Snowbound

SIXTY-NINE

Kalyn pushed the last shell of buckshot into the twelve-gauge and pumped it. She set it beside her, took out the Browning. The shotgun was good if you didn’t know how to shoot, but you could easily get yourself killed in the time it took to absorb the shoulder-bruising recoil, pump it, and take aim. Her head was bleeding again, and she was dizzy from the blow.

As she wiped away the rivulet of blood trailing down her nose, the Browning flew out of her hand and slid across the stone, hitting the library door. She went for the shotgun, and as she realized it wasn’t there, she felt its barrel, still blazing hot, push into the back of her neck.

“You will tell me your name.”

She stared at the floor, said nothing.

“Are you the ex-FBI agent?”

“No, I’ve been imprisoned in this lodge for five years. But I can take you to her right now. She’s just through that passage over—”

“Stand up.” Kalyn stood. “Take three steps forward and slowly turn around, leaving your hands up, fingers open.” Kalyn moved toward the doors, her arms raised. She stopped and turned.

A man garbed all in black stood in the hearth, covering her with her shotgun. Where his face wasn’t streaked with soot, she saw that his skin was reddish brown, wondered if perhaps he was half Mayan.

He looked at Kalyn, said, “I’m afraid you resemble the photograph I have of Kalyn Sharp. Are there any other weapons on your person?” She shook her head. “Remove your jacket and your pants.” Kalyn didn’t move. “Take them off now, or what’s going to happen to you will only last longer and involve more pain.”

A pair of shotgun blasts tore out of the passage.

. . .

Will yelled into the corridor, “You wanna walk out of here, Javier? Two of your friends are already dead.”

. . .

A small explosion around the corner shook the floor beneath Will’s feet.

After a moment, another noise filled the passage—a zipper in motion, followed by the sound of something dragging across the floor. Will didn’t risk taking a peek.

“Hello, Will. Were you able to locate your wife?”

“Yes.”

“I hope the very short amount of time you’ve had together was worth the pain that is coming your way.”

“Look, you have nowhere to go, and there’re two of us here with shotguns.”

Something went whisk in the corridor.

“What was that?” Will asked. The sweeter smell of tobacco smoke mixed in with the cordite. Will was thinking, Maybe I should just go for it, poke out mid-sentence, hope to catch him off guard.

“Do you remember, Will, the substance of our last conversation?”

“Yes, you—”

“I extended you and Kalyn the opportunity to improve the outcome of our inevitable future meeting.”

“Javier—”

“And you did not accept my offer.”

“Jav—”

“What? What, Will? What are you about to propose? That we call things a day? Do you believe I have traveled all these miles, at great expense, suffered cold and snow, the myriad wrongs to me and my family, only to turn right around and go home now that I have found you? Please answer me.”

“No.”

“Well said.”

Will looked at Rachael, whispered, “We’re gonna have to kill him.”

“Will, I know your daughter is behind that door. Would you care to know my plans involving her?”