Blood Runs Cold by Alex Barclay

By Alex Barclay

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He shook his head. ’ Ren remembered the start of the evening, her nice dress, her perfect makeup, her pinned-back hair, Vincent’s smile when he saw her walk down the stairs. ’ she said. ’ She put her mug down and strode around the living room, opening drawers and lifting up cushions. ’ ‘It’s not there, OK? I cleaned the entire place this morning. ’ He was close to grabbing her wrist. Ren glanced at her watch. ‘Shit. Sorry. ’ she called after her as she ran into the hall. ‘No,’ said Vincent, following her.

Said Cliff. She pointed at him with her cellphone. ‘Drinking time. ’ ‘How about we wait a little while and try eight p. ’ said Cliff. ‘Borrrring,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good time,’ said Colin, pointing a thumb toward Robbie. ‘Hollywood here did his third piece to camera as the face of the FBI Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force. ’ ‘Hey, I’m just one of the faces,’ said Robbie. ‘Ah, but the cutest,’ said Ren. ’ Women adored Cliff; big hands, big heart, bright-eyed and warm. Robbie turned to Ren.

Bob dropped to his knees and checked him for a pulse. He found one. But he couldn’t rouse Lasco. The gentle snowfall quickly turned heavy. ‘Lasco, you wake the fuck up by the time I’m back,’ he said, hurrying up the slope to Sonny, slumping to the snow beside him. He pulled off one of his snow-shoes and used it to start digging. In ten minutes, Sonny’s head and shoulders were exposed. But the rest of his body was compressed so tightly, Bob had to hide his fear. ‘We need to keep you hydrated,’ he said.

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