her breaths puffed out hard as she flattened herself against the tree, her heart in her throat.

Maybe she’d imagined it, but . . .

No.She’d just nearly been pancaked. Peeking around the tree, she spotted the headlights of the Escape, still lodged in the snowbank.

And her car, still running.

But she could hardly go back . . .

Or could she? Because she’d taken her key fob with her, so that probably meant the car had locked behind her.

If she could sneak up, she could unlock it, dive in, and lock it behind her.

It might be preferable to freezing to death.

At the very least, she needed her phone.

She crouched, then peeked out from behind the tree. No movement, and in the distance, the lights on the snowbank suggested he might still be stuck.

This could work.

Edging out from behind the tree, she threaded her way back to the edge of the forest and then moved out to the parking lot, creeping behind the snowbanks as she sneaked back toward the cars. Light puddled in places, but she hugged the darkness, now ruing her jersey against the white snow.

From here, she made out the driver of the assailant car pushing at the front end, the front wheels off the ground. Shouting and cursing lifted into the night.

Yeah, well—seemed like what he got for trying torun her over.

She waited until he got in front of the car again, ducked down, and then she scampered, low, over to the edge of the lot, nearly crawling her way back to her car. The other car sat thirty feet away, wedged in.

But her father’s Audi continued to rumble, unfazed.

Pulling out her fob, she nearly pushed it—then paused.

It would beep. As soon as she pushed the button to unlock it, her assailant would hear.

Which meant she had to be fast.

She crept up to the car, all the way to the passenger side, crouched at the door, and took a breath.

Here went nothing.

She pushed the button and the car alerted, but she wrenched the door open, flung herself inside.

Pushed the lock button.

Of course she missed and hit the panic button—which maybe she should have thought about before—but they were in a secluded lot, so of course all it did was alert her attacker to her sudden return.

She lunged for the driver’s-side door lock. Smacked it, climbed into her seat, and slammed her foot on the brake to put the car into reverse.

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