The black Harley Davidson roared along the road back to Elk Creek, kicking up dust and gravel in the moonless night. A light cloud cover obliterated all celestial light, making the night black and close. An insistent wind blew from the north, promising snow.

Dylan was oblivious to the cold. The stark fear screamed in his mind, drowning out the growl of the big bike. His only thought was getting Chelsea to safety.

After the private investigator had told him that Lindahl was on his way, Dylan had left the man crumpled on the ground, screaming about his broken nose. Dylan did not hear the shrieks and obscenities. He had hit him out of blind rage, then beat a hasty retreat to recover his bike and get back to Chelsea.

Where would he hide her, though? It had to be someplace the investigator had...

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