A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

I Am Sorry!

"Damn," Harry said softly as he slid out of the Blazer, which was still parked at the back of the house, out of sight of the picture windows at the front and sides. In the fifteen years since he'd had his first and only lesson on hot-wiring a car, the wiring systems in them had obviously changed or else he hadn't been a very adept student, because he hadn't the slightest idea which of the fistful of wires he'd pulled from beneath the dashboard were the right ones.

Shivering convulsively, he bent down and gathered up the armload of pine boughs he'd collected and raced through the wind and snow to the side of the house. For the entire fifteen minutes that he'd been outside, Zayn remained at the windows, watching him like an expressionless stone statue. The alleged need for "props" for the imaginary snowman scene enabled him to vanish from view for a few minutes at a time without rousing suspicions, exactly as he'd hoped it would, but he was afraid to be gone too long. So far, he'd made three short trips of increasing duration, returning each time with pine boughs after trying to hot-wire the Blazer. He was counting on the hope that Zayn would soon decide he was actually idiotic enough to spend his time building a snowman in freezing weather, and he'd grow bored with sentry duty.

Raising his arms, Harry pulled the knitted ski cap he'd taken from the closet down over his frozen ears, then he began to roll the bottom ball of the snowman's body, while he reviewed his remaining alternatives for escape: To try to escape on foot would be suicidal insanity in this weather, and he knew it. Even if he didn't get lost trying to go cross-country down the mountain, he'd likely freeze to death long before he reached the main road. If by some chance, he did make it, he'd surely die of exposure before a motorist came along. On the way here, they hadn't passed another car for the last two hours. The possibility of finding out where Zayn had hidden the keys to the Blazer seemed equally remote, and he couldn't start the car without them.

"There has to be a way to get out of here!" Harry said aloud as he pushed and shoved the ball of snow closer to the pile of pine boughs. There was a padlocked garage at the back of the house, which Zayn Malik had told him was used for storage and thus couldn't accommodate the Blazer. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he didn't know for certain. One of the keys in his pocket looked like it was meant to fit a padlock, and the only padlock he'd seen anywhere was on the side door of that garage. The possibility that the homeowner had left a car in there did little to elevate his spirits right now. Assuming he could find the car's keys and get it started, the Blazer was blocking the garage door.

That left him with only one likely option: Even without seeing the interior of the garage, he had a hunch what he was going to find inside of it: Skis.

There were ski boots in the bedroom closet, but no skis in the house, which meant they were probably in the garage.

He'd never skied in his life.

He was prepared to try. Besides, it didn't look very hard whenever he saw people skiing on television and in the movies. How hard could it possibly be? Children could ski. Surely he could, too.

And so could Zayn Malik, he remembered with a thrill of raw fear. He'd seen him skiing in one of his movies, a mystery set in Switzerland. He'd looked as if he were an expert skier in that film, but probably a stuntman had done the hard stuff.

Grunting as he rolled the heavy ball through the snow, making it fatter and fatter, Harry finally maneuvered it into position ten minutes later—no mean feat, given that he could scarcely bend his knees in his tight jeans. Finished with the first one-third of the snowman, he quickly scattered the pine boughs around it in a half circle as if he had some plan in mind, then he stopped and pretended to contemplate his handiwork. From the corner of his eye, he stole a sidelong glance at the windows, and saw that Zayn was still there, immobile as a stone sentry.