The female moved up the hill and out of his sight. Darrin sighed and turned the binoculars back on the three men below, wondering what she was up to. She’d left her pack behind, so she wasn’t going far. The other men stared at each other for a few seconds, then the biggest one ducked into the cockpit while Kinton and the short guy talked.
It still bugged him. How had Kinton known where to find him? Maybe he’d been unconscious longer than he realized after the crash.
No. He hadn’t lost a complete day. He could tell by how hungry he felt and how much he’d pissed.
Stubborn. That was the only word to describe Alex Kinton. Alex’s brother, Samuel, had been stubborn too. Not nearly as bad as Alex, but enough to drive Darrin into action.
Darrin had been sloppy with Samuel. And it’d been Darrin’s undoing.
But he’d learned his lesson: don’t kill the brother of a federal agent.
Darrin smirked. He pictured himself wrapping his hands around the neck of a grandma in a nursing home. “Oh, by the way, any relation to government agents?”
He nearly dropped the binoculars as he slapped his hand over his mouth, stopping the laugh, knowing how easily sounds could carry over the snow.
He hadn’t asked any questions of Samuel.
Samuel had kept following him, harassing him, whining about Rosa and her dog. He’d seemed more upset about the dog than the woman. Darrin hadn’t realized Samuel had seen him kill Rosa until Samuel accused him of throwing Hero in the pool. He’d drowned Rosa first. The yippy little dog had been next. Sort of like the cherry on top of the sundae.
Darrin had tried to bribe Samuel. Usually with the retards it didn’t take much to distract or convince them they’d seen something incorrectly. A little chocolate or a soda usually did the trick. He should know. He’d been dealing with frail-minded seniors and retarded adults for two decades. But Samuel was persistent.
Nursing homes. Group care homes. He’d worked in several. They were rife with easy kills and vulnerable victims who’d finished their necessary roles in society.
He’d wanted to be a doctor. That had been his original plan. He’d done what he could at the community college and transferred his credits to a state school where he could get a real degree. Then he’d planned to apply to medical school, driven by a fascination with life and death. He’d wanted to feel that power that doctors exercise when their patients are close to death. Like on the television show ER. To be an emergency room doctor was his long-term goal. But first he’d move to a big city like New York or Chicago. Someplace more violent. The doctors at his local emergency room dealt with a lot of sore throats and ear infections. He wanted the big stuff. Shootings and car accidents.
Death.
But Dad had lost his job and spent his time drinking instead of looking for a new one. Mom had held down two jobs, but it was never enough. Darrin had to work and pay for his own tuition. Not easy at minimum wage. So he’d left home. Why give money to Mom to pay her bills when he could simply pay his own bills? He’d become a certified nursing assistant and found work in a nursing home. Everyone else had hated working there. He’d loved it.
In a nursing home he’d been as powerful as a doctor. His hands had determined who lived and who died. As they died, he would study the fading light in his victims’ eyes and wonder what they saw. Some looked happy; some looked scared. And then he’d watch the families as he drank in the range of emotions at the news of the death of a loved one. Some relief, some sorrow.
It was delicious.
Darrin swallowed hard, new anger burning his throat. Would he ever get another chance to play God?
Switching to the group homes for the mentally challenged from the nursing homes had been a good move. The victims had more emotions, posed greater risks and bigger challenges. Silent kills took more creativity. One time he’d set up an accidental overdose, slyly letting a patient get into another patient’s medications. Another time it’d been a fateful slip in the shower.
He used to spend hours plotting a kill; that was part of the fun. But with Rosa and the two women before her, he’d hardly planned at all. He’d seen and he’d reacted. The kills had stopped being about the control. He’d killed for the thrill and instant gratification. It became his undoing.
Darrin’s breaths sped up, creating a heavy minicloud around the binoculars.
Samuel had been an overreaction. If the guy hadn’t pissed him off so bad with his relentless questions and whining he would’ve let it go. It’d been simple to get Samuel to follow him to the pool on the pretext of talking about Rosa. Because the retard had been highly distraught over the woman’s and dog’s deaths, Darrin had figured he could play up the suicide card if anyone questioned him. And then Alex had shown up, never believing that his brother had committed suicide. Samuel’s and Rosa’s deaths had been perfectly clean with absolutely no connection to Darrin, but Alex’s pure tenacity had managed to put him in prison.
His hands gripped the binoculars, trembling as he focused on Alex.
The superhero A-man was trying to catch him again.
Both Jim and Thomas weren’t speaking to Alex. Jim had walked away and joined Thomas in the plane after Alex had admitted he wasn’t a marshal. Now he felt like he’d let Jim down. Alex picked up a handful of snow, packed it into a ball, and hurled it at the plane’s tail. It wasn’t like he’d deceived Jim personally. And what did it matter? After they left these woods, he’d never see Jim again. Wasn’t like they were gonna meet up for beers afterward.
He needed to focus on his objective. Alex packed another snowball, then crushed it between his fingers, letting the pieces fall. Things around him were cluttering his concentration.
The team had come to a compromise. Everyone was staying until morning and then they’d reassess. No one was hiking out that day. They made plans to move Linus’s body to the cockpit of the plane with the pilots and then they’d sleep in the larger piece of plane. Thomas suggested building a snow wall to close the open end of the plane. Should be warmer than tents, and the plane’s seats were more comfortable to sleep on than the frozen ground. The plan had sounded good to Alex. Maybe Ryan and Thomas wouldn’t snore so much if they slept upright. After helping Thomas and Jim move Linus, Alex headed up the hill to help Brynn move Ryan and his gear down to the plane.
Why hadn’t Jim told Thomas yet that he wasn’t a marshal?
Not a marshal. The words still hurt.
Alex had loved his job and had known he did it well. He’d spent several years on the judicial security branch of the service, protecting federal judges and securing federal courthouses. When he’d needed a change he’d gone to prisoner services, moving prisoners between institutions, some clear across the country, and deporting others back to their country of residence. He’d spent a lot of time on little planes just like the one sitting in pieces on the snow. He’d missed the judicial security work, where his supervisor hadn’t been an incompetent ass like Paul Whittenhall.
If it hadn’t been for Whittenhall, he’d probably still have a job.
Alex breathed hard as he worked his way up the hill. One thing about being in the marshals was that he couldn’t afford to let his physical condition slide. Daily workouts were a part of the job to keep prepared for any situation that might arise. Now he was lucky if he made it to his gym once a week. He sucked in the icy air.
Promise number one to self. Restart daily workouts.
Actually it was promise number two. The first was no more chemical dependency.
Like he could forget. His shaking hands and upset stomach reminded him every hour. He’d had no idea that his body had been so used to the tranquilizers. It wasn’t like he walked around in a drugged-out daze every day. He just took a few milligrams each night to help him sleep and keep away the nightmares. Sometimes a shot or two of whiskey to relax in the evening. He would have never believed he was addicted until his body started telling him yesterday. Looked like part of this trip was becoming a blessing in disguise. Intervention and treatment at the same time.
Alex still had a couple of hundred feet before he reached Ryan and Brynn. Hopefully, the tension at the top of the slope would be lighter than at the bottom. He could relax around Ryan and Brynn. He pushed his legs a little harder. He wanted to see the sparkle in Brynn’s brown eyes and hear her laugh. Another promise started to enter his mind, but he pushed it away, shaking his head. He wasn’t ready for a woman in his life. Although Brynn was definitely the type he would look for second time around. Alex couldn’t keep his eyes off her whenever she was near. Something about her pulled him to her, drew him in. Several times he’d wanted to simply touch her, feel her hair.
Instead, he’d crammed his hands in his coat pockets and felt like a kid in high school.
Alex could faintly see the outline of her and Ryan up the hill. He blinked. It was like looking through a steamy bathroom. The snowfall was so fine and light it was like mist. Was it time to tell Brynn and Ryan the truth too? No doubt Jim would tell them pretty soon. Alex would rather they heard it from his own mouth. Was it so bad pretending to still be a marshal? To make sure a killer was dead?
Wasn’t like Alex was hurting anyone on the team. So far the only one who’d been hurt was him. Sliding down that mud had reinjured his knee. If not for the constant doses of ibuprofen it would be killing him, slowing down him and the team. His headache was being kept at bay, but he could feel it pressuring the gate. What he wouldn’t give for a quick shot of good whiskey.
No more. That’s past. That’s over.
The nights he couldn’t sleep he’d pored over the casebooks from Besand’s murders, making copious notes. The detectives on each case hated him for his constant pestering. He’d stopped phoning them once he’d realized they wouldn’t answer when they saw his number on the caller ID. He’d switched to e-mail and tried to keep the number of those to a minimum.
He’d told Brynn he created computer games and security software. Truthfully, Alex had been blocked for three months. His mind wouldn’t cooperate when he sat down to work, and he hadn’t sold a new game in a year. At least the money from his last three games was more than enough to see him through his retirement.
A far off wump-wump sound entered his consciousness, and Alex scanned the hazy sky. He’d bet his last dose of ibuprofen that was a helicopter. But in this weather? With no visibility? It couldn’t be. The trees were keeping the team out of most of the wind, but above that it was whipping real good. How could anyone fly?
He stopped his climb. The sounds were growing louder, but he still couldn’t see the chopper. Far above him on the ridge, Brynn and Ryan stood up, looking in all directions. They couldn’t see it either.
Damn, it had to be close. The sucker was loud, and Alex felt like he was standing outside a rocking nightclub. Any second it should break through the haze. Alex trudged to the center of the slope and started to wave his arms in anticipation of flagging down the helicopter. In his bright blue coat, he should be easy to see against the snow.
Against the background of the rhythmic thumps, he heard faint yelling. Glancing behind him, he saw Jim and Thomas awkwardly running from the plane to the trees. Have they spotted the chopper? He glanced up the slope at Brynn and Ryan. More yelling and hands waving, but they were facing him. He scanned again for the helicopter. The chopper sounds were now a roar, the sound as intense as a freight train.
His gaze shot back to Brynn and Ryan, his stomach curdling. They were waving at him. Ryan was pointing over and up the slope at the white cloud that was rolling and pounding down the hill.
Avalanche.
His blood hammering in his brain, Alex ran for the closest trees, knowing he’d never make it in time. The sounds of the savior helicopter had triggered a death trap that was rushing directly at him.
They’d heard it at the same time. On top of the ridge, Ryan turned his head in unison with Brynn’s, searching through the curtain of the snowfall for the helicopter.
“No fucking way,” Ryan exclaimed. He pushed out of his snowy seat and spun in all directions, eyes wide. “Who’s stupid enough to fly in this shit?”
Brynn’s chest had shrunk in on itself. No, Liam. Even you can’t be this dense. But she couldn’t stop her eyes from searching as eagerly as Ryan’s. The wind whipped her hair into her mouth, and she brushed it away with an impatient hand.
“Where is it?”
The beating sounds of the blades came closer. Any second she expected to see the outline of a chopper through the snow. Would it be the Pave Hawk of the air force rescue squadron? Or a local? Someone who donated his time and gas to help the SAR team?
The vibrations rattled in her brain, and she knew the chopper was close. So close.
“He’s gotta be right over the far ridge,” Ryan shouted over the racket.
She nodded and focused her gaze in that direction. Next to her, Kiana started to bark, backing away from the sounds. Brynn ran a gloved hand over her fur. The barking sounded more upset than excited.
Abruptly the thumping volume started to decrease.
“No!” Both shrieked and frantically waved their arms, spinning in all directions, even though no chopper was in sight. It can’t leave.
“Holy shit!” Ryan froze, pointing.
Brynn whirled his way, heart sprinting, expecting to see a helicopter rising over the ridge. Instead she saw a cloud sliding down the mountain. Kiana lunged at the moving sea of snow as Brynn grabbed at her collar.
“The chopper set it off.”
She clutched Ryan’s arm, holding him tight like Kiana. He’d tried to move in the direction of the smashed plane below as if he could beat the avalanche and get the other three men away in time. “No!”
The avalanche would miss her and Ryan. It would sweep by, eating everything in its path. She stared down the mountain and spotted two red parkas tearing toward the tree line at their right. Jim tripped and went down. As she watched, Thomas bent over and dragged him back to his feet without breaking stride. Her gaze flew back to the thundering snow to measure the distance before it reached the men. But her eye was caught by a royal blue figure striding up the hill.
Alex.
Brynn’s heart stopped.
Shrieking, she waved her arms, gesturing him to the right as if she could physically move him. Alex froze, looking behind him then back at Brynn. He broke to the right and tried to run through the fluff. He was moving too slowly.
“Aw, fuck.” Through the roar of the avalanche and fading sounds of the helicopter she heard Ryan’s curse.
Brynn couldn’t breathe; she’d never felt so utterly powerless. She dropped to her knees and watched as the cloud overtook Alex, swept past the large piece of plane, and then buried the cockpit.