to read her expression.
“‘If’? Lauren, he’s a fugitive. And now—” Chris broke off.
No sense in repeating the same arguments. She would never believe her big brother capable of armed transport of narcotics with the intent to sell. She had always thought the sun rose and set on Ryan, who did not in the least deserve her adulation, except that he had always treated her like a princess when the rest of her family neglected her.
“Do you think an innocent man would have thugs like these after him?”
Footfalls thudded on the steps.
“That chest won’t hold them for long.” Lauren’s face was pale, her pupils dilated.
“It only needs to hold them long enough for us to get out the window.”
“Out the window? But we’re not dressed for this weather.”
“We’re not bulletproof either.” Chris snatched up an afghan from the foot of the bed. “Wrap this around you.”
“You—”
“I’m fine.”
He wouldn’t be for long in this kind of cold, but a little frostbite sounded better than facing these men unarmed.
“We can get into the attic from here. If we open the window, they’ll think we left that way while we’re still inside.”
“We’d be trapped if they decided to hang out here, but misdirecting is a good idea. We can try to make them think we went into the attic. Can you pull that ladder down?” Chris strode across the room to the window and flung back the shutters. Sleet pinged against the glass, a substance nearly as deadly as the men bellowing and banging throughout the house. Neither of them wore outdoor clothing. Nonetheless, he shoved up the sash and leaned out. Pellets of ice struck his skin like a thousand frozen hypodermic needles. He winced where the wood had battered his scalp what felt like hours ago. “How far down from the garage roof to the ground?”
“Ten feet.”
“Can you get yourself down that far? With the snow, the landing shouldn’t be too rough.”
“I’ll be all right if you will.”
Chris hoped and prayed she was right. He didn’t want to see her hurt, especially with someone following them.
Following.
“Let’s go, then,” Chris said.
With ease, they stepped over the low windowsill and onto the garage roof. Their footfalls crunched through the sleet-covered snow, no doubt leaving a trail the men could follow without light. No help for it. They were committed to their route now.
“I’ll go first.” Before he could stop her, Lauren flopped onto her belly and eased herself over the lip of the roof.
A thud and gasp followed her escape. Chris didn’t waste time asking if she was all right. He mimicked her movements, landing in a snowdrift that wasn’t as soft as it looked. Winded, pain shooting through his shoulder and head, he lay motionless for a heartbeat—then two—all too aware of Lauren gasping beside him, but unable to talk for several moments and ask her if she was hurt.
And above them, a gunshot split the night.
“They’re going to get into that room soon.” Chris hauled himself to his feet and reached to help Lauren up. “Let’s get inside the garage.”
“I’ll drive. I know the terrain.” Lauren grasped his hands and hauled herself to her feet.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met and held in the snow-brightened night. Then Lauren jerked her hands free and spun toward the garage’s back door.
Lauren shoved open the rear door of the garage. “We have to take the snowmobile.”
“Why not the Jeep?” Chris asked.
“The key is in my purse inside the house. I should have grabbed it. I didn’t think—”
“No time for that now. We’ll take the snowmobile.”
On a hook beside the entrance to the house hung a key to the snowmobile. If ever she needed proof Ryan was in serious danger, it was the presence of the key and vehicle on runners. Ryan would have taken the snowmobile if he’d had the time. He knew she never locked the garage and always kept the key handy in the event a hunter or winter hiker got lost, injured or snowbound and needed to reach shelter. So typical of her nature—risk someone stealing the contents of her garage if leaving the attached building open might save a life.
Cold slipping through her limbs to freeze her stomach into a ball of ice, Lauren tossed aside the tarp covering the snowmobile and started to straddle the seat.
“Wait.” Chris rested a restraining hand on her shoulder. “The minute you fire this up, they are going to hear it. We need to be ready to fly out of here.”
“It’s already facing the door and can handle a few feet of concrete.”
“But the door’s electric, isn’t it?”
“There’s an override switch since I can’t get the remote out of the Jeep without the keys.”
“Where?”
Lauren indicated the door to the house. “Beside that.”
As though poised to sprint, Chris balanced on the balls of his feet for a moment—a moment during which more shouts and crashes reverberated from inside. From the sound of it, the men were wrecking her house, her beautiful, private haven that had ceased being a sanctuary the instant someone shot at her and Ryan.
Her heart twisted. No time to worry about that.
Chris sprang off the balls of his feet and headed for the override switch. “Fire up the machine when I flip this switch, and head for the door. The instant it’s high enough, get outside.”
“But you—”
“I’ll catch up with you.”
She hoped he could make the dash and leap with his wounded shoulder and head. She hoped she could drive with her fingers numb from cold. The afghan wasn’t much help, though better than nothing.
“Go.” Chris flipped the switch.
The door motor whirred to life. Lauren leaped aboard the snowmobile, released the brake and shoved the key into the ignition. The engine roared. She released the choke, and the machine surged forward toward doors not quite high enough. Her numb fingers fumbled with the brake, stopping her momentum seconds before she slammed into the steel garage door. In front of her, the panel seemed to creep up at half its normal rate. If the men hadn’t heard the engine fire yet, they would figure it out soon enough, or find her and Chris’s footprints on the garage roof, or...
“Calm down.” Chris’s voice was deep and calm behind her.
He had swung his leg over the snowmobile seat without her realizing it.
“You’re
