He’d get Evelyn soon, he told himself. Right now, he needed to head home and relax, wait patiently until the timing was right.
But he was too riled up to even think about going to bed. He had so much adrenaline rushing through him he felt he could wrestle a bear. So instead of driving toward Anchorage, he took Nektoralik Road to the cabin where he’d killed Kat and Leland’s sister. He’d cleaned up after his first kill, but he’d been in such a rush when he’d strangled Sierra—not knowing when Leland and whoever was with him would return—that he might’ve left something behind.
He should’ve torched the cabin the day Kat died—left her body in the downstairs bedroom tied to that bed and burned the whole thing to the ground. He’d been trying not to put Amarok on high alert, but given the recent sequence of events, Amarok had been primed for trouble, anyway. There was no reason to risk leaving any evidence for him to discover.
He just hoped it wasn’t too late. What with the recent storms, there was a small chance Amarok hadn’t been able to process the scene as thoroughly as he might’ve liked. Or he could’ve missed something that he’d find later.
Jasper punched the gas pedal as he sped out of town. Maybe he could rectify that error, he thought—if, in fact, he’d made one—and felt a certain amount of relief. At least he was keeping busy. At least he was doing something that would thwart Amarok’s attempts to track him down. That brought him a degree of pleasure. It couldn’t compensate for the disappointment he felt at not being able to get Evelyn tonight, but it was something. He needed to be satisfied with that until he had the opportunity to do more.
It would come.…
He kept a gas can in the back of his truck. In these parts, a lot of people did, so it wouldn’t be considered unusual. With the changeable weather, one had to be prepared at all times.
He couldn’t wait to see Amarok’s reaction to having the cabin go up in flames and spent the entire drive relishing how frustrated, disappointed and angry the sergeant would be.
Once Jasper was close, he hid his vehicle in the trees and traveled the last part on foot. He was still thinking about how furious Amarok was going to be about losing the crime scene when he saw the trooper’s truck in the drive.
*
Amarok was breathing heavily by the time he reached the only other cabin within walking distance, but he couldn’t really call it a cabin. It was more of a one-room shack with no running water or electricity.
Getting there hadn’t taken long, but the hike was arduous, since it was farther up the mountain and there was no clear path between the two places. He was excited at first. He thought this would be the perfect place for a killer to lie in wait—close enough to watch what was going on but not close enough to be noticed.
His excitement dimmed, however, as soon as he forced open the warped front door, which wasn’t even locked. There was no evidence of recent habitation. No pots or pans or utensils. No bedding. No food or traces of a recent fire. Dust covered everything, and it was thick and undisturbed.
Whoever had kidnapped and/or killed Sierra Yerbowitz hadn’t been here, Amarok decided. No one had.
So now what? If the person he was searching for hadn’t followed Leland’s party, he—assuming it was a he—had to have some reason to be in the area. What had drawn him? Why was he here? If Amarok could figure that out, he might be able to create a list of potential suspects.
The beam of his flashlight flickered. The batteries were failing. Adjusting his assault rifle, which he’d slung over his back, he smacked the light, trying to keep it going as he started down the mountain. The thick canopy of branches overhead blocked out even the moon’s rays, but he wasn’t too worried he’d be stranded in the dark. If he could keep his flashlight working until he reached the halfway point, the light he’d left on in the other cabin would guide him from there. Then he’d get some new batteries out of his glove compartment and study the woodshed again. He’d found some interesting marks on the headboard and footboard of one of the beds downstairs. He’d categorized them as normal wear and tear, but after taking a closer look he’d decided those marks could’ve been made by a rope rubbing against the finish. The possibility that the perpetrator had used restraints, plus the blood on the mattress, made Amarok wonder if a lot more had happened at the cabin than he’d initially believed. That meant the vomit in the woodshed might mean more than he’d thought, too. He wanted to see if he’d missed evidence of someone being tied up or dumped there.
The flashlight held out longer than he’d expected. He was almost back when he heard the crack of gunfire, coming from the cabin or somewhere nearby. He froze, too shocked to move until another shot rang out. He had no idea where the first bullet had gone, but the second bullet must’ve hit a branch above his head, because pine needles showered his face. That was the moment he realized that someone was firing at him.
Dropping to the ground, he snapped off his flashlight so he wouldn’t be such an easy target.
A third bullet struck a nearby tree trunk. He heard the shot and the corresponding thwack. Although his heart was racing and his adrenaline pumping, Amarok wondered if this was the man he’d been looking for since he’d met Evelyn.
It almost had to be Jasper, didn’t it? Who else but their mortal enemy would appear at the cabin where a woman had recently been kidnapped and probably killed, see his trooper vehicle in the drive and come after him?
Or was that wishful thinking? Because if it was Jasper, Amarok was beyond excited that he might finally have the chance to confront him, to fight back, instead of feeling so damn helpless as Jasper terrorized the woman he loved and harmed other innocent people.
“Bring it on, you bastard!” he yelled as he pulled his rifle around so he could aim it. “But just remember—you’re not in Boston anymore! If you fuck with me out here, you’re going to lose!”
There was no response. “I’ve owned a gun since I was five,” he went on. “If I catch one glimpse of you, you’re dead.” While crawling army-style through the snow to get behind a fallen log, he looked for any dimming of the light at the cabin, anything to suggest that someone had just walked in front of a window. Any clue at all that might help him place his attacker. He’d lived in Alaska his whole life; he was so used to the pervasive darkness during the winter months that he could almost sense movement, didn’t need to actually see it. “No answer?” he shouted. “You must have something to say. I’m the one who’s got what you want. Evelyn comes home to me every night. And you’ll never get her back.”
Still nothing.
If only he could provoke Jasper or whomever it was into responding. That would give him an auditory signal to go along with the shadows and changing light patterns he was hoping to read. The gunshots that’d been fired weren’t enough. The sounds seemed to ricochet in his brain the way they’d echoed through the forest.
“If you think you scare me, if you think I haven’t been looking forward to this opportunity, you’re wrong!” he yelled. “Try and torture me, you son of a bitch! I’ll take you out of here in a body bag or in handcuffs. Your choice. But to be honest, I prefer the body bag.”
His opponent fired. Amarok had no idea how close that bullet came. He wasn’t paying any attention to the bullets aimed at him. He was too hyper-focused on their source. Short of a verbal response, that was exactly what he’d been hoping Jasper would do, because this time he was ready. This time he was both watching and listening.
He saw a flash near the cabin, saw the subsequent change in light as Jasper or whoever it was shifted to the right.
“There you are,” he whispered, and squeezed off a round.
15