Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

boy is right? What if Death is coming down that road for me?
    Bear suddenly took off running after his master.
    That was what made her finally choose. When even a dog had the sense to flee, she knew it was time to follow.
    She chased after them, her snowshoes clacking across the frozen mud. Beyond the last burned house, the mud gave way to deep snow again. Rat was far ahead and moving into the woods. She labored to catch up, already out of breath as she frantically kicked up powder. Just as she reached the trees, she heard the sound of a dog barking. A different dog, not Bear. She ducked behind a pine and looked back at Kingdom Come.
    A black SUV pulled to a stop among the ruins, and a large dog jumped out. Two men emerged, carrying rifles, and they stood scanning the burned village. Although they were too far away for Maura to make out their faces, they clearly seemed to be searching for something.
    A paw suddenly landed on her back. With a gasp, she turned and came face-to-face with Bear, his pink tongue lolling out.
    “Now do you believe me?” whispered Rat, who was crouched right behind her.
    “They could be hunters.”
    “I know dogs. That’s a bloodhound they got there.”
    One of the men reached into the SUV and pulled out a satchel. Crouching beside the hound, he let it sniff the contents.
    “He’s giving it the scent,” said Rat.
    “Who are they tracking?”
    The hound was moving now, wandering among the ruins, nose to the ground. But the smell of the fire seemed to confuse it, and it paused beside the blackened timbers where Maura and Julian had earlier lingered. As the men waited, the dog circled, trying to catch a whiff of its quarry while the two men fanned out, searching the area.
    “Hey,” one man yelled, and pointed to the ground. “Snowshoe prints!”
    “They’ve spotted our tracks,” said Rat. “Don’t need a dog to find us now.” He backed away. “Let’s go.”
    “Where?”
    He was already moving deeper into the woods, not looking back to see whether she was behind him, not caring that his snowshoes were clattering through underbrush. The hound began baying, pulling in their direction.
    Maura chased after the boy. He moved like a panicked deer, shoving through branches, scattering snow in his wake. She could hear the men in pursuit behind them, shouting to each other, and the bloodhound’s excited howling. But even as she scrambled through the woods, the debate still raged in her head.
Am I running from my own rescuers?
    The rifle shot answered her question. A chunk of wood exploded off the tree near her head, and she heard the bloodhound baying closer. Terror blasted new energy into her bloodstream. Suddenly her muscles were pumping wildly, legs thrashing ahead through the woods.
    Another rifle shot exploded. Another chunk of bark splintered off a tree. Then she heard a curse, and the next shot went wild.
    “Fucking snow!” one of the men yelled. Without snowshoes, they were sinking, mired in the drifts.
    “Let the dog loose! He’ll bring her down!”
    “Go, boy.
Get her.”
    Fresh panic sent Maura plunging ahead, but she could hear the bloodhound gaining on her. On snowshoes, she could outpace her human pursuers, but she could not outrun a dog. In desperation, she scanned the trees for a glimpse of Rat. How had he gotten so far ahead? She was on her own now, isolated prey, and the hound was closing in. The snowshoes made her clumsy, and the undergrowth was too thick here, clawing at the frames.
    Ahead, she saw a break in the trees.
    She burst through a tangle of branches, into a broad clearing. In a glance she took in the skeletal beams of three new houses, frozen in mid-construction. At the far edge of the clearing, an excavator was parked, its cab almost buried beneath snow. Beside it stood Rat, frantically waving at her.
    She started toward him. But halfway across, she knew she would not outrun the bloodhound. She heard it crash through the underbrush behind her. It landed like an anvil against her shoulders and she pitched forward. She put out her hands to break her fall and her arms sank in elbow-deep snow. As she landed, she heard a strangely metallic clunk beneath her, felt something slice right through her glove and into her hand. Sputtering, her face coated in icy powder, she struggled to push herself up, but debris shifted away beneath her weight, and she floundered, as helpless as if trapped in quicksand.
    The bloodhound wheeled around and leaped at her