Page 105 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

Ethan watched them go.

The French doors closed and cold air clung to the room, snow melting on the carpets. He watched Maggie wrap something around the door handles from the outside, gun at her temple and Dobson urging her on.

Then they were gone. For a moment, Ethan was frozen. Terrified. It was like there were two of him—one man who could do nothing but stand and stare and watch the best thing in his life slowly fade away. And then there was the machine who was nothing but training and intensity and a cold, maniacal willingness to do anything to get her back.

He didn’t even remember walking toward the doors. He wasn’t even aware of rearing back, starting to kick until a hand on his arm stopped him.

“Sir?” James sounded as if this was something they cover on the first day of butler school. “If I might make a suggestion...”

Maggie

Maggie didn’t feel the cold. Maybe it was the power of her fancy new sweater, but more likely it was the adrenaline, coursing through her veins and keeping her warm and alert and alive.

She was definitely alive. For now. But the gun was still in Dobson’s hand—the one that was draped around her shoulder like they were old friends. Like they’d had a night on the town and at any moment they were going to breakinto song as they staggered home, a little tipsy.

But it was daytime, and the sun was too bright as it bounced off a blanket of snow that shone like crystals. She had to squint against the glare as they traversed the uneven ground and knee-high drifts. She had to watch her step. Be careful.

“Hurry up.”

She needed to be careful in so many ways.

“Where are we going?” Her voice didn’t quaver and Maggie was proud of herself for that much.

“Just keep walking.”

“The garage is that way.” She pointed to the other side of the house, but Dobson leaned against her harder, hand shaking, cane slicing through the snow with a dull thud that echoed with every step.

She stole a glance behind her, but the doors stayed closed and the patio stayed empty, and Maggie felt nothing but the wind and a growing dread.

“Looks like he’s not coming.” Dobson sounded like he wanted to laugh, but all Maggie could think was—

Of course he’s coming.

She’d been so wrong before. So very wrong for so very long that a part of Maggie wanted to give up and melt away, but she didn’t believe Dobson. She didn’t even believe Ethan. She believedherself. And Maggie wasn’t wrong this time.

“Wipe that grin off your face,” Dobson growled as he limped beside her.

“Make me,” she dared and he stopped. He pulled back a hand like he could hit her—like he could hurt her. Like Maggie hadn’t already lived through much, much worse.

Maybe that’s why they didn’t hear a thing until a voice rang out, saying, “Touch her and I’ll kill you.”

It wasn’t a threat. Not even a promise. It was a destiny, something foretold that would absolutely come to pass, and the man froze as they looked into the blinding sun at the dark silhouette that stood fifty feet away.

Blocking their path.

A Remington rifle aimed right at them.

“Drop the gun,” Ethan said.

“You first,” Dobson shouted and then darted faster than a man with a bum ankle ever should, dragging Maggie with him and disappearing into the maze.

It had seemed different with the falling snow and looming questions. Back when she’d been looking for Eleanor and for answers. Back when she’d been alone. Except—she hadn’t been alone, had she? Even before she’d known it, she’d had Ethan.

But now the tall hedges were casting shadows on the ground, and with every step Maggie wondered when Dobson would realize he’d probably be faster without her.

“Dobson!” Ethan shouted. “Send her out, and I’ll let you go.”

They were leaving tracks with every step. Ethan could follow. Ethanwouldfollow. He had to.