Page 39 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
And then there was nothing but the icy ground at her back and the warm weight of Ethan as he lay over her, pressing down. “Don’t even think about moving.”
“Get off me!”
“Not until the shooting stops.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maggie stopped fighting. She studied the face that loomed over her, eyes wide and alert and scanning the part of the maze he’d pulled her into. She was on her back in the too-soft snow and the air was full of falling flakes, but it wasn’t the cold that froze her. It was the confusion. And the shock. And the fact that Ethan Wyatt’s body was stretched on top of hers.
She should have felt crushed or smothered, but instead she just felt warm. Six feet two inches of muscle taking her anxiety away. It was the first time in a long time that Maggie hadn’t felt like fighting.
But the strangest thing of all was the fact that Ethan wasn’t teasing, wasn’t taunting. He was the most serious man in the world when he looked down at her and whispered, “Are you hit?”
“Hit with what?” It wasn’t making sense. Words didn’t have meaning, not when Ethan’s hands were running over her legs and down her sides—under her sweater and— “Hey!”
“Listen to me!” Warm hands cupped her cold cheeks. “I’m going to pull you up, and then I need you to stay close. Stay low. And run. Don’t look back. And don’t stop. If I get hit—”
“Get hit withwhat?”
“—just get to the house, barricade yourself in your room, and try to call for—”
“Ethan, what is going on?”Shooting.He’d used the wordshooting, but no one was... “Ethan?”
Playful Ethan, Cocky Ethan, Life-of-the-Party Ethan... They were all gone, and the man who was left radiated efficiency and competency. And fear. He was afraid but a million miles from panicked as he cupped her cheek and breathed out the words, “I have you.”
In the next moment, her cold hands were in his warm ones and she was almost weightless as he pulled her to her feet. Her legs felt like icicles, like they might snap off at any second,but that didn’t matter as Ethan tucked her against his side and started to run out of the maze and toward the double glass doors of the library.
It was a strange sensation. Like flying. But that didn’t make any sense at all because she was supposed to be terrified. Or annoyed. Or both. Really, Maggie should have felt both as they ran through snow so thick she could barely see the mansion’s walls. But Ethan was the fortress then. Tall and impenetrable and carved from stone.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said.
“Yes. Absolutely. Being used for target practice does that,” he snapped as he threw open the library doors and herded Maggie inside. He turned the lock and pulled the curtains, but Maggie didn’t move—couldn’t move. She just stood there, staring up at him. He wasn’t even out of breath.
“Come on.” He reached for her hand. “We need to call the police.”
And for some reason those were the words that broke her—that made a nervous laugh burst free.
“Because you heard a noise?”
He glared down. “Because someone shot at you.” He tried to push her away from the doors, but she dug in.
“I told you.” She was frustrated and annoyed and so tired she could cry. “It’s a test. Eleanor’s not missing. And she’s not dead. She’s retiring.”
But Ethan just stood there, running a hand through his hair, white flakes melting and sliding across his skin. “Maggie—”
“It’s a test,” she said, stronger now. “And now I’m going to go find her.” She was turning, she was leaving. She waswinning. When she heard—
“It was a rifle.”
The words were low and even, as flat and cold as the wind, and maybe that’s why Maggie stood there, frozen. “A Remington 721—maybe a 722—if my guess is right and my guesses are usually right. But that means it’s old, and someone hasn’t been oiling it like they should, so three rounds from long range in high wind... That’s a hard shot.”
Slowly, Maggie turned. His eyes wereon her then—only on her. And he felt like her only source of warmth when he said, “And that’s why you’re still breathing.”
“You can’t...” Maggie swallowed hard. “You can’t possibly know that.”
“Try me,” he dared.
“How can you know that?”
