Chapter 4 - THE TRACK IN THE SNOW
By noon, the local sheriff, an easygoing middle-aged man named Miller, dropped by in his patrol truck after receiving my panicked call about the suspicious men.
"I checked the plates on those SUVs, Claire," Sheriff Miller said, taking off his snow-covered hat and shaking it out by the door. "Rental cars from Portland. False IDs. The rental company reported them stolen this morning. I've put out an alert for the county, but to be honest with you, out here in the woods, it takes state troopers an hour just to reach us if something happens."
"Miller, those men were professional killers," I said, pacing back and forth across the linoleum. "They're hunting someone. If they come back, they won't hesitate to burn this place down."
Sheriff Miller sighed, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me, Claire. Lock your doors. Keep your shotgun loaded in the back office. If anyone suspicious shows up, you call me immediately. I'm going to park my cruiser at the end of your access road for a few hours just as a deterrent."
"Thank you, Miller," I breathed, feeling a slight wave of relief.
True to his word, the sheriff's patrol car remained parked at the end of the long dirt driveway until late afternoon, its amber light flashing lazily against the white pines.
But as dusk began to settle over the valley, painting the snow in shades of bruised purple and deep indigo, the cruiser suddenly pulled away, its taillights vanishing around the bend toward the highway.
An icy dread gripped my stomach.
Why did he leave? I thought, rushing to the front window.
Right at that moment, the clinic's exterior security lights flickered twice and died.
May you like
Total darkness swallowed the courtyard.
Someone had just cut the main power lines.
