KANE AND THE WOMAN LAY THERE AS THEIR HEARTBEATS lengthened into one minute, two, three. Then Ruth Hunt began to stir.

“This is nice,” she said, “but I’m really too old to be lying on wooden floors.”

Kane moved off of her. She started to rise. Kane grabbed her arm.

“Stay down,” he said. He crawled to the broken window and lifted himself until he could see through it. Nobody coming. Nobody in sight. Nothing.

“Crawl over there and shut off the light,” he said to Ruth. “Reach up, don’t stand up.”

The woman did as he directed. With the lights off, Kane could see white snow and dark trees. Not enough moon to see any detail, even with the snow cover to reflect its light. He crawled back to his belongings, rummaged for a pair of binoculars, and crawled back to the window. The big lenses gathered a lot of light, so Kane could see better, but not well. If someone was just inside the trees, Kane couldn’t see him. He could just lie there waiting for a clear shot.

There was a knock at the door. The woman stood up. Kane started to say something, then realized she was out of the line of sight of the window. She swung the door open. A man and woman Kane didn’t know were standing there, showing signs of having dressed quickly for the outdoors. The man held a hunting rifle.

“We heard shots and saw the lights go out,” the woman said. “We thought we should come and see if something was wrong.”

“Somebody shot at us through that window,” Kane said, pointing. “Whoever it was might still be out there.”

“Not if he knows Rejoice,” the man said. “Everyone within earshot will be here soon. We don’t leave anyone unprotected.” He looked around the room. “Ruth Hunt, I’m surprised to find you here.” There was something in the man’s voice Kane couldn’t quite identify.

“I was showing Mr. Kane to his cabin,” Ruth replied. “I didn’t really expect his welcome to be so warm.”

Kane stood up. No one shot at him. He walked over to where Ruth stood leaning against the wall.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice. “Do you need to sit down?”

She looked at him with eyes that glimmered, then put her hand on his sleeve.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I was a little weak in the knees. I don’t get shot at every day. But I’m fine now.”

The couple at the door was joined by an entire family, parents and what looked to Kane to be seven children, who arrived like a small tornado, spewing questions and exclamations in every direction. Kane could tell that the kids thought it was very cool that someone had shot at him. Within five minutes there were two dozen people in and around the little cabin, most of the adults armed and all of them asking what had happened.

“It’s really too cold for everyone to be standing around,” Kane said after answering the same questions for the dozenth time. “Anyway, I think the excitement is over for the night. So why don’t you all just go home? With my thanks for checking up on me.”

The crowd began dispersing.

“I’ve got some plywood we can put over that window,” the first man on the scene said, and went off to get it. His wife found a broom and began sweeping up the broken glass.

“Where is your husband tonight, Ruth?” the woman asked, looking at Kane. “Isn’t he in Anchorage with the basketball team?”

“He is,” Ruth said, “as you well know, Clarice.”

The smile she gave Kane was full of mischief.

“I’d better be going home,” she said, “before I’m the talk of Rejoice. Thanks for a wonderful evening.”

Kane laughed and laughed some more, hearing an edge of post-danger hysteria in his laugh.

“You bet,” he said, “the next time I’m going to get shot at, I’ll be sure to invite you along.”

Ruth left, and the man soon returned. He and Kane nailed up plywood on the outside, stuffed the opening with insulation, and nailed another sheet of plywood over the inside. Then the man and woman left, taking Kane’s thanks with them.

The detective walked out and, using an extension cord, plugged in his pickup. Then he just stood there. He could hear the crunching of feet on the snow, and the soft voices of his neighbors, then the bang of their door closing. Then nothing. He stood, drawing cold air in through his nose, smelling the faint odor of spruce from the nearby forest and the lingering tang of exhaust from Ruth’s Jeep.

Above him, a thin sliver of moon showed cold and white. A multitude of stars made pinpricks of dancing, winking light in the blackness of the sky. He could feel the cold move through his clothes and wrap itself around his body. A small thrill ran along his backbone, as it always did when he enjoyed the cold’s seductive threat knowing warmth was near.

Kane stood there and thought about who in Rejoice would want him dead and why. He thought about Faith Wright, and wondered if she had a real life and, if so, where it was hidden under her careful covering of pleasantness and conventionality. He thought about God, and if there was one and, if so, where He stood in all of this. He thought about how the excitement of having death brush past him made his blood sing, and about how good Ruth Hunt felt beneath him. Then he began to shiver, so he went into the cabin, closed and locked the door, and got ready for bed.