The Season of Killing by Leigh Mayberry (top romance novels .TXT) 📕

him, not only to save him but possibly to save herself. She knew to chase him was foolish, but once committed, Meghan had to find him or die trying. How far away from civilization? How much fuel in the machines between them?

When she swallowed the panic, taking in great mouthfuls of air through the helmet, it helped push down the dread, that’s when Meghan saw the flash of red. She looked harder, squinting because the face shield fogged. Then Meghan saw the flash of red across the dark void ahead.

It was small and fleeting. The flickering red taillight momentarily disappeared. It was perhaps two miles ahead of her, bouncing on the bluish landscape. The tundra had an appearance of a flat surface until she rode over it. Eventually, with renewed effort, Meghan saw her escapee.

She throttled the machine. The engine groaned in disagreement but managed to pick up speed. The world around her was dizzyingly vast. Out of her element, Meghan allowed the tundra to dictate the bucking snowmobile.

Rather than chase Matthew, following the trail left in his wake, Meghan swerved, bounced out of the groove, and forged a new path to intercept him.

The way had many hidden obstacles. She felt the snowmachine sputter under her boots. The engine lost some of its horsepower. Meghan squeezed the throttle to its limit. As her heart quickened, she dug her heels into the case and held her upper body over the saddle. The engine coughed, shuddered until the carburetor spit out a ball of black carbon. Then the machine lurched forward again.

She made as much a straight line as possible. The taillight of the snowmobile ahead of her continued to jump in and out of sight. She saw its pale white headlight dancing over the landscape ahead of the machine. Meghan closed the distance. She stopped being cautious because her inexperience meant the ignorance of the open plain gave her a sense of exhilaration.

Meghan drew closer, weaving as needed when something big got in the way of the view. Less than a half-mile, the brake light glowed bright red. Matthew slowed or stopped altogether. The black cigar-shaped object with Matthew’s silhouette poking out of it had a red taillight and a white headlight. At that distance, they were one object, the oblong tube with a growth.

Meghan drew closer. She saw the machine pitch to the right, the figure on top leaning further away. Then he was gone. The shape, the lights, all abruptly stopped, as if he fell into a hole in the tundra.

Meghan revved the machine over a snow berm. With nothing on the other side, the machine went airborne.

The machine crashed down; Meghan’s rear slammed against the saddle. When she opened her eyes, the sled she’d chased disappeared. There were no lights, only black openness ahead and all around her. She dared slow down until the snowmobile tread stopped. Then the engine coughed and died.

The headlight spilled over the white surface ahead of her. She’d landed on an elevated plateau. She scanned the distance, trying to hear a speeding engine across the area in case Matthew tried riding without lights. She stood trembling on the running boards, adrenaline pumping through her from the unexpected jump.

She lifted the face shield and held her breath. The headlight on Eric’s snowmobile exploded. Without thinking, Meghan pitched herself sideways to the right. Her head smashed against something hiding in the snow, jarring her neck. She lay still, holding her breath again.

Meghan didn’t have any experience in the wild Alaskan bush, but she knew what it was like under gunfire. She heard the discharge of the second shot. The bullet buzzed somewhere well overhead.

Chapter Twenty-Four

 Meghan stayed low, quiet, and listened. If Matthew tracked her, stalked her like a hunter, Meghan needed her peripherals. She removed the helmet and held it close to her face. She’d hear him crawling through the tangles.

Meghan landed on her right side, facing the direction where she last saw the figure and lights.  If Matthew were efficient, smarter, he would circle her and come upon her blind spot, around the area where she’d jumped. Meghan thought that in alarm because that’s what she’d do.

Meghan had to count on Matthew’s fear and hoped he drank with the rest of them. That impaired Matthew’s judgment, and hopefully, his aim.

“Matthew Anuun! I’m Meghan Sheppard, Police Chief for Kinguyakkii. Do not shoot at me again!” She held her breath, heart hammering in the snowbank. She listened with every fiber in her being.

After what seemed like minutes, she heard his voice. It was far away, broken, and weak. “I didn’t mean to do it,” Matthew shouted.

“I know. But you’re making things a lot worse shooting at police officers.” Meghan swallowed, debating about giving away one crucial point in her arsenal. She knew Matthew had the impression in his head; she had to shatter that illusion to move forward.

“I’m unarmed,” she said. It was half-hearted, loud enough; she suspected that Matthew heard her. “If you shoot me, they will hunt you down to the ends of the earth.” She hoped.

He didn’t respond. Meghan had to cast away the fear and paranoia that crept into her body from the cold snow. It felt a lot like wading in the ocean to her, not knowing what lurked in the blackness under her feet treading water. Meghan knew she was vulnerable, giving away the one fact that kept her alive that far. Meghan had to put a little trust in her character judgment.

“We’re alone out here, Matt. I’ve been on your tail for two hours. We got Norman. He’s okay, but he’s got a broken leg. I know you’re lost. If we work together, we might get out of this.”

Meghan brought down her tone and volume. She turned on her back, staring overhead at the gray clouds pressing down on the dark landscape. Her ears