“Come out with your hands up!” he yelled, his rifle raised to his shoulder as he edged around so that he could see inside the open doors in back.

Sure enough, Evelyn was there. Alive but tied up and bleeding.

Bishop fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her up and in front of him as he moved to the back bumper. “You come any closer, I’ll blow her brains out,” he warned, holding a gun to her head with his other hand.

Amarok’s eyes narrowed until all he could see was his target. Could he shoot Bishop before Bishop could pull the trigger?

He was tempted to try. He was desperate to reach Evelyn, to put her out of danger. She looked crazed with fright. Blood ran from her right eye, her nose and her mouth.

“It’s all over,” he said to Bishop. “Even if you shoot her, you won’t get away from here, so there’s no point.”

“Making sure you can’t have her, that she gets what’s coming to her, is all the point I need,” he responded. “She destroyed my life, took away everything I cared about. Now put down the rifle. If you’re lucky, I’ll just shoot you and take off with her.”

Could he pick Bishop off?

No. Bishop was prepared for that, was using Evelyn as a shield. And even if he weren’t behind her, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t fire simultaneously.

Amarok couldn’t take the risk.

“I won’t ask again,” Bishop threatened.

Amarok’s mind raced as he slowly lowered his weapon to the ground.

“No!” Evelyn cried as Bishop turned his gun on Amarok instead. But Amarok hadn’t left himself completely defenseless. He’d just had to be sure that Bishop wouldn’t squeeze the trigger while that gun was aimed at Evelyn.

With a quick whistle Amarok called his dog, and Makita came leaping out of the trees. His growl was deep and threatening and the blur of his coat caught Bishop’s attention, startling him.

Bishop reared back—and fired. Amarok felt a burning sensation in his shoulder as the sharp crack echoed through the forest, but Bishop wasn’t going to get the chance to fire again. Makita had already dragged him out of the van and had ahold of his arm as they rolled around in the dirt.

Trained never to let go, the malamute had clamped on for all he was worth.

Dropping the gun since he could no longer hold it, Bishop screamed as Amarok gave Makita another command. Then the dog did let go of his arm—and lunged for his throat.

“That’s it,” Amarok said, encouraging Makita as he managed to retrieve his rifle and drag it over to the van.

“Call him off!” Bishop whimpered. “Please, he’s going to kill me. Call him off!”

Amarok whistled to get Makita to stand down. But the second the dog pulled back, Bishop reached for the gun that had fallen out of the van when he did.

No.…

Putting the muzzle of his rifle right over the place where Bishop’s heart would be, if he had one, Amarok grimaced against the agonizing pain in his shoulder and somehow managed to pull the trigger.