“Have you seen him yet? Is he as gorgeous as he was in those old pictures? Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Good Lord, Gretch. Come up for air, will ya?” Hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, I laugh at my best friend through the Bluetooth.

“I can’t help it, Jules. I still can’t believe you scored this interview!”

Scored? If I’d scored this meeting with Rushton Cole, I’d be excited about it. Hell, I would have even asked for the assignment. Instead, I was ordered to get my ass to Minnesota. In a blizzard. To do whatever it takes to get the reclusive bestselling author to spill the beans, because apparently graduating from the same high school means we’re kindred spirits. Or something. 

“By the way, I haven’t forgiven you for holding out on me, either. You and Rushton-freaking-Cole have breathed the same air. Compared to the rest of us, you’ve pretty much fucked him.”

“Ha!” My bark of amusement bounces off the windshield, where my wipers struggle to keep the ice bay. “He graduated five years ahead of me. We never bumped elbows in the hall, let alone swapped spit.”

“Don’t rain on my parade, woman. I love his books and I want him to be everything I’ve fantasized about.”

“That’s just...disturbing.” But leave it to an aspiring author to get so hot and bothered by another author’s words. Not that I haven’t enjoyed his words myself. Rush might write action and suspense, but his sex scenes are right up there with the steamiest of my favorite romance authors. “How am I going to keep a straight face when I ask him what he’s been up to for the last seven years, knowing you’ve thought about banging him?”

“Think,” Gretchen corrects me. “I think about banging him. Regularly. In fact, I’m going to go do that now.”

Oh, sweet Jesus. “Yeah, you do that, you weirdo. And don’t call me again. The roads are getting worse and I need to focus. I’ll let you know when I get to Minneapolis.” Which is still two hours and ten miserable minutes away according to the GPS on my phone.

“Okay, hon. Drive carefully.” She smacks a kiss through my speakers and I send one right back at her.

“Love ya, chickie. Talk soon.” Clicking off, I blow out a breath and curse this assignment for the hundredth time. As if pulling information from the tight-lipped Mr. Cole isn’t be bad enough, I had to come back to home Minnesota during the biggest snowstorm of the year. 

I despise winter.

I despise driving in winter even more.

I really despise driving to assignments I want no part of with buckets of white shit falling from the sky.

Ugh. If I would have just kept my mouth shut about sort-of knowing Rush, I’d be on a plane to Panama right now. Sangria and sunshine instead of snow and stupid Shanaka, Minnesota.

“You can visit your sister in while you’re there,” Oscar had said. “Think of it as a mini-vacation.”

Uh huh. Maybe if I enjoyed coming back to my hometown instead of avoiding it at all costs thanks to my asshole brother-in-law, Dillon, or as Gretchen likes to call him, Dildo.

Did I mention that Dildo’s my ex? And now he’s married to my older sister? Yeah.

Pouring salt on the ever-tender wound, It Must Have Been Love courtesy of the Glee cast cues up on my playlist. Oh, the irony.

Guilt tugs at my gut when I pass the familiar exit, but I quickly squash it. This is a business trip, not a family reunion. I’m here to play nice with Rush and deliver Oscar the juicy story he’s been jerking off about since the opportunity fell in his lap. That’s it.

I groan when blue lights appear out of nowhere, flashing through the near white-out ahead of me. The closer I get, the clearer I see the police cruiser parked in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. I can’t see beyond the car because the snow is so thick, but my stomach tightens knowingly. An accident. And I still have another hour and fifty-four minutes of this crap to get through.

Slowing to a stop, I crank the wipers and wait anxiously while the officer shuffles over. He has on one of those big, furry hats straight out of Fargo and I cringe when he motions for me roll down the window. People who wear dead animals on their head creep me out. I’m not thrilled about getting cold and wet, either.

“Please tell me I can get around this,” I plead through the barely opened window.

The older man flashes a grin and the ice on his 80’s porn mustache cracks. “Sorry, miss. The road’s going to be blocked for a while. Big logging truck lost a load across both lanes. We’re waiting for the fire department to show up and reroute traffic.”

Reroute? To where? This is the only major highway in southeastern Minnesota.

“Do you know how long that will be?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t. If you’re not familiar with the area, I suggest you stay put until they figure out the detour. The county roads are a mess right now.”

Worse than this? “And if I am familiar?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You’ve got Illinois plates, miss.”

“I’m headed home for the week,” I lie. “Shanaka.”

“No kidding.” Just like that, his tone and expression do a one-eighty. “Well, welcome home then.”

Mmm-hmm. “So, those county roads...” I can’t believe I’m considering this. “I could probably backtrack to get where I need to go, right?” Which is really to the other side of this accident, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Sure could. Just take ‘er slow and maybe let your loved ones know you’re detouring. Cell reception is crap once you’re off the highway.”

Yeah, well, I won’t be doing that. “Thank you so much, officer.” I flash a smile and he touches the brim of his...raccoon. He’s wearing a flipping raccoon on his head.

Turning the car around, much to the disapproval of my GPS, I head back to the exit for the county road I know well. My high school boyfriend used to live nearby and, once upon a time, we broke in every side road we could get his truck down. Until he cheated. With my fucking sister.

Of course, it’d be my luck that the road isn’t plowed. At least not since the sky dumped eight or so fresh inches of this nasty devil dust.

Shit, shit, shit. My poor car slows to a miserable creep the second I turn onto the road, my tires barely treading through the accumulation. If I weren’t about to pee my pants in fear for my life, I’d call Oscar and chew him out. I knew I should’ve grabbed a flight, but nooo. “Drive,” he’d said. “It’ll be fun!” Uh huh, sure.

Heart’s Alone, again from the Glee cast, begins to hum through the car and I gulp against the growing tension in my chest. I might be all scrappy in my head, but I’m keenly aware of how alone I am out here. Save the cop, I haven’t passed another vehicle in miles.

I should probably let Gretchen know where to look for my frozen corpse if I never make it to hotel. I’d call my parents, but then they’d ask me to drop in for a visit and I’d have to watch Dildo and my sister play grab ass. No thanks.

Hitting the phone button on my steering wheel, I tell the car to call Gretchen, but instead of the usual purr of a ringing line, there’s nothing but silence...and then the dreaded beep beep beep of death. No signal, because, of course, I’m in the middle of goddamn nowhere on a road that hasn’t been plowed. 

I can text, though, and hope the message goes through sooner or later. It’s my only option at this point.

Refusing to text and drive even at fifteen miles per hours, I tap my brakes when I see a side road up ahead. I won’t risk pulling in, but I do ease over in case a plow should happen to come by. The last thing I need to get waylaid and shoved into a ditch.

Snow crunches beneath the tires...but the tires don’t stop. Nope, they just glide along without a care in the world until...WHOOSH!

“Shittt!” I slam on the brakes, but they’re useless as my car drifts over the culvert on the other side of the side road and down an embankment, straight into a deep, snow-filled ditch.

Puffy pillows of white fluff poof over the hood and windshield, almost burying the front end of my car. I can’t see my side mirrors and there’s no more than two inches of light coming from the top of the windshield. The rest is nothing but bright, blinding white.

I whimper at the reflection in the rearview mirror, frantically smoothing dark hair back from my face. Do not hyperventilate, Julianna. You got this.

Kristen Chenoworth, however, disagrees. She belts out her version of Alone like a mantra and I stab off the radio. Freaking Glee soundtrack.

Think, Jules, think. There has to be a way out of this.

I consider my driver’s side window and sigh. Unfortunately, every possible solution involves getting wet. At least I had the good sense to put on boots at the gas station on the Minnesota-Wisconsin border.

“You are so paying me overtime for this, Oscar.” Pulling on my gloves and scarf, I shut off the car and shove open the driver’s door. Snow falls into my lap, but I keep going. I don’t stop fighting my way through the snow until I reach the road, wheezing like a fish out of water. Thanks to my travel-friendly leggings, I’m soaked to the bone. I can’t feel my face, either.

Did I mention how much I love Minnesota winters?

Pausing to catch my breath, tire tracks on the side road grab my attention. They’re not fresh, per se, but they’re not that old either. There are also two sets...one coming out and one going back in. I refuse to acknowledge the reverse possibility, because right now the former is my only possibility. The world around me is eerily quiet. No cars, no snow plows, no anything except the occasional crack of a tree limb breaking under the weight of all this godawful snow.

And then there’s a hum.

It’s distant, but it’s there. Not necessarily coming closer either, but...

A chainsaw? Down the side road? Ha! Screw you, Kristen Chenoworth! I’m not alone, after all!

Desperate, I turn to the woods and start following the tracks. The snow seems to get deeper the further I get down the road instead of thinning beneath the trees, but I push on. I must trek at least a mile, before the telltale aroma of burning wood hits my nose. The saw has stopped running, but every now and again, the crack of an axe echoes through the stillness and, up ahead, a clearing comes into view. A cabin sits nestled back in the trees, but there are no vehicles and I hope that’s because whatever vehicle left those tracks is parked in the garage to the left of the cabin.

I’m so busy taking in my surroundings that I completely miss the big, butter yellow Labrador retriever who bounds toward me until I almost go ass over teakettle on the top of him.

“Whoa there, buddy!” I put out my hands to keep him at bay, because if he jumps, it’s going to hurt and I’m 100% sure I’ll end up with even wetter pants.

But he doesn’t jump. Nor does he bark. Like, at all. He just keeps circling around me, tail wagging.

“Kujo!” a deep, masculine voice snaps through the frosty air, not unlike the branches breaking in the woods. Sharp and punishing.

My breath lodges in my chest as I realize that maybe, just maybe, I should’ve stuck to the highway instead.

I glance down at the eager dog, panic brewing. He doesn’t look like a Kujo, but the man he must belong to...well, he sounds downright terrifying.

“Kujo!” the voice rumbles again and my gaze swings back to the cabin as a big, brooding man emerges from the rear. With an axe.

My feet freeze in place like my face did a long time ago and words...well, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t matter right now even if I could find them.

I’m going to die in the middle of freaking Minnesota, after all.