Jax eased off the shoulder, made a U-turn and started back to his base of operations, leaning forward a little as he peered through the broken windshield. The rounded holes with their halos of ruined glass and the radiating cracks didn’t help his visibility.

Sam had been staring at the holes. Now he saw her slide him a sideways glance, obviously not completely comfortable with him.

“You said you thought I’d be in trouble?” she murmured.

“Let me concentrate on nursing the car along,” he answered, hating himself for the rough sound of his voice. He’d been focused on Samantha Donovan for so long that being with her was throwing him seriously off balance. It put their relationship on an odd footing, since he knew a lot about her, and she didn’t know squat about him. More than that, he didn’t want her to think he was a nut case—when he didn’t usually care what a client thought of him. He just went ahead and did his job. This particular assignment had turned personal as soon as he’d started to tune in on her.

She interrupted his thoughts. “Deal with it; I know you’ve got an official looking ID, but I think you’d better give me a better idea what you meant when you said you know things. And why you knew I had food in the car.”

Now what?  He should have figured out a good answer for a question like that when he’d first started working for Decorah Security.

Instead he took the chicken way out and did a variation of what he’d said before. “I’m logical.  Any woman going home for a big holiday would bring food, just like you brought presents.”

“Uh huh.”  

Maybe that satisfied her.  At least she wasn’t looking for a place to jump out of the vehicle as he floundered through the storm.

He had been glancing at the temperature gauge. Now he saw it climbing into the red zone.  “Damn.”

“What?”

“Like I was afraid of—the car’s overheating.”

He had a couple of water bottles in the back. He’d like to pour some water into the radiator, but he knew that taking off the cap under these circumstances could be dangerous. Instead he pulled to the side and waited for a few minutes as the gauge went down.

“How far can we get?” she asked in a worried voice as he started up again.

“I guess we’ll find out.”  He had a goal in mind, and his fingers were crossed that they could make it.

Stopping to cool off bought him a few more miles, but finally he decided that he couldn’t safely drive the car, not with the busted radiator and the snow and the ruined windshield making it almost impossible to see where he was going. When he spotted a little break in the trees, he checked to make sure he was in the right spot, then made a right turn into a narrow one-lane track. He’d hidden out here many times while surveilling this stretch of rural highway. The rutted side road led into the woods, where it made a turn that hid the SUV from view.  When he had pulled around the bend where the vehicle wouldn’t be seen from the highway, he cut the engine.

The woman beside him looked uncertainly at the trees that hemmed in the narrow track.  “This is where we’re going?”

“No.  Sorry. This is the best I can do as far as driving goes. Hopefully, he won’t see the car if he comes back.”

“Why would he come back?”

“Because he suspects we’re disabled. And he also knows that cell phone service around here is iffy—and worse in the snow.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

He could have added, “And he thinks I’m not armed.”

Putting the best possible face on their situation, he said, “I don’t think he’ll risk it. But in case he’s looking for us, I’m going to wipe out our tire tracks as best I can.”

He opened the driver’s door, and when she started to get out the other side, he said, “Wait here.”

“Why?”

“You’ll be out in the cold soon enough.”

She gestured toward the pattern of holes in the windshield.  “I already am.”

“You’re sheltered here.” 

To cut off further discussion, he exited the vehicle and closed the door.  This wasn’t what he’d planned when he’d gotten on the road, sure that Sam was in trouble—even though he didn’t yet know her name. He’d pictured getting her out of the area. Now he was going to have to take her to the cabin where he’d been staying—and he winced as he pictured her there.

He stood for a moment surveying the woods and the driving snow. After pulling his hood over his head, he walked to a pine tree with low-hanging boughs. Pulling one off, he carried it down to the narrow entrance where he’d turned in and began wiping away their tracks, walking backwards so that his footprints wouldn’t show in the snow.  He could see that the snow was already blowing over the pathway. Hopefully, the blizzard would do the rest of the work of hiding the SUV.

He wished he could take her to someplace safe. But there simply wasn’t anywhere. The best he could do was his cabin, and he wished to hell he had a better choice.

When he returned, he thought of stepping to the passenger window.  Then he decided that a large man looming over her window might be unnerving.

Instead he walked to his side of the vehicle and opened the driver’s door. Still, Samantha jumped when he leaned in.

“We’d better go.”

“Where?”

“I have a cabin up the road,” he said, trying not to sound embarrassed. The place was neat, but it was bare bones and lacked certain amenities—like indoor plumbing.

“How far?”

“A little over a mile.”

She sighed but didn’t voice a complaint.

He reached in the back of the SUV and hefted the duffel and the bags of food.  The food was heavier.

“Can you manage the duffel?”

“I think so.” but when she lifted it, she frowned. “It’s a long walk. Maybe I can leave some stuff out.”

“Good idea.”

She unzipped the bag, took out a pair of jeans, a couple of tee shirts and a pair of shoes, which she tossed onto the seat.  He would have carried the clothing for her if he hadn’t needed to bring the food. But he’d been so sure that the killer was coming soon that he hadn’t wanted to go out for supplies. Now there was almost nothing in the little house besides crackers and canned salmon.

“I wish this was a backpack,” she said.

“Maybe I can rig something.”

With rope in the trunk, he circled one end of the duffel and cinched it tight, then did the same with the other side, leaving some slack in the middle.

“Let me help you get it on.”

Standing behind her, he hoisted the carry bag to her shoulders and pulled the rope to the front of her body, feeling the intimacy of adjusting the weight on her back.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Not too bad.”

“You can always alternate with holding it in your arms if your back starts to hurt.”

“This is better. It’s insulation. It covers more of me.”

“Right.”

When she was set and he’d picked up the food bags, he stepped off the road and headed for the trees. The wind had ticked up, and he ducked his head against a blast of snow. It was better under the branches, but still the flying flakes stung his face.

“We’re walking through the woods?” she asked.

“It’s safer. Also, better if you stay in back of me so we don’t make a wide path.  Plus I can block the snow from getting in your face.”

“Appreciated.”  She waited several beats, then asked, “You think he can find the car?”

“I hope not, but this is the best I can do.”

As he started off, she asked another question, “How do you know the way? I mean, it’s almost dark.  And I’m assuming you don’t want to use a flashlight.”

“Right.  No lights. When I staked out the highway from this location, I always came through the woods.”

“How long have you been doing this?  I mean, coming here to look for the guy?”

Not the guy. To look for you, he silently corrected.

“A couple of months.” He looked toward the trees. “We should get going, before it’s full dark.”

“Right.”

He picked up his pace a little, glancing back to make sure she was following. Really, he’d like to use a light, but he couldn’t risk it. The snow was six inches deep now.  He didn’t like not being able to see Sam, but she couldn’t lead the way.  On the other hand, maybe it was easier to talk to her if they couldn’t see each other.  It was more impersonal, like a phone conversation.

“You doing okay?” he called. 

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a minute or two, then asked, “And how did you get the job of going after this guy?”

“One of the victim’s father was pissed off that the cops couldn’t find the killer. He heard about the outfit I work for—Decorah Security. He couldn’t bring his daughter back, but he hoped he could stop the same thing happening to another woman. Plus he wanted the bastard caught and punished.  It was worth it to him to have one of our agents working the case full-time.”

“And why you?”

“Frank Decorah assigns the person he thinks is best suited to the job.”

“That was you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

They had come to the crux of the problem. “I have the right skill set,” he clipped out, hoping the tone of his voice would cut off her line of inquiry.

Apparently she got the message, because her next question switched to another topic.  “How many women has he gotten?”

“Three.”

Sam made a small choking sound.

Thinking it was best to get off this line of discussion, Jax asked, “What can you tell me about the guy?”

“You pulled up about five minutes after he arrived. I didn’t have time to find out much.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “He told me his name was James Patton. Then, after he pulled a gun on me, he started talking about an author with almost the same name who wrote a book called Kiss the Girls. It’s about a serial killer.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Afraid not.”

Jax mulled that over. “What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t see much, with the snow and the way he was bundled up. He was wearing a heavy wool jacket with a hood. It fell back when we were scuffling. He had a square face, thin lips, and shaggy hair. That’s about all I could see. Well, mean looking eyes and dark stubble on his chin.”

“Could you pick him out of a lineup or mug book?”

“Maybe.” She was quiet for a few moments before asking, “You said he—hunts—on that stretch of road?”

“Yeah.” Jax shared the theory he’d developed. “I’m thinking he usually pretends to be a cop. Maybe he stops his victim and says she was speeding.  That’s how he establishes that he’s in charge. But tonight in the snow, he figured an ordinary Good Samaritan would do. And there you were with your car way off the road.”

“I would have fallen for the cop thing,” Sam said, her voice not quite steady. 

“It’s a nasty ploy. Other guys have used it. And these days they can pick up techniques from cable news and crime shows.”             

“Or novels.”

“Yeah.”

She was quiet, and despite the conversation they’d been having, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about holding her in his arms. He’d pictured it more than once when he’d come out of his delta state, and now here she was, close enough to touch.  He’d been wound up with her for weeks. But as far as she was concerned, he was just a PI doing a job.

Jax was yanked back to reality when he heard a thumping noise, then a muffled scream.