But the darkness scares me. I don’t want to die here. I want to see Tomasetti again. I want to see my team of officers back in Painters Mill. Glock and Mona and Pickles. I want to sit at the table in my old farmhouse and listen to the rain pound the roof. I want to stand on the dock of the pond and look out over the water with the man I love.

Rolling onto my side, I push myself upright. I get my knees under me and crawl to the top of the bank. My hands are in the snow, but I don’t feel the cold. Unsteadily, I get to my feet.

Swaying like a drunk, I put one foot in front of the other. One foot bare. The other sloshing in a boot. I’m so uncoordinated I go to my knees twice before reaching the woods. Once I enter the trees, my mind shuts down. I don’t think about anything except putting one foot in front of the other. I’m a machine. Left foot. Right foot. Stay upright. Keep moving. I hear the snowmobile, but I feel no fear. The only thing that matters is one more step. Reaching the trailer. Survival.

By the time I emerge from the woods, I’m staggering. My hair and the hem of my dress are frozen. The whine of an engine sounds scant yards away. I see the glint of headlights against the trees. Choking back sobs, I make my way around the end of the trailer, stumble to the stairs, crawl up them using my hands. The snowmobile skids to a stop twenty feet away. The driver cuts the engine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him dismount and start toward me.

“I got you now,” he says. “Fucking ran me all over hell and back.”

Yoder. Getting closer. Feet crunching through snow.

Somehow I get the key into the lock. Then I’m inside, slam the door behind me. I’m about to throw the lock when the door explodes open. A scream pours from my throat. I lurch across the living room, down the hall, into the bedroom. Footsteps thud against the floor.

“Come here, you bitch!” But he laughs.

I reach the bed, go to my knees, jam my hands beneath the mattress. I can barely feel the .38. I clutch it, spin, thrust it at Yoder’s silhouette as he comes down the hall.

“Police officer. I got a gun.” I try to shout the words, but they come out as puffs of air. “Stop. Stop.”

He doesn’t stop.