Best to hold the weapon in reserve, she thought.“I have no idea who would want to kill me,” she stated.“Really?” MacGregor didn’t bother to hide his disbelief, but he backed up a couple of steps, giving her some space, allowing her to let out her breath and hear something more than the pounding of her heart in her eardrums. “You don’t have any enemies?”“None that would want to murder me.”“You’re certain of that?”“Yes.” But was she? Dear God, the man was making her paranoid.“Someone took a shot at you.” He unzipped his coat and slid his arms out of the sleeves, as if he’d finally warmed up. Something jangled in his pocket. Coins? Keys? A metal dog whistle?“Or they were taking potshots at cars. I don’t think it was intentional. At least, not at me.”“No?” Again, he was openly sarcastic and she felt a dread as cold and sharp as the icicles hanging from the eaves of this cabin.Just who the hell was he? It could be that he’s part of some kind of elaborate plot to kidnap or even kill you, and so far it’s working, isn’t it?
