“Throw me the keys!”

“Go to hell!”

“He’s going to attack you if you move, provided I don’t shoot you first. Either way you’re going to be dead unless you give me the keys.”

“You won’t do it.”

I begin limping toward her. “I can’t control what he does, Tori. He’s a wild animal.”

She considers this and reaches into a zipped pocket on her jacket.

“Don’t be stupid and try something cute,” I say.

She cocks her arm. I don’t like the look of her wind-up.

“Underhand!”

Tori’s expression changes in the snow-fuzzed light. The fear passes, and the old belligerence returns. She’s clever and I know she’s trying to think of a way to prolong the stalemate. She needs to stall long enough for Tiff and the rest of their associates to come racing to the rescue. I am sure she considers making a break. But the wolf is an unknown quantity. Maybe fleeing will trigger his predatory impulses.

“Shadow!”

As if the wolf will obey my command.

Tori tosses the keys. She makes sure to miss me. I follow the trajectory with the flashlight because I can’t afford to lose them in the snow.

I steady myself with the butt of the gun and drop to one knee and swipe a hand through the snow until I feel the set of keys, beneath the fresh powder.

As I push myself to my feet, I hear the first sled coming around the top of the island. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shadow bounding again toward the mainland. So much for my guard dog. I wonder if, during his years in the wild, he was pursued by someone on a snowmobile. Somehow he knows to tear ass, in any case.

Tori does, too. She takes off toward the beaver lodge, moving better on her injured leg than I do on mine.

Again I have my chance. My attempted murderer has turned her back to me. Her head, spinal column, and heart and lungs are all easy targets. But I made a decision long ago never to become my father’s son.

With the shotgun slung over my shoulder, I step one foot onto the running board of the Arctic Cat. The engine is still radiating heat. I turn the key in the ignition and brace my legs. Then I grip the pull-start with both hands. I don’t pause because I know how much this motion is going to hurt. I grunt and yank the cord, and the engine roars to life.

Gasoline fumes rise around me in a choking cloud.

I fall side-saddle onto the seat. I use my hand to pull my left knee up and over the center console to the opposite footboard.

The sound of a gunshot snaps me alert.