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She nodded. “Please, hurry, hurry—” She was heaving for breath, gasping. He drove down the narrow paved road, snow piled up on both sides around them.

He drove around a corner to see a large house on a gentle rise to the left, lights shining from the windows on the first floor.

“That’s it, yes, that’s my house, please hurry, please God, you have to hurry—”

“Yes, we’re here. I want you to stay here—”

But she was out and running to the front door, shouting over her shoulder, “Hurry, hurry, hurry! You’ve got to stop him!”

Savich pulled out his SIG, caught up with her, and grabbed her arm. “Slow down. This man—do you know him?”

She said nothing, wildly shook her head, sending her hair flying, and kept repeating, “Hurry, hurry!”

The front door was unlocked. Savich held her behind him as he opened the door, swinging his gun from side to side. He saw nothing, heard nothing.

He nearly lost her as she tried to jerk free, but he held her, saying, “Where’s the living room?”

She was breathing in great, gulping gasps, more terrified now than before, her pupils wildly dilated, and she was sobbing, incapable of speech. She pointed to the right.

“All right, it’s okay, we’re going in the living room.” He moved slowly, carefully, fanning his SIG in every direction.

There was no sign of anyone. Nothing. It seemed to be an empty house except for the two of them.

There was a lovely fire burning in the fireplace, so she couldn’t have been gone long. It was warm in the large room, even cozy, with all the lamps lit against the blackness and the bitter cold outside.

“Listen to me,” he said, easing her down onto the sofa. “No, don’t say anything, just listen. I want you to stay right here, do you understand?”

Her mouth was working, and he was afraid she was going to fold in on herself, but she slowly nodded.

“Don’t move. I mean it. I want you safe, so don’t move from this sofa. I’m going to search the house. If you see anyone or hear anyone, yell as loudly as you can, all right?”

Again, she nodded.

Savich looked back at her once again before he left the living room. She was sitting frozen, her hands on her knees, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular. One of the thin straps of her summer dress had fallen off her shoulder. Summer dress?

The house was large, one room opening into the next. Every single light was on, and why was that? Who would want to hide in a lighted room? He walked through the dining room and into the large kitchen, then into a mud room. From the right side of the wide hallway, he looked through a library, a study, a half bath, and a small sitting room that looked like an old-fashioned woman’s space, with a small writing desk, a plush love seat, and a lovely Persian carpet on the wood floor. There were lots of file cabinets in the room, and an old typewriter.

There was no one lurking anywhere. He checked every inch of the first floor.

The man, the killer, whoever he was, was gone, and that made sense, of course. She’d escaped him to find help. The man knew that and had run himself. Savich walked quickly back to the living room. She was sitting right where he’d left her, her hands still on her knees, still staring, this time into the fireplace.

“There’s no one here, at least on the first floor. The man probably ran away when you escaped. Now, you’ve got to tell me more. Who is this man? Do you know him? Why is he trying to kill you? Are you certain it’s not a burglar and you surprised him? He tried to kill you and you ran? Was he chasing you?”

She didn’t make a sound. Slowly, she turned to look up at him. Then she looked up at the ceiling.

It was then that he saw the wedding ring on her finger. Where was her husband? “You’ve got to talk to me, Mrs.—?”

She kept looking upward. Savich frowned as he looked up at the ceiling as well. It was a good nine, ten feet up, with handsome, old-fashioned, dark molding.

Suddenly, a noise sounded overhead, a thump of sorts, solid, loud, like a man’s heavy footsteps,