Page 41 of Cold as Hell

As soon as she signals, she goes still. Then she whips around and dives off the path the other way. When she returns, she has a sock in her mouth, as if she grabbed it flying past.

I stand there, struggling to comprehend what I’m seeing. If Lynn removed a glove, the wind could have stolen it. Even the sweatermightbe explained. It’d been warm yesterday. She could have taken it off in the shop because she had another shirt on and then left carrying it.

There is no logical explanation for a sock.

I hold it up as Dalton returns. He grimaces and shields his eyes as he peers around. Then he lowers his mouth to my ear.

“We need to get back,” he says.

I nod. Everything in me screams against that. We’ve just found three pieces of clothing belonging to our missing woman. She was out here. She may still be out here. If she is…

All I can think of is Kendra being dragged into the woods.

Why would Lynn’s clothing be off?

Yes, the answer seems obvious. I presume sexual assault had been the motive of Kendra’s attacker. But that makes no sense. It was a freaking snowstorm. Who is going to drag a woman into the forest and assault her during a blizzard?

And if I’m seriously asking that then I learned nothing in my years on the force. I will never be able to put myself in the mind of someone who would do that to another person, and so questioning whether they’d do it in bad weather is ridiculous.

This isn’t about finding a cozy place to have sex. The storm could make things even more exciting for Lynn’s assailant, heightening their victim’s terror.

Still, the logistics make me question that theory.

So what else could it be? Lynn was leaving the store with an armload of dirty laundry, and it went flying into the woods?

I’m behind Dalton again. I’ve had him put his scarf back on, and I’m holding his jacket. I don’t know if he’s going to insist we cut back to town rather than finish the full perimeter path. I don’t know if there’s any point in finishing it. Snow blasts from every direction, and my toes and fingers are numb. So are my cheeks. I think about Storm out in front, with her equally delicate nose. Much more of this, and we’ll be treating frostbite.

When I lift my head, snow coats my lashes, and that’s all I see. I blink hard. Then I stuff my free glove into my pocket and press my semi-warm hand against my cheeks. I go to take the glove out again and fumble it.

I tug on Dalton’s jacket. He looks back and sees me trying to bend. Somehow he manages to spot my glove and scoops it up. Then he goes still. His hand taps something beside the path. My gut chills, and I carefully lower myself on one knee to see what he’s touching, terrified it’ll be Lynn.

It’s not. He’s touching an outcropping of rock.

I frown. Then I realize why that stopped him.

Because there are no outcroppings of rock on the trail.

We’ve lost the path.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dalton motions for me to stay still and then he circles wide around me, shading his eyes. When he comes back, his gray eyes are clouded with worry.

“We left the path,” he says in my ear. “Where it comes close to the lake.”

That would be the one spot where Storm—or Dalton—could wander off the trail. It opens up enough that the snow would be less deep. That might seem counterintuitive—wouldn’t “open” mean less shelter and more snow?—but open ground near water allows wind, which sweeps the snow out over the lake.

The snow on the path meant Storm couldn’t always follow her nose. When the trail curved to skim the lake edge, she kept going straight.

Dalton bends to examine the outcropping again. As he does, I recognize it. Not rock along the shore, but an outcroppinginthe lake.

We’re out on the frozen lake. Where the ice had begun to weaken in the unexpected warm spell.

“We need to spread out,” I say. “We’re concentrating too much weight.”

Dalton shakes his head. “We’re in greater danger of getting separated. The ice will hold until we get back to shore.”

Which is where?

---