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faint. Tiny dots like sparkling fireflies flew before her eyes as his body convulsed with an ecstatic jerk so intense that it must have been unbearable. And then he sobbed and tears came from his eyes as lush as rain.
    “My darling sweet, my sweetest darling.”
    She smiled, sucked it for a moment longer, and then released his flesh. She, too, was weeping, and her face was soaked and stained with passion.
    The two lovers spent the rest of the day asleep in each other’s arms, their legs tangled together, their bodies pressed close. They were exhausted, but savored each and every taste and smell of love.
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
    Dugan set out at first daylight, eager to hunt down Carol as soon as possible. A seasoned hiker, he knew that he could easily cover ground two or three times faster than the smaller woman, despite her honed body and strong legs.
    He spent most of the day trudging ceaselessly through piles and drifts of snow, some of which were so deep that at times they almost reached to his shoulders. He kept plodding, his eyes fixed, stony, ignoring the snow, ignoring the cold that made his joints stiff, and focused on his prey. Still, even with his great endurance and the flaming hate that propelled him like a rocket sled, he began to tire; but, even his rest stops were brief and restless, necessary inconveniences that fueled his rage even more, as if the cold itself was his personal enemy.
    He chewed on pieces of dried jerky that he had brought along with him, sipping periodically at an energy drink to rally himself. Yes, he was dead tired and chilled to the bone, but the fervor of his rage and the fever of his lust kept him going even as dusk approached, even as the frigid cold of the day was slowly replaced by the deadly frost of night in this untamed wilderness of snow.
    Dugan literally devoured the miles in his haste to follow the trail, to follow the GPS tracker that registered with a small beeping signal the location of the cell phone Carol had taken. He knew that—now that the weather was better—she, too, might decide to move on, to run so far that even he might never find her. Or worse, she might decide to ditch the cell that was their only link.
    Now it was getting too dark and icy to continue, despite the electric lantern he had brought with him. Reluctantly, muttering foul curses at the injustice of it, he decided that he had to stop and set up camp for the night, or else he would freeze to death while trekking around half blind in the frigid blackness.
    He paused for a moment at the crest of a small hill that he had climbed. She was nearby; he could sense it in his gut, feel her in the slight twitching sensation in his crotch, as if his penis had some type of radar that honed in on her womanly essence or the body that it had marked and conquered.
    Taking a pair of night binoculars, he searched in a small semicircle, inspecting the nearby ridges and embankments, seeking a sign of habitation. There must be some kind of shelter nearby. He was sure of this; it was the only explanation for the stationary blip that signaled her location.
    Wait a minute …
    Carefully adjusting the binoculars, he focused on a small, obscure shape that appeared artificially regular. Despite the shadowy image, he thought he could make out what appeared to be a small shack or cabin.
    Yes, yes. There it was. He could even make out a small contrail of gray-white smoke rising from it, far away at the bottom of the hill.
    He took a sip of energy drink, gulped hungrily, and then wiped his mouth off with the back of one gloved hand. He spit, and then saw the spittle turn into tiny icicles. Yes, she must have taken shelter in that cabin.
    So this was the end of the trail. His jaw was tense, and his eyes felt red and irritated from the icy air, despite his goggles. His brain was stung by a thought. A cabin, yes. But whose cabin was it? His gut told him it must be a man. Who else could it be out here alone in this icy