Dim light floated through the grimy glass. John peered inside, saw a dilapidated kitchen. He twisted the knob and the door creaked open. Praying Detrick didn’t hear him, he crept inside.

Kate’s scream raised the hairs at the back of his neck. His heart rate spiked. John had seen a lot of terrible things in his years as a cop. He’d seen the inhumanity man can inflict; he’d seen his own family murdered. Still, the anguish echoing in that scream went through him like a switchblade.

He sidled through the kitchen. Pressing his back to the wall, he peered into the next room. Dim light from a heater illuminated Detrick kneeling over Kate. He was nude from the waist down. John couldn’t see her face, just a partial silhouette as she lay on the floor.

A second scream rent the air. Gun leading the way, John rounded the corner. Detrick must have sensed his presence, because he turned his head. His eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, looked wildly around.

“Get your hands where I can see them!” John shouted.

Detrick lunged toward the mantel.

Kate raised her head. “Gun!” she screamed.

John fired twice. Center mass. The first shot hit Detrick in the side just below his armpit. His body went rigid, then he went to his knees. The second shot penetrated his right cheek, snapping his head around as if he’d been punched. He fell on his side and lay still.

John didn’t remember holstering his weapon or crossing to Kate. He saw her shattered expression. Bare legs covered with specks of blood. Hurt, he thought, but alive.

A sob tore from her mouth when he knelt beside her. “I’m here,” he rasped. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“He was going to kill me,” she choked.

“I know, honey. I know. It’s over. You’re okay.”

She was bare from the waist down. He didn’t let himself think about what might have happened as he worked his coat from his shoulders and covered her. All that mattered was that she was alive. He hadn’t been too late. Not this time.

“How bad are you hurt?” he asked.

She was sobbing now, shaking uncontrollably, unable to speak.

John wanted to pump another round into Detrick. “I’m going to untie your hands, okay?”

Gently, he helped her sit up. He used his pocketknife to cut the cloth binding her wrists. When they were free, he took her hands between his and rubbed. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.”

“Kate, did he . . .”

Tears streamed from her eyes when she looked at him. “No.”

Relief struck a hard blow. John could feel his own emotions winding up. “Come here,” he whispered.

She reached for him.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said.

“Promise me,” she whispered.

“I promise.” When he wrapped his arms around her, she broke into a thousand pieces.

CHAPTER 37

Snow glitters beneath a brilliant January sky. Around me, the citizens of Painters Mill emerge from their homes and businesses like cautious animals after a long hibernation. Sidewalks are shoveled and windshields are scraped. A big John Deere tractor clears snow from the traffic circle. I can smell the doughnuts from the Butterhorn Bakery down the street.