"And if he escapes?"Shaun challenged, plowing a hand through his hair. His eyes were wide and wild, showing bloodshot whites around blue orbs. He squeezed his eyes shut, reopening them and blinking hard, like he was struggling to focus.
"Killing him isn't going to help,” Mason repeated in that same steely, authoritative tone.
Shaun squeezed the bridge of his nose. He wiped his free arm across his damp forehead. "You gotta stop ordering me around, Ace. I'm in charge. I make the decisions. I brought you along to do one job; stay focused on that."
"We've been working together for almost a year,” said Mason. "Think of everything I've done for you. I want what's best for you-for us. Now lower the gun. There's rope in the storage trunk on the back porch. If we tie him up, it buys us a day at least."
"We've already shot one cop. There's no turning back. We have to see this through, do whatever it takes."There was something irrational and frantic in the way Shaun's eyes darted back and forth, unfocused. After saying the words, he swallowed and nodded, like he was trying to convince himself this was his best option.
Mason said more sternly, "We're going to leave him here and keep pushing toward the bottom of the mountain."
"Stop yelling at me, I can't think!" Shaun roared, rounding on Mason and aiming the gun briefly at him before swerving back to point it at the game warden. More beads of sweat sprang onto Shaun's brow.
"No one's yelling,” Mason said quietly. "Lower the gun."
"This is my call,” Shaun growled. "I'm calling the shots. And I say we cut loose ends."
A spark that was equal parts fear and understanding flared in Mason's eyes. In one convulsive movement, he lunged for the gun. Shaun didn't appear to notice; his eyes were fixed on the game warden's kneeling form. Before Mason was able to stop Shaun, a blast of noise exploded in my ears. The game warden's body sagged to the ground.
I was screaming. I heard the sound splitting my head, filling the room.
"How could you?" I cried. There was blood everywhere. I'd never seen so much blood. I turned away dizzily, afraid I'd pass out if I looked at it any longer. My whole body vibrated with shock. Shaun had shot him. Killed him. I had to get out. I couldn't worry about the storm-I had to run.
"What was that for?" Mason's heated voice erupted at Shaun. Mason looked shocked and sickened, and immediately crouched over the game warden's body, feeling his neck for a pulse. "He's dead."
"What was I supposed to do?" Shaun yelled back. "Britt didn't sell the story, and he was onto us. We did what we had to. We had to kill him."
"We?" Mason repeated. "Are you hearing yourself? We didn't kill him. You killed him." His eyes burned with hot wrath and seemed to reflect his thoughts-I didn't sign up for this. He stared at Shaun with guarded, watchful disgust, and from that single searing look, I realized something. At one point, they had been two criminals with a common predicament and goal. Not anymore. As Shaun grew increasingly unstable and unpredictable, I felt Mason peeling away. His desire to break from Shaun was written plainly on his face.
Shaun snatched the photograph of himself at the Subway shop and ripped it multiple times. He flung the pieces against the wall. Then he rifled through the game warden's pockets, taking out a small, curious-looking key and slipping it into his own coat pocket. "They're onto us. We have to keep moving,” he said, suddenly speaking far more rationally, like shooting the game warden had released the tightly wound coil inside him. "They're gonna be crawling all over the mountain soon. Looks like he got here on a snowmobile. The wind is so loud, we somehow didn't hear the engine. He almost got us. But now we've got the snowmobile, and good thing-it will help us get over this damn snow faster. Grab one of his arms, Ace. We gotta hide the body."
"Give me the gun." Mason held out his hand, his tone uncompromising.
Shaun shook his head. "Grab an arm. Hurry up. We gotta move.”
”You're not thinking clearly anymore. Hand over the gun,” Mason repeated more forcefully.
"I just saved your butt. I'm thinking straight; you're the one who's letting the heat get to you. We gotta do what we gotta do. We never should've come to the outpost. We should've done what I said and kept walking toward the highway. From now on, I call the shots. Grab an arm."
Mason glowered at him, but grabbed one of the game warden's limp arms. They dragged him out the front door, and before I knew what I was doing, I walked into the kitchen, took my coat off the back of the chair, and put it on. I opened the cupboard beneath the sink. My mind was in a fog, but the rest of my body acted with controlled deliberation, as if a switch had flipped and it had taken over. I ripped open the plastic bag and stuffed the pocketknife into my coat pocket.
I had to be ready to run. My chance was coming, I could feel it. I would find Calvin in the forest. Even if I failed, I would rather freeze out there than stay here with Shaun.
When I straightened, Mason and Shaun had rounded the outside corner of the cabin and were crossing in front of the window. At that moment, Mason caught my eye. His gaze fell on my pocketed hand. He watched me for several thick beats, his sharp brown eyes assessing.
Mason spoke to Shaun, and they set the body down. Right away, I knew Mason was coming back. I walked to the far end of the kitchen, out of the view of the window, and fumbled the knife out of my pocket. I stuffed it the only safe place I could think of-down my pants.
Mason crossed the threshold. "Take off your coat.”
”What?"
He yanked on the zipper and wrenched the coat off himself. He searched through the pockets, both inside and out.
"What did you put in your pocket?" "You're crazy,” I stammered.
"I saw you hide something in your pocket."
"I'm cold. My hands are cold." If he felt them, he'd see it was the truth. My whole body felt frozen with fear.
He patted my arms, across the back of my torso, down my legs, and dug inside the elastic of my socks. "What are you hiding, Britt?"
"Nothing."
He glared down at me, his eyes shifting momentarily, suspiciously to my chest. My bra was one of only two places he hadn't checked. Immediately, he looked uncomfortable that he'd even had the thought, and averted his eyes.
"In the bathroom,” he ordered. "Strip down and wrap a towel around yourself. You've got one minute. Then I'm coming in to search your clothes. Don't bother trying to stash anything in the vanity, the toilet, or down the drain-I'll search them too. I'll search the whole room."