Fugitive. Shirlee McCoy

      “A small one, but I doubt there’s anything in there that’ll take these off. I think I’ll have better luck in the shop. William kept tons of tools in it.” She shrugged into her coat, dragging her braid over the collar.

      “Where’s the shop?”

      “Out back. I’ll just be a minute.” She opened the back door and frigid wind blew in, spraying snow across the wood floor and plastering the wet jumpsuit to Logan’s frozen skin. He pulled the blankets closer, gritting his teeth. The last thing he wanted was to walk out that door and follow Laney into the cold, but he couldn’t stay in the cabin while she went herself.

      He walked onto the back porch, the wind biting into his throbbing, thawing flesh. He would be frozen again before they were done, but if he was able to ditch the cuffs and the jumpsuit, it would be worth it.

      “You should stay in the cabin,” Laney said as she picked her way down snow-covered stairs.

      “I don’t think so.”

      “You’re nearly thawed, Logan. Do you really want to freeze again?”

      No.

      But he didn’t want her out in the storm by herself either. He didn’t trust that the men who’d shot at him had run when the police showed up. Hidden? Yes. Disappeared from the picture? No way. No one went to as much trouble as they had to fail, and Logan had a feeling that the only way for them to succeed was for him to be dead, his body buried somewhere in the wilderness.

      He followed Laney across the clearing. If a shop existed, it was well hidden by the night and by the storm. Snow blew into Logan’s eyes, the raging wind snatching every breath before it formed. He glanced back and saw the vague outline of the cabin and light spilling out from its windows. How far would they have to go before they lost sight of both? In a storm like this, not far.

      “This isn’t a good idea, Laney.” He snagged her coat, nearly bumping into her back when she stopped. “If we go much farther, we may not be able to find our way back.”

      “We’re already here. William kept the workshop locked, but there’s a spare key.” She brushed snow from a birdhouse nailed to the side of a large building, her fingers sliding under it. It seemed to take forever, but she finally pulled out a key.

      Logan crowded into the shop behind her, catching a whiff of wood chips and sawdust and summer flowers.

      “There’s a light here somewhere.” Fabric rustled as Laney moved, and a light went on, spilling into the cavernous room.

      She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said her husband had tools. Logan figured there were a couple of tons of tools in the building. Table saws. Band saws. Lathes. A plainer. Rows of shelves that housed chisels and sanders. Handsaws hung from the far wall. Antique and new, side by side. Everything orderly and neat.

      Obviously, William had loved his tools.

      “I think we can drill through the lock mechanism to open the cuffs,” Laney said, her voice tight and her movements stiff as she walked to one of the shelves and lifted an electric drill. Was it the shop or the situation that had her tense?

      “You don’t have to help me, Laney. It would be better if you didn’t,” he said gently because he wanted her to take the out he was offering, to run before anyone knew that they’d ever been together.

      “You never told me why.” She grabbed a drill from a tool chest, patted a worktable. “Put your hands here.”

      “Why what?” he asked, placing his hands palm down on smooth wood.

      “Why it’s so dangerous for us to be together. Why you think someone other than the police is after you.” She aimed the drill straight into the cuff lock, her hands steady. If she was nervous, it didn’t show, and he couldn’t help thinking how different she was from the scared and anxious girl he used to know.

      “The police cruiser that was taking me to state prison was run off the road. The driver was shot and killed. Another officer was wounded. Whoever was responsible took a shot at me.”

      “Why would someone help you escape and then kill you?”

      “That’s a good question, and I don’t have an answer.” But he would. All he needed was time and a place to hunker down and plan.

      “Why were you on your way to state prison?” The drill whined and protested, a few sparks flying as she pressed down.

      “I was convicted of trafficking in illegal narcotics.”

      “Were you guilty?” Laney asked—because she had to know and because she couldn’t believe that the teenager who had been so adamantly opposed to drugs had turned into a man who sold them.

      “No.” Logan’s answer was short, his hands pressed hard to the table that William had fashioned out of thick oak slabs. Laney had been there with him the weekend he’d finished it. She had smiled as he’d caressed the golden wood and imagined out loud all of the things he could create on it.

      The thought of selling his cabin and shop and everything in them made her stomach churn.

      Her hand slipped, the drill sliding from the lock and digging into the wood.

      “Careful.” Logan grabbed her hand, holding it steady for a moment.

      “Sorry.” She pressed the drill in again and focused her attention on forcing the lock open. It took three tries, but the lock finally popped. Not a pretty job, but done. “You’re free.”

      “Thanks.” Logan slid out of the cuffs, rubbing the raw red welts on his wrists. He was still shivering, but he had some color in his face.

      Good.

      Not so good that she’d just freed a convict from handcuffs. She might believe Logan’s story, but a jury hadn’t.

      “We should go back to the cabin.” She put the drill back exactly where William had always kept it, then ran her finger over the ding it had made in the table.

      For some reason, tears burned behind her eyes.

      Not grief. She’d cried a million tears in the weeks after William died. Maybe it was just sadness over all the dreams she’d never live with him.

      “You okay?” Logan lifted her hand from the wood and ran his thumb across her knuckles. Even hurt and cold, he seemed larger than life, his dark blue gaze so intense that she had to look away.

      “Fine. I just think we should get back and start planning how we’re going to get off the mountain.”

      “We’re not going to get me off. I’m going to do it. You’re going to pretend that you never saw me.” He tugged her outside and back into the cabin, slamming the door against the bitter cold. The fire had nearly died, and Laney shrugged out of her coat, shivering a little as she piled logs on the embers and stoked them to life.

      Logan didn’t speak as he grabbed the pile of clothes she’d pulled out for him. He didn’t say a word as he walked into the small bathroom and closed the door.

      She wondered if he’d return, or if he’d climb out the bathroom window and disappear into the storm.

      Would she go after him if he did?

      She’d been raised to follow the rules, to strive for perfection. Nothing short of that had ever been acceptable. As an adult, she’d tried to move past the need for flawless living. She’d tried to concentrate on what God wanted from her rather than what people wanted. She’d let her hair be messy sometimes, allowed herself to dress in jeans and sweaters.

      Still, she’d never skirted the law, and in helping Logan she’d done more than that. She’d broken it.

      The bathroom door opened, and he walked out, William’s flannel shirt hanging open over a black T-shirt. His faded jeans hung low on Logan’s leaner hips. William had been shorter, a little broader and a lot older. On him, the clothes