Free Snowball's Chance by Cherry Adair

bands of taut muscles and satin-smooth skin of his back. Touching him was sheer pleasure.
    â€œTomorrow. But you go ahead. You said you needed at least five hours to fire on all cylinders. You have time. Get some rest.” He reached over and repositioned his gun on the bedside table beside him, then pulled the covers up, tucking them around her back.
    Kendall found the perfect spot to rest her cheek in the curve of his shoulder. Joe glided his hand under the sweater to rub her back in slow, lazy circles and her muscles relaxed as she hovered close to sleep.
    It seemed as though she’d just closed her eyes, but she woke with a scream and bolted upright in bed. Disorientated and shaking, she looked around the dimly lit bedroom as if she’d never seen it before.
    Beside her Joe said softly, “Bad dream?”
    Eyes dark and haunted, she nodded, making her hair slide over her shoulders. “He’s out there.”
    â€œNo, he’s not,” he said with conviction. “Come here, sweetheart.” He pulled her back down into his arms. “Roz called to give us an update not an hour ago, remember? He was last seen in Nimrod. That means he’s at least five hours away, on a good day. And that’s only if he manages to commandeer another vehicle. If the storm lets up. If he isn’t stopped by one of the roadblocks between here and there. Everyone is looking for the son of a bitch, honey. He won’t get anywhere near you. I promise.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have to be anywhere near me to scare me spitless,” Kendall said tightly. She was shivering hard now. Joe tightened his arms around her and rubbed her back in long, soothing strokes. He wished like hell he were touching her bare skin, but this had to be enough. For now.
    â€œHow did you get away that night?” he asked, tightening his arms around her. He knew, of course. It had been in the transcripts. But he wanted her to remember taking action. To remember that she hadn’t been helpless.
    â€œI’d lost track of time. There was tinfoil over the windows, and I had no idea if it was day or night. Or how long he’d h-had me. He kept me chained to the handle of the oven. There was—b-blood all over me—”
    Shit. Bad idea. “But you managed to outsmart the sick fu—bastard and get away, didn’t you?” His own stomach lurched at the thought of the cuts on her body and how terrified she must’ve been.
    â€œHe said, ‘I’ve enjoyed our time together, Kendall,’ and took a key out of his pocket. I thought—Oh, God. I thought—He’s going to kill me with a key. I was so freaked, I believed he could’ve done it, too.” She was breathing fast, and Joe rocked her against his chest, listening to her erratic breathing. Fury blazed in his belly as she talked.
    â€œBut he opened the padlock on the chain. He showed me the special knife in one hand and hoisted me up off the floor. He needed me standing. He wanted to add my blood to his wall of s-splatter.”
    Christ.
    â€œHe considered himself an artist,” she said bitterly. “I was his medium. He told me … told me that I had to be positioned just right so that when he sliced my artery, the spray of blood would add to the mural he’d been creating on the—the wall of the trailer.”
    The mural that had the blood of more than a dozen other women dried on it. A challenge for the forensic teams to unravel the DNA. “Jesus, sweetheart. I’m sorry. So sorry. But you beat him at his own game. You got away.”
    Bleeding from dozens of cuts, she’d still had the fortitude to pick up the open padlock from the floor where Treadwell had dropped it. While Treadwell angled her for best effect, then started to cut her throat, Kendall, despite considerable blood loss, had managed to smash him in the face with it. Then she’d run.
    When a passing motorist had almost driven over