KLEIN’S TRUCK WAS MISSING from the front of the house. They were probably too late to stop him.
Worry making him jumpy and hostile, Heathcliffe pounded on the front door again. Snow was coming down in thick sheets that promised a couple of feet by morning. A razor-sharp wind tore at them, driving the temperature into arctic territory. Heathcliffe had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his wool coat, but he’d lost feeling in his fingers several minutes earlier.
Sam rubbed his forehead and Brita touched his arm. “You sure you’re okay?”
Sam nodded, sliding a quick glance toward Heathcliffe. It was obvious he was trying to make it up to them for letting Klein get the jump on him. “Just a little headache. I’m fine.”
A light finally came on inside and Brita jerked her head for Heathcliffe
