SHATTERED Read Online Free PDF Page A

but he could hear the engine and so far it didn’t appear to be moving away. He just tried to follow the sound, but the wind roaring through the overhead branches made even that chore tricky.
    Armed only with Mike’s six-shot Winchester saddle gun that was undoubtedly older than he was, Nate’s impromptu plan included tackling the gunman and subduing him. The bonus would be gaining control of the snowmobile, which could then be used to get to a place where they could summon help. Because it was obvious there was no way the truck could be fixed and driven in this weather. And that car of Sarah’s was a joke.
    He wasn’t going to allow himself to think about Sarah and all the ways she confused him, at least not right now. There was something strange about her, but he needed to focus his attention on the matter at hand.
    The engine pitch changed, and he knew his quarry was about to leave. The snow was too deep for him to run, but he slogged through as fast as he could, his plan seeming more naive by the moment. By luck, he bumped into what felt like a pile of rocks, and that at last gave him some semifirm footing. Using his numb hands and clutching the rifle with a death grip, he scrambled up on top in time to see the vehicle’s headlight passing to his left. He fired off a few shots, knowing this was a last hurrah, then threw caution to the wind and leaped toward the lights, reaching out to grab where he assumed the driver would be seated.
    A sudden burning sensation flared in his left arm. His fingers brushed hot metal for a microsecond before he found himself facedown in the snow with a mouth full of exhaust. He still grasped the rifle and was kind of amazed he hadn’t shot himself, though his arm throbbed. As he sat up, the roar of the snowmobile sounded like evil laughter. The taillights had already disappeared. By the time he got to his feet, even the motor sound had been swallowed up by the night.
    The gunman was gone.
    He clutched his left biceps and wasn’t surprised when his hand came away bloody. He hadn’t wounded himself with his own rifle, but the gunman must have gotten off a parting shot.
    So much for leaving the gun and badge back in Arizona. If he’d come armed with a decent weapon, this could all be over now, and once again, the inadequate feelings from being helpless during the mall shooting all but choked him. Why had he thought he could run away from being who he was?
    He had to get back to the house, and that meant figuring out which way it lay, then getting there before hypothermia set in. This time when he questioned Sarah, she’d better say something worth listening to.

Chapter Four
    By the time Nate finally bumped into his truck and stumbled the rest of the way to the house, he was experiencing an eerie sensation of being frozen and light-headed at the same time. His trusty jacket was more or less toast, but it had probably saved his life by maintaining his core temperature. Good thing he’d never had the opportunity to take it off.
    He had no idea where or when he’d lost his hat, and his head was freezing. He loved the old Stetson, but hats came and went just like women.
    All this was flittering through his mind while his light flashed over his truck, and he swore. He’d just finished paying the blasted thing off and he was no longer on the receiving end of a monthly paycheck. Look at the poor thing. The windshield had somehow survived, but the passenger window was gone, half the tires blown out, bullet holes down one side, and that was just what he could see in a glance. He swore again and felt like kicking something.
    By the time he got inside the house, he was cold from temperature and anger. First thing to take care of was his arm. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to depend on Sarah to help him—so far she hadn’t struck him as the helpful type.
    Where was she, anyway? Why hadn’t she been waiting at the door, anxious to hear the outcome of his mission? What was more important to her