Rufus barked again, though this time it wasn’t the playful bark; Rourke knew the difference. He set aside the maul and went to find the dog. The big malamute was plunging toward the camp entrance, or so it seemed. The visibility was next to nothing, thanks to the snow.
Rourke squinted and shielded his eyes. Someone was coming. His first thought was Connor or Greg, maybe to check on things. But why would either of them come up through the biggest snow of the year?
The visitor was a dark blur, moving fast, almost seeming to skim across the snow. An experienced snowshoer. Rufus was still barking furiously, probably freaked out by the guy’s movements on the snowshoes.
Rourke waved his arms to get his attention. “Hey,” he yelled. “Over here.”
The visitor paused, and Rourke could make out his oversize hunting jacket. There was a sound, nearly swallowed by the wind, but unmistakable to Rourke—gunshot. The dog emitted a yelp, ragged with pain, and exploded off into the woods.
And Rourke felt a fiery sting in his chest. He told his feet to move, but they wouldn’t obey. The snow was icy soft when he landed, facedown.
I’m an idiot, he thought.
* * *
Jenny heard a popping sound—once, twice—and tilted her head to the side. The winter woods were full of unexpected noises—the crack of ice-coated branches, the thud of snow as they hit the roof, the scurry of deer foraging among the trees.
She went to the window and looked out but saw only the vast field of whiteness. She turned on the electric range and set the kettle on to boil for tea. Without the heat from the stove, the room was getting cold, fast.
At last, she heard Rourke outside, feet stomping on the porch. She ran to the door, opened it. “Thank God, you’re—”
But it wasn’t Rourke. It was someone in a ski mask, holding a gun on her. She had a fleeting, hysterical urge to laugh. A gun? She wasn’t seeing this. Then the stranger broke into action, pushing her inside and shoving the door shut. Her mind froze. She couldn’t even think. She blurted out, “What’s going on? Where on earth did you come from?”
The intruder didn’t reply but seemed to be scanning the room. She didn’t allow herself to look around, to check for a stray article of clothing or something that would indicate she had not spent the night alone. Rourke was wearing the borrowed jacket. His clothes, including his gun, were in the other room.
The stranger spoke at last. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating a wooden ladder-back chair. From a loop on his dark pants hung a set of handcuffs. Good God, she thought. Was he a cop? She thought about the calls she’d made after discovering the diamonds—Laura, Rourke’s deputy, Olivia, Nina. What was she thinking? You didn’t babble about discovering a fortune in diamonds. Somehow, the information had fallen into the wrong hands.
She sat down instantly, her gaze glued to the black-gloved hand, the gun pointing at her. At the same time, she thought of Rourke and the sounds she’d heard a few minutes ago. Something had happened. And where was the dog? She looked at the gun again and a curl of dread tightened inside her. If he were able, Rourke would be here right now, she thought. She was about to start begging the stranger but suspected histrionics would make no impression. Deep in her gut, she knew what he wanted.
“Let’s make this quick,” she suggested, her voice surprisingly steady as he advanced on her with the cuffs. She jumped up, startling him into thrusting the gun in her face. Jenny amazed herself by staying focused. As though nothing had happened, she went to the kitchen counter, showing him the saucer with the diamonds. They rattled as her hand shook. “This is what you came for, isn’t it? Maybe my mother was willing to die for these. I’m not.”
“Set that down,” the intruder said.
The voice was vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. She put the saucer on the counter and stepped back. Her assailant removed one glove, picked up one of the stones. It didn’t look like much. “Everything I found is there,” she said, feeling each second crawl by with a painful tug on her heart. Rourke, she thought. Where was Rourke?
Before she was even aware of it, she glanced at the bedroom door and only realized her mistake when the man spoke. “He can’t help you now.”
So he knew. He’d seen Rourke. “Where is he?” she demanded. “What—”
“Sit down.” The intruder repeated his order.
As she moved toward the chair, Jenny felt something turn cold and solid inside her. This man wanted the diamonds. Maybe he was the one who had killed her mother for them. Maybe he was the one who had stolen her childhood, the source of all the agonizing unanswered questions about Mariska. Jenny felt herself turning into a different person, someone who was harder and angrier and yes, stronger than the gunman. All her life she had done the right thing, lived safe, doing as she was told. The intruder figured she would obey his every command. He had miscalculated. How could she be afraid now? Rourke had taught her that the best defense of all was to fight. To fight and never give up.
Instead of sitting down, she drew herself into a crouch and then lunged at the intruder, her knee hitting him square in the crotch in a maneuver Rourke had shown her.
He doubled over and she heard the breath leave him. The next target would be the eyes, but he fell back, out of range, though the ski mask remained in her fists. His face was white with agony, nearly as white as his pale blond hair.
“Matthew,” she said. At first, it didn’t make any sense at all. And then it made perfect sense. He’d heard about her discovery and had come for the
