It was all Gage’s fault. Cursing the big man under his breath, he slogged through the terrain. The ground was muddy, and it was cold, hard going. He forced himself through some thick underbrush, sliding in shoes that were probably ruined. The icy rain still falling on and off didn’t help his mood or his progress. But he kept going. The key to avoiding capture was to get as far away from the crime as quickly as possible.

When he hit the back fence, he stopped for a breath. He didn’t hear pursuit, but his ears were still ringing from the gunfire, and his ego stung from the fact he’d been chased away by a woman. Breathing hard from the restriction of the body armor, he holstered his weapon, now wet with blood that dripped down his arm. Figured he’d get hit in areas the vest didn’t cover. He didn’t think he was hurt bad, though the side of his face stung from where a pellet had sliced across his cheek, and his upper arm and shoulder smarted from where a couple more had found their mark.

He cursed Gage again and opened and closed his hands several times, trying to steady himself and determine how badly he was hurt. He should have told Gage that he didn’t need him, no matter what Cyrus thought. In all the years Ice had been at this, he’d never been the prey. And he didn’t like it.

He brought a hand to his face and it came back bloody. He took off his jacket and dabbed his face with his shirtsleeve. Looking at his shoulder, he saw the blood was already drying up. He palpated the wound, wincing, but determining that while it smarted, he still had full function. His chest was another matter. It felt as though he’d been hit by a jackhammer. He ran his hands over the divots in the vest made by the buckshot. Every breath hurt. Maybe a rib or two was cracked, but he could breathe, so he figured he’d live.

Ice put his jacket back on and decided to leave the vest on. He turned his attention to the fence in front of him. It was chain link, with nasty points on top. As he gripped it, pain stabbed his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he determined to ignore the pain and get as far away from this place as he could. He lifted a foot up to climb the fence.

“Looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle.”

Ice let go and jumped back from the fence, drawing his handgun.

A bearded man on the other side of the fence, dressed in camouflage gear, leaning against a tree, stared back at him from behind a raised hunting rifle.

“Easy, friend, I’m on your side . . . I think. I’ll put my gun down if you do the same.”