“Yeah.”
She looked Amarok over carefully, but he raised one hand. “Don’t worry. He missed, and I returned fire. Once he got hit—I’m assuming that’s what made him decide to take off—he ran here, where he’d left his car, and got the hell out.”
“If the cabin was burning when he left, where’d you spend the night?” Phil asked.
“At that shack I was checking out when he arrived. I could’ve stayed in my truck, but I felt too vulnerable there. I wanted to be somewhere I could stand or kneel while keeping watch with my rifle at the ready.”
“Did you have any dry wood?”
“A little, but I didn’t dare start a fire for fear I’d give away my position, or that I wouldn’t be able to see as clearly.”
Judging by the lines around Amarok’s eyes and mouth, he was exhausted. “So you’ve been up all night, freezing?” Evelyn said.
“I wasn’t about to go to sleep knowing he could come back. I was also worried that the cabin fire might somehow spread through the forest. As wet as it’s been, that wasn’t likely, but it was windy, so I was being cautious.”
“It didn’t spread, thank God. But it sure got the best of the cabin.” Phil wrinkled his nose. “Stinks like crazy out here.”
Evelyn wiped away the rest of her tears. “Jasper was trying to destroy any evidence he’d left behind.”
“That’s my guess, too,” Amarok said. “To be honest, I have no idea why he didn’t burn it to begin with.”
She peered through the trees to see the charred remains of what had been part of someone’s livelihood and couldn’t help feeling sorry for the Barrymores, two brothers from the Lower 48 who were, according to Amarok, the owners. They’d collect on their fire insurance, but that wasn’t always an easy process and often didn’t cover everything. “Jasper didn’t want us to know he was in Alaska. That’s why he left it in the first place. He was hoping whatever he’d done out here would go unnoticed. But it hasn’t.”
“The news about that piece of scalp might’ve tipped him off that we know more than he’d like.”
With a nod, she turned around, searching for any sign of Jasper … or someone else. Fortunately, she didn’t see anyone or anything that might make her believe they were in immediate danger. “This is going to turn into all-out war between us.”
“I say bring it on.” Once again, Amarok gestured at what he’d brought them to see. “He made a mistake coming back here. Now I have his blood.”
“You’ve collected it already?” she asked.
He took a small vial from his pocket. “Yep. Did that last night using my flashlight. I couldn’t risk losing it. There was some on this tree, too, before I pulled off the bark.”
Evelyn’s heart beat faster. “You’ll be able to test it to confirm his identity.”
“And I have his tire tracks. I might even manage to get a few footprints.”
Phil checked the sky. “So are you done? We need to gather what evidence we can before the weather gets any worse.”
“I’m close. I’ve photographed the tire tracks and the foot impressions. I didn’t have a tripod, which would’ve helped, but I started as soon as there was enough light. I’m about to get a cast of any tracks or footprints I can.”
“You have the materials to do that?” Evelyn asked.
He gave her a wry smile. “Sweetheart, since you came to town, I’ve had to equip myself in ways I never had to worry about before. With a few squirts of snow impression wax, I’ll be good to go.”
“Where are you supposed to find that?” Phil asked.
“It’s in my truck. I was going to grab it when I heard you pull up.”
“Even if we get good impressions, it won’t be easy to match them against a perpetrator,” Phil said with a scowl. “We’re searching for a needle in a haystack.”
“You’ve told me that before, and yet I keep searching.” Amarok winked at Evelyn. “That asshole will never get rid of me, not until I bring him in.”
*
The throbbing in Jasper’s shoulder woke him. Amarok’s bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his arm. He had both an entrance and an exit wound, so he hadn’t taken the risk of going to a hospital. Anyone who’d been shot would be reported to the authorities. Instead, he’d done what he could to doctor himself. He’d stopped by the drugstore to pick up a few supplies; then he’d bathed in Epsom salts, poured hydrogen peroxide down the hole in his arm and bandaged it. Nothing he’d ever experienced hurt quite so badly. And the damn thing wouldn’t quit bleeding. He’d been up most of the night trying to get it to stop. Even now, the bandage was soaked and leaking blood onto the sheets.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled when he saw it. He needed to do something. But when he sat up, his head began to swim. He had to bend forward to regain his equilibrium.
He’d screwed up last night, and Amarok had taken advantage of his miscalculation. But how could he know the night would end like that? He should’ve been able to win a battle where he had the advantage of surprise. Amarok hadn’t even known he was in the area, and Jasper had still gotten his ass kicked.
That wouldn’t happen again, he vowed. The sergeant would pay for what he’d done, and so would Evelyn.
Once he could stand, he used the walls to help him reach the bathroom. Who would’ve thought a simple flesh wound could leave him feeling so shitty?
He’d have to take plenty of pain meds to tolerate work today, he decided as he stared at his own ashen face in the mirror. But he didn’t have anything strong—only over-the-counter stuff—and he had no idea how he’d handle a full shift. What if he bled through his uniform?
He considered calling in sick. He could say he wasn’t well, that he still felt poorly from when he’d left early on Friday night. But Amarok would expect whoever he’d shot to show the effects of it, so Jasper was going to make sure he seemed perfectly fine. He’d change his bandage every hour, if he had to, and flush the used dressings or shove them in his lunch pail.
Fresh blood oozed as he peeled away the gauze. He wasn’t supposed to remove it once it was saturated. Every tutorial he’d read online advised him to add more bandages on top of the old one, but he wanted to see if his arm looked as though it was getting infected. He’d also read that infection was his greatest danger. He might need antibiotics.
Considering how much his shoulder hurt, he thought the hole should be bigger.…
He turned to look at the back and, once he’d wiped the blood, saw that the exit wound was bigger. Where the bullet had gone in was the size of a dime; where the bullet had come out was more the size of a quarter.
Bracing for the pain, he poured on more antiseptic, which burned through his arm like fire. He swore, even kicked the wall. Then he struggled to tie fresh gauze around his biceps using only his right hand. He needed to put some pressure on the wound, but not enough to hinder his circulation—not if he ever wanted to use that arm again.
What would he do if that didn’t work? One website had suggested a hemostatic dressing, which contained clotting agents, but he’d been reluctant to go out and buy something like that. He didn’t want anyone to see him purchasing it, didn’t want to be recorded on some store’s video camera. And what he’d read about those dressings indicated they could be difficult to remove once applied.
He didn’t need any new problems. He was already worried that the bullet had pushed scraps of clothing inside him. He’d examined his injury carefully and hadn’t seen any sign of debris, but with the constant flow of blood he couldn’t tell for sure. Hopefully it would flush out whatever debris might be there.