But then something jarred her leg, sending a shock all over. She opened her eyes. She'd been dreaming the rescue. Fading out and dreaming her own rescue.

The driver looked down on her, kicked her leg again. The passenger's voice in the background yelling, "Leave her alone, man. She didn't do anything. Why did you even have a gun?"

"Cause you never know where your enemies might find you."

"They were just cops! They were going to let us go!"

Still staring down at Holm, cheap Hi-Point nine in his grip. "You that stupid, college boy? They weren't going to do shit except take us to jail. We can't let them stop us now. Got to catch that plane."

"You didn't need a gun. We're dead now. All cops, everywhere. They're going to kill us."

Holm wanted to say something. Wanted to tell them it was hopeless. They would never get out of town. But something about the driver told her otherwise. He was going to get away with it. Killing Poulson, herself, the baby, and he was going to skate. So unfair.

Driver lifted his chin. "Ain't going to kill us tonight. Allah's got other plans."

Holm blinked. The nine was barely a foot away from her face.

She thought she heard the blast…

Then saw a beautiful baby girl, hair in barrettes, wearing a yellow and white spring dress. Taking her first steps in a field of green, her daddy helping her stand, mommy cheering her on. What a smile. The best smile she would ever see.

And then the sound of a Korean coupe driving away while sirens wailed closer. The snow scoured away the town's usual assy smell-cow manure, sugar beets, and soybean processing. The snow filled her open mouth. It tasted clean.

So much snow.

TWO

Only four people knew where to find Ray Bleeker when he went ice-fishing, and one of them was dead. His buddy Forrest, who he'd known since his Army days in the Nineties, had died last fall.