As he walked to his truck, snow was falling again, the icy air burning his skin. The sky was gray and low, as though at any moment it might descend lower and crush everyone beneath it. It made him feel depressed and claustrophobic. Jesus, how did these people survive months and months of this? He guessed he’d know soon enough, but he already missed the endless blue California sky.
The sheriff had told him he had a local girl in mind who knew the terrain well. Good, because he’d need her. His knowledge about wilderness could fill a shot glass. And him trekking around alone in the snow sounded extremely unpleasant and mostly pointless.
After he’d slid inside his SUV, turned the ignition, and started blasting the heat, he checked the name he’d jotted in his notebook. Harper Ward. I thought so. It was the same girl Mrs. Wilcox had mentioned. That poor girl, Harper Ward, losing both her parents that way. The sheriff had told him her father had been the previous sheriff in Helena Springs, and a guilty look had flashed in the man’s eyes that Mark didn’t have enough information to understand. He wondered what it meant and figured he could find out easily enough if he wanted to—there was always someone—or twenty someones—willing to talk about their neighbors in a small town. But he’d rather keep his focus on what was important to his case and solve this crime—crimes—before anyone else in this small town got hurt.
Or killed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jak’s teeth were chattering so hard he thought they might crack. He pulled his legs closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, trying to curl into every tiny bit of heat his body was making.
He knew he had to move. He had to get dry. He had to . . . Tears filled his eyes, then moved down his cheeks, freezing over his icy skin. He wiped at them, making himself sit up. Live! he’d told the dark-haired boy as he’d flung him up on that small ledge. He’d demanded it, because only one of them could have that ledge—that chance—and if the boy he gave it to died anyway, then it was wasted.
I should have taken it for myself.
But even though the thought flashed in his mind, it didn’t feel true. He’d somehow survived the fall by grabbing another piece of branch sticking from the side of the slope. There hadn’t been a ledge or anything for him to climb onto and he’d quickly lost his hold. But that branch had been closer to the ground and when he’d landed in a deep pile of snow, it hadn’t been with as much speed, though it had still knocked the wind from his lungs anyway, and he’d had to fight his way out of the icy hole his fall had made.
One of the other boys had been lying nearby, both legs twisted in different directions, and Jak had rushed to him, shaking and panting as he turned the boy over. But he could see right away that he was dead. His face was bloody and beaten, his gaze forever staring at the stars above. Jak had cried out, jumped back, and rushed as fast as he could to get away. Away, away.
Because he didn’t know how long he had before someone came after him.
He’d made it to a group of trees close by, out of breath, soaking wet, his shoulder hurting bad, and he was so scared that whoever the man had been at the top of that cliff, was on his way down to find him.
Did he know that Jak had lived? That the dark-haired boy might have too? And what happened to the blond one? Jak hadn’t seen any trace of him at the bottom of that cliff, but he must be dead too. Buried under snow, his limbs twisted grossly like the other dead boy’s.
Help me, someone. Anyone. Please, he begged in the quiet of his mind. But no one was listening, except the silent moon hanging in the nighttime sky.
Jak tripped through the forest, his shivering getting more, his eyes starting to blur around the edges. The strength he’d felt had drained out from him, making his muscles feel loose and filled with water. He ran anyway, stumbling, on and on until his legs had no feeling. Heat filled his bones, moving up, shooting flames through his chest. He was suddenly burning hot. Too hot. And thirsty. He bent down and scooped up some snow, bringing it to his mouth and eating it as he moved deeper into the darkness.
So hot. So hot. The world started to tilt. He took off his jacket, dropping it in the snow and moving forward. He tripped over something under the snow he couldn’t see, picking himself up and falling forward. I will not die, I will not die. But his thoughts felt slow again, the same way they had at the top of that cliff. At the thought of that terrifying fall—that man with the loud deep voice—he pushed forward again, his strength getting less. So hot, so hotsohotsohot. With the last of his strength, he pulled off his jeans and his sweatshirt, leaving them in the snow.
His head swam and he tripped, falling to the ground with a crunch of ice and cry of pain, sharp needles sticking into every part of his naked skin. He reached a hand forward and felt nothing. He tumbled into it, rolling, falling, somewhere small and dark and soft where the cold and the wind couldn’t find him.
Will you die today?
No, he tried to yell. Live! But the words died on his lips as the world around him disappeared.
CHAPTER FIVE
Offered up her services? Which ones exactly? “Dwayne, what do I have to offer in a murder investigation?”
“No one’s asking you to be a police officer. Although I’m sure some of it is in your blood.” He gave her an affectionate smile. “What we really need is someone who knows the area very well and owns a four-wheel-drive vehicle. That’s you. You’ll meet the agent who’s been sent in. Nice guy it seems. New at the department and get this—a native Californian. The guy showed up wearing so much winter gear, he was walking like the Michelin Man, and asked me how to de-ice his windshield.” Dwayne laughed and Harper smiled at the image of the unknown agent. “He’s over at the Larkspur now, but he’ll be back soon, and he’ll let you know what he needs.”
A knock at the door interrupted them and without waiting for an answer, Keri stuck her head in. “Dwayne, line one for you. Bob Elders from Missoula.”
Dwayne’s lips thinned. “Thanks, Keri.” He looked at Harper. “I gotta take this. Do you mind waiting in here for the agent? Mark Gallagher’s his name.”
Harper gave a distracted nod as Dwayne left the room. She hadn’t decided if she would help out on this case. Something about it felt . . . risky in some personal way. She was sure it had to do with the fact that her dad had worked in this very building for so many years . . . she could practically feel him there, smell the aftershave he’d worn, hear his laugh . . .
Suddenly weary, she sat in one of the chairs at the table, glancing at the dark screen. Her attention was pulled by the thought of the man sitting alone in the cell, and she was grateful for the shift in focus. The soft sound of her fingers drumming on the table filled the room as she wondered what he was doing right then. Still sitting there? What else would he be doing, Harper? Was Dwayne right when he said the man hadn’t seen a car before? Curiosity needled her, the fact that he might be a killer—one who had a penchant for nailing his victims to walls with sharpened arrows—not enough to douse that particular sensation. Apparently.
She drummed at the table for a few minutes longer, then fiddled with her hands, bit at her lip, looked over at the door, and hesitated only another moment before she stood quickly and walked to the monitor. It came on with a click, the view of the small cell where the man still sat blinking to life. He was in the exact same position as before. In fact, it appeared as though he hadn’t moved a muscle.
For a solid minute, Harper simply watched him as he sat on the bench in the other room, still and unmoving. Through the anonymity of the screen, she allowed her eyes to roam freely over him—from his unruly hair down to his strange footwear. He was lean but muscular. Solid. He’d have the strength to shoot an arrow straight through a body. He was big. And strong. And wild looking.
Caveman, indeed.
She could see this man fighting wildebeest. And winning.