Page 23 of One Last Storm
They’d be okay.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Folks? Snowmobiles are ready when you are.” Elton poked his head in. “Now or never.”
“Now,” Shep said and stepped away from her.
Outside, four snowmobiles waited in a line—engines warming, headlights cutting through darkness. Moose was already astride the lead machine, urgency visible in every line of his body. Axel climbed on behind him.
“Ready?” he called.
London donned her helmet, then swung her leg over her assigned snowmobile—machine powerful and well-maintained beneath her. Shep climbed on in front of her and she scooted up to him, wrapped her arms around him.
“Let’s go home,” Shep said.
Yeah, well, she was already home.
CHAPTER 7
DAWSON
Finally.
Six months of tracking this monster, and it came down to this—some isolated house on the outskirts of Anchorage where Ravak thought he could make his final stand.
The house sat like a wound against the white landscape. A single-story rambler with peeling paint and broken shutters. Snow had drifted against the foundation, and the front porch sagged under the weight of neglect. Through his binoculars, Dawson could see movement in the front window—a shadow passing back and forth with the restless energy of a caged animal.
Ravak.
Finally cornered after six months of running.
Dawson adjusted his position behind the police cruiser, his radio crackling with updates from the perimeter team. They’d gotten here faster than he’d thought—probably thanks to Flynn and a perhaps urgent pleading with the Chief.
But okay, backup wasn’t a terrible thing.
The storm had died, leaving behind a crystalline silence that made every sound sharp and immediate. His breath formed white clouds in the predawn air, and a chill slide under his tactical vest where his body heat met the subzero temperature.
Four in the morning on Christmas Eve day. Most of the city was asleep, dreaming of presents and family dinners. But Dawson had been here for over an hour. Watching. Waiting. Feeling the familiar itch between his shoulder blades that told him something was wrong with this whole situation.
The car he’d spotted at the ER sat in front of the house.
And inside the house, he’d heard screaming. So, that was…just swell.
They needed to get in there, now.
“Dawson, what’s your status?” Chief Blackburn’s voice cut through the static.
“Subject is mobile inside the residence. I count at least three rooms with activity.” Dawson lowered the binoculars, wiping ice from the lenses. “No visual on the child.”
“ETA on SWAT is twenty minutes. Hold your position.”
Twenty minutes.
Dawson checked his watch and his jaw tightened. He’d been holding position for over an hour already, watching Ravak pace inside the house, like a man working up to something.
Waiting was the wrong call. Ten years of instinct told him that.
“Chief, I think we should move now. This guy’s getting agitated.”
