Page 35 of Sworn to Silence (Kate Burkholder #1)

I jog to the Explorer, cut the lights and hail Mona. “I’ve got a 10-88. Send T.J. Expedite. No lights or siren.”

“Roger that. Be careful, Chief, will you?”

“I always am.” Grabbing my Mag-Lite, I quietly close the car door.

Keeping low, I traverse the ditch and scale the fence.

The darkness thickens when I enter the woods, but I don’t turn on the flashlight.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. My feet are silent on the snow as I wend through trees and over deadfall.

Overhead, a milky half moon casts just enough light for me to see my shadow.

Cold stings my face. The steel Mag-Lite makes my fingers ache with cold.

But those minor discomforts are nullified by my need to know who’s out there and why.

Twenty yards from the crime scene, I stop and listen.

Around me, the wind sighs. In the distance, a dog barks his outrage at being left outside on such a cold night.

The snap of a breaking branch sounds behind me.

Startled, I spin. I see movement within the trees and flip on the Mag-Lite.

I set my other hand on my sidearm and thumb off the leather catch.

“Stop!” I call out. “Police. Stop right there!”

Holding the flashlight steady, I break into a run.

My quickened breaths puff out in front of me as my adrenaline surges.

I glance down, see footprints in the snow and follow them.

Trees whiz by. I’m almost to the crime scene.

The cornfield is to my left; I hear the hiss of dry stalks.

The beam of my flashlight illuminates movement ahead.

The silhouette of a man. It’s gone in an instant, but for the first time I know without a doubt I’m not pursuing a deer.

“Stop now! Police!” I rush forward, my revolver leading the way. “Halt!”

I have a good sense of direction, and I’m well aware that I’m being led away from my vehicle. I don’t feel threatened; it doesn’t even cross my mind to be scared. Tonight, I’m the predator.

I run semiblind through the darkness, my every sense focused on my quarry. I hear his heavy footsteps crashing through brush and deep snow. He has ten yards on me, but I’m gaining. I’m faster than he is, and he knows it.

“Halt! Police!” I fire a warning shot into the ground. He doesn’t stop. If I wasn’t afraid of shooting some brainless teenager, I’d plug him in the back.

The ground breaks away. I lose sight of him as I plunge down a creek bank.

My boots slide as I cross the span of ice and muscle my way up the other side.

I’m almost to the top when a heavy body plows into me.

The impact knocks me off my feet. I land hard on my side and roll.

I see the black silhouette of a man. Something in his hand.

I bring up my gun. I hear the whoosh of air, then something slams into my wrist. Electric pain streaks up my arm.

The .38 flies from my hand. I get my knees under me, swing the heavy Mag-Lite as hard as I can, feel the steel make contact.

“Fucking bitch!”

I throw myself at my fallen weapon. Hands in the snow.

Fingers curling around steel. I twist. Bring up the gun.

Decide on a body shot when the blow comes out of nowhere, crown of my head, hard enough to daze.

A second blow lands above my right ear. A loud crunch!

inside my head. My vision dims. The next thing I know I’m lying on my side. Snow cold against my face .

I don’t know if I’ve lost seconds or minutes. Afraid my attacker might want to go another round, I raise my head, look around. But the son of a bitch is gone.

“Chief! Chief! ”

I barely hear T.J.’s voice over the ringing in my right ear. An involuntary groan escapes me as I get to my hands and knees.

He kneels beside me. “What happened?”

“Some crazy shit ambushed me.”

He jumps to his feet and pulls his sidearm. “How long ago? Did you get a look at him?”

“A minute ago.” I get to my feet, hoping my legs hold. “Male. Six feet. One ninety.”

“Armed?”

“With a frickin’ club.”

Studying me a little too closely, T.J. hits his lapel mike. “Mona, I’m 10-23. We got a 10-88 out here on Dog Leg Road.” He repeats my vague description of the assailant. “We need an ambulance.”

“No ambulance,” I cut in, loud enough for Mona to hear. “I’m fine. Tell her to call the sheriff’s office and get a unit to the dirt road by the covered bridge. That’s probably where the son of a bitch parked.”

T.J. repeats my instructions and ends with, “We’re going to look around.”

I spot my Mag-Lite lying in the snow and pick it up. “Did you see anything when you walked up?” I ask.

“Just you. Lying in the snow.” He grimaces. “Jeez, Chief, this is the second time in two days you’ve gotten clobbered.”

“I don’t think we need to keep a tally.” I run the flashlight beam in a 360-degree circle.

“What are you looking for?”

“My gun. Tracks.” I find my weapon lying in the snow a few feet away and pick it up.

“Look there.” T.J. shines his beam on footprints .

“Let’s go.” We follow them for several yards where they form a T. “He must have parked on the dirt road and walked to the crime scene.”

“Crime scene? You think it was some morbidly curious punk—” His eyes widen as realization dawns. “Do you think it’s him? The killer?”

“I don’t know.” I squat for a closer look at the tracks. “He left us a nice tread.”

“Size ten or eleven.”

“Get Glock out here to get some impressions, will you?”

He hits his lapel mike and relays the request to Mona. I rise to my full height and run my flashlight beam along the tracks.

“Why would he return to the scene?” T.J. asks.

I scan the layers of shadows surrounding us. The forest is monochrome in the pale light of the moon. “I was just wondering the same thing.”