CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

I think I hear another gunshot behind me as I push into the storm, but it could just be my imagination. I don't stop to look. I just keep running.

I am truly frightened, more than I have been since Annie disappeared. I'm not really sure why. This isn't the first time someone's tried to kill me. It's not even the first time someone tries to use a gun. Cecilia Ashford tried to shoot me.

But Cecilia Ashford is a slender woman, and physically, I am a match for her. Sophie is far stronger. Not as strong as George Baumann, the man who killed Lila Benson, but George Baumann didn't have a gun.

And Sophie has nothing left to lose. Everything she's worked for her whole life is gone. What's another murder when she's already committed one and when she's already lost the future she spent the useful years of her life to build?

So, I am terrified. So terrified that I don't even think about what I've done until I look behind me and realize that I can't see the house.

Or anything. I am surrounded by swirling white, and as soon as my mind finally registers the danger I'm in, I feel the cold.

I won't last long out here. If I don't find my way inside somehow, I'll die of exposure, probably within minutes. I release an anguished sob and feel an equally anguished stab of guilt. I've driven Hugo to his death out here, and he's innocent. Perhaps he's not a good man, but he's not a killer.

I've been so wrong. I've been so wrong the entire time.

A figure approaches through the snow. For a crazy moment, I think it might be Hugo. Then the figure draws closer, and I see Sophie's snarling face.

I scream and turn to run. I hear a gunshot and feel something whip past my ear. I don't turn around. I run as fast as my legs will carry me, fighting the pain in my chest, the stitch in my side, the bite on my nose and ears as the cold does slowly what Sophie hopes to do quickly.

She's outside now. If I can somehow find my way inside, I can lock the doors and hide somewhere. I can tell Catherine and the children, and we can go somewhere safe. They must have a panic room. Most wealthy families do.

But where is the house? I've been running aimlessly. I don't know where I am.

I stifle another sob and try to think. I must still be on the estate because I haven't plunged into the lake or run into the fence surrounding the property. So I have to reach the house eventually, right? It's not a large property, only a few acres.

But the blizzard is so blinding, and it's so cold.

Something hits my shoulder. I stare in alarm at the hole in my sleeve and the line of blood where the bullet creases my skin. I look up to see Sophie glaring at me, teeth bared.

I turn and run again. Another gunshot sounds. How many bullets does that gun carry? I wish I knew more about guns. She could be nearly out of ammo, or she could have a dozen rounds left.

God, she's going to find me. She's going to get me. She's—

I run into something hard. My head rings, and I fall to the ground, stunned. My vision swims, but I can dimly see a dark brown cylinder rising in front of me.

It's one of the spruce trees. I'm in the garden. I've run headlong into a tree and nearly knocked myself out.

I struggle to my knees, battling a wave of nausea. I might be concussed. I remember my phone, but before I can retrieve it, I hear a click, and my heart sinks. Sophie is standing in front of me, gun raised.

"Sophie, please!" I cry. I can barely hear myself over the blizzard. "You don't need to do this! I…" I cast around for something to say, and my eyes widen when I land on it. "I've been fired!"

She frowns. "What? You've been fired?"

"Yes! For investigating the murder. I told Catherine that Hugo was the killer. And the police! I told the police that he was the killer too! No one's looking for you!"

That's a lie, of course. Sean knows, and surely the police do by now, but Sophie doesn't know that I've called them.

"Catherine was angry with me for interfering, so she fired me," I insist. "I'm to leave as soon as the storm breaks."

Sophie's eyes narrow. She holds the gun on me and doesn't move.

"Please!" I beg. "Just let me leave!"

"And your crusade for justice will allow me to just leave?" she calls incredulously.

"Yes!" I insist. "Yes, I promise! Listen, what Frederick did was horrible. He deserved to die!" I don't believe that, but I need her to think I do. "What you did was justice! But killing me wouldn't be justice. It would be murder. The murder of an old woman who is your friend."

Sophie's face softens. I press my advantage. "I'll leave as soon as the storm breaks. You'll never see me again."

Her face hardens again. "I know."

A shrill scream fills my ears. In my despair, I think it's my own voice, or possibly a final memory of Annie.

Annie.

I'm so sorry, Annie. I've failed you.

Then a figure collides with Sophie and drives her into the dirt. I'm so shocked at first that I keep staring straight ahead where Sophie was a moment ago. It's not until I hear Hugo snarl, "Drop the gun!" that I snap out of it.

I look on the ground and see Hugo on top of Sophie, struggling for the weapon. He is covered head to toe in frost and looks like some nightmarish version of Saint Nicholas. His eyes are wild, and his expression is as fierce as Sophie's.

For her part, Sophie is fighting with all of her strength to tear the gun from his hand. "Piss off!" she says, her accent coarse. "Get your bloody hands off me, you wanker!"

Hugo is a man, and whatever the movies would have you believe, there are few women on Earth strong enough to defeat a man in a physical contest. Sophie is one of those women. So even though Hugo strains to take the gun, he is unable to pull it from her grasp.

Sophie struggles too, and if I had enough presence of mind to act, our combined strength might have been enough to take the weapon. As it is, I move to his aid a moment too late. She throws him off of her with a cry just in time to check my advance by burying her foot in my midsection.

I drop to the ground, gasping silently, the wind completely knocked out of me. Sophie gets to her fist and spits blood out of her mouth. She snarls at me and raises the weapon. A gunshot rings out.

And Sophie stares in disbelief at her bloodied hand.

Once more, I am too shocked to realize what happened. Once more, it is a man's voice that shocks me out of this, but not Hugo's this time.

"The next one ventilates your bloody skull," Sean's Irish brogue announces to the blizzard.

I turn to see him standing seven yards to the left, his own handgun aimed steadily at Sophie's face. Behind him, Detective Dubois helps Hugo to his feet and wraps a blanket around the poor man.

Sophie stares at Sean in disbelief. I expect her to scream. I expect her to shout in rage. I expect her to fight.

She does none of those things. Instead, she begins to weep. Her mouth moves. The sound is too low for me to hear her voice, but I can read her lips. It's not fair.

Her shoulders slump. She collapses to the ground. Her expression sags, and when two police officers come to arrest her, she doesn't resist.

Sean keeps his gun on her until she's in handcuffs. Then he holsters it and moves to my side. "Are you all right, Mary?"

Please do not judge me when I tell you I throw my arms around him and kiss him squarely on the lips.