by Brenda Novak
Careful not to reveal her jealousy—she understood how tedious it would be to feel he was being harangued over the fact that an ex couldn’t seem to move on—Evelyn kept her voice as normal as possible. “That’s it?”
“So far.”
He sounded tired. “Have you had anything to eat?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Swing by the house in an hour. I’ll have dinner ready.”
“That’s okay. I’ll grab a bite later. I’m going to keep at it.”
“Are you getting discouraged?”
“A little,” he admitted.
“Why?”
There was a slight pause. Then he said, “I talked to Allen Call and Ward Brothers.”
“And?”
“They both have airtight alibis.”
9
Amarok sat at the kitchen table, listening to the latest storm moan and cry as he drank a cold beer and stared into the darkness of the living room. Since Bishop’s attack last February, Evelyn had started leaving the hall light on when she went to bed, so there’d been no need for him to turn on any lights when he and Makita came in. He could see well enough.
After shaking off the snow and cold, Makita had gone to lie in the corner. He kept eyeing Amarok as if to say, Aren’t you going to bed? Isn’t it time for us to go in with Evelyn? The poor dog couldn’t close his eyes for fear he’d miss his cue. But despite Amarok’s exhaustion, he wasn’t ready to call it a day. As he sat there, heavy coat and boots still on since he was too tired to remove them, he kept thinking he had to be missing something.
What could’ve happened to Sierra Yerbowitz?
He felt terrible for Leland, who’d had to break the news to his parents earlier. Leland had practically begged Amarok to give him some answers. But after spending the whole day trying to find something that might explain Sierra’s disappearance, Amarok didn’t know any more than he had before. No one had seen her since she and the men had eaten lunch and picked up a few things in town before they drove to the cabin. It was almost as if she’d disappeared into thin air.
Amarok unbuttoned his coat and took a long pull on his beer. Maybe when he returned to the cabin, he’d see some clue he’d missed. He hadn’t been able to go out there today. The storm had dumped so much snow in the area, it would’ve been too hard to get through. And since no one else could get out there, either, he’d decided to see what he could learn in town first. That way he’d be armed with a little more information when he went back, which might make him view the scene differently.
He’d never dreamed he’d come up empty, especially after the hope he’d felt when he’d heard about Allen Call and Ward Brothers.…
“Aren’t you coming to bed?”
Amarok glanced up to see Evelyn yawning as she wandered down the hall wearing one of his Alaska State Trooper T-shirts and nothing else. She was squinting at the light and her hair was mussed from sleeping, but he found her sexy as hell, the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
His chest tightened at the thought that she might pack up and leave one day. The more terrible things that happened here, the more likely that became. If any more of the locals grew hostile toward her, she wouldn’t be able to tolerate living in Hilltop. “I was just having a drink, unwinding a bit,” he said.
“And trying to figure out what happened to Sierra Yerbowitz?”
He lifted his beer to signal that she’d guessed correctly.
She pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“There isn’t much to say. No one had anything against her. The only two people in her life who might have had some reason to harm her can prove they didn’t.”
She pushed her hair out of her face. “Then it has to be her brother. Or his friends.”
Amarok shook his head. “It wasn’t them. Leland is completely torn up by her disappearance. And his friends were with him every minute. They all say the same thing, tell the exact same story.”
“They could be colluding.”
“No, I don’t get that feeling at all.”
“Then Sierra must’ve gone somewhere…”
“Where?” he asked. “She was at a remote cabin in a rugged environment she’d never been to before, in the middle of a terrible storm. She had no phone, no vehicle. They didn’t see anyone else in the area the entire time they were there—even when they were out hunting. And they claim no one could’ve followed them.”
“So someone took her. She wouldn’t just wander off on her own.”
“That’s what Leland says, too, and he knows her best. But if that’s the case, why didn’t whoever it was strike sooner? They were at the cabin for three days without incident.”
“Someone stumbled on the opportunity?”
“Way the hell out there?”
“How else can you explain it? You told me an ax was used to break in. That’s forced entry.”
“It could’ve been her using that ax. How do you know she didn’t accidentally lock herself out and force her way back into the house?”
“I don’t know that,” she admitted. “I suppose it’s possible. But what about the vomit in the shed?”
“What about it?” He finally shucked off his coat. “She could’ve been coming down with the flu.”
“Or that vomit means something else.”
“Like what?”
Evelyn flinched as if she didn’t even want to think it, let alone say it. “Never mind. That would be a stretch.”
“Say what’s on your mind,” he prodded. As beautiful as Evelyn was, he loved her as much for her intelligence, respected her opinion.
“I’d rather not risk sending your investigation in the wrong direction. But I’ll say this. The shed is an odd place to be sick.”
“Not necessarily. It’s better than throwing up in the cabin.”
“When you’re sick, you’re sick. You don’t get to select the spot.”
“Maybe it took a lot of effort to hack down the door and the timing just worked out that way.”
She nibbled at her bottom lip, which—as tired and upset as he was—still made him want to pull her to him and kiss her, maybe carry her into the bedroom. Being with Evelyn provided a release from the frustration and worry. Making love to her convinced him that everything was going to be okay—until reality barged in again.
“Were there any signs that she wasn’t feeling well in the cabin? Any blankets lying around, cold compresses, discarded tissues?”
“None.”
“There wasn’t even a bowl near the couch in case she needed to throw up?”
“Nothing like that. And not only did she pack her bags, she packed everyone else’s. Left all the luggage by the door.”
“She wouldn’t feel like doing that if she had the flu or was feeling nauseous,” she mused.
“She might’ve powered through.”
Evelyn looked even more worried. “She obviously wanted to leave as soon as possible.”
He’d been trying to keep an open mind, but he had to agree. “The question is why. Was she scared of the storm?”
“Could be. Or something else. I mean, a woman wouldn’t pack up for her brother’s friends, two grown men, otherwise.”
Talking it out helped him solidify his own thoughts and opinions. “She must’ve had a compelling reason.”
“You’re going back to the cabin tomorrow, right?”
“If this new storm lets up.”
She rubbed her arms as if she felt a chill. “Maybe you should take me with you.”
She wasn’t a forensic profiler, but he was willing to bet she knew as much, or more, about criminal behavior as anyone in the world. As far as he was concerned, having her there could only be an advantage. “Okay.”
She came over and helped him pull off his boots. Then she pushed him back in the chair and undid his pants.
When she went down on him, he groaned and dropped his head back. “That’s good,” he said. “But a
ren’t you too tired?”
She didn’t respond. Her tongue moved over him, making him hard as a rock.
He got his second wind as he slid his fingers into her hair.
God, he loved her.
If only he knew she’d always be there.…
* * *
Somehow they got through the trickiest part of the drive, but that was because of Amarok’s determination and his experience maneuvering a vehicle in bad conditions. There were several instances when Evelyn thought they’d be forced to turn back.
He probably would’ve given up in favor of visiting tomorrow or the next day, when the cabin was more accessible, but they were expecting the harsh weather to continue through the weekend.
“You’re quiet today,” he said. Only the wipers made any noise, working to shove aside the heavy flakes of snow bombarding the windshield. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She adjusted the heat. “Just wondering why anyone would have reason to come out here this time of year.”
“Leland and his friends have hunting permits good through the fifteenth. Anglers come here, too. Silver salmon run through November.”
“From what I’ve seen, the number of hunters and fishermen goes down in September, along with the tourists,” she said, but she hadn’t been referring to people who’d have a legitimate reason to visit the cabin. She’d been trying to imagine what a dangerous person like a serial killer would have to be thinking in order to be interested in a place like the cabin. What would be the draw?
Privacy. They liked privacy. Thrived on it.
But finding prey came first and because most serial killers—80 percent—were men and those men were often driven by a sexual motive as well as a deep lust for killing, women were far more likely to become victims. Still, it was hard to believe there was a predator targeting hunting cabins. The kind of killers who didn’t leave a trace were careful to strike only when they felt confident of success. Evelyn doubted any of them would view a place where one was more likely to find men with guns than women as a promising location.
“We have fewer visitors once it starts to turn cold, but”—Amarok glanced over at her—“what are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re probably dealing with a crime of opportunity.”
“A remote cabin provides an opportunity? Other than a handful of people, none of whom I can place in Alaska, I can’t figure out how anyone even realized she was out here.”
“Which is why I believe we’re looking at someone who lives in the area, someone who came across her when she was alone and vulnerable.”
His frown told her he didn’t want to hear that the kidnapper or killer was local. But the fact that he didn’t argue suggested he’d already come to the same conclusion. “If she was taken in the first place and didn’t go out searching for her brother.”
Evelyn loosened the chest restraint on her seat belt. “She would’ve worn her coat and boots if she went out searching for her brother.”
The stubborn set to his jaw indicated that he didn’t care to hear that, either. “Unless she was on drugs and wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You told me Leland said they weren’t doing drugs. That they didn’t have any.”
“Doesn’t make it true. I haven’t searched their luggage yet. Didn’t have time the other night, and I didn’t want to remove or change anything before I could take a closer look at the scene as a whole.”
“This must be a nightmare for Leland,” she muttered as she imagined how confused and upset Sierra’s brother had to be.
The growl of the engine deepened as Amarok shifted into Low. “Peter and Ted have to be hating life, too. Not only has a member of their party gone missing, but until I clear their luggage, they have almost nothing, other than the clothes on their backs. They paid a lot to experience Alaska—and got this.”
“Even if drugs are at the root of it, that won’t make things any easier on them,” she mused.
“It’ll make things a hell of a lot easier on us,” he grumbled.
Such a simple, straightforward explanation was better than believing they had a murder on their hands. But the vomit in the woodshed bothered her and had from the first. It didn’t seem consistent with someone getting high and wandering off. Recreational drugs typically didn’t induce vomiting. And surely Leland would know, would’ve said something, if his sister had access to stronger opiates, like heroin or Demerol.
They probably had some alcohol at the cabin, however.
She decided to hope for that.
Once they’d parked and she climbed out, the snow went up to her knees. While wading through it, she wished for a few minutes of bright, warm sunlight. It was midday, after all. Even a glimmer would’ve felt nice. But the sky remained stubbornly overcast, and everything looked dark and shadowy despite the hour, making it difficult to spot the kind of small yet important details they needed to see.
She stopped before reaching the steps and tilted her head back to study the small A-frame cabin. “This is pretty rustic.”
Amarok, who’d gone ahead of her to forge a path, was already at the porch, which was more of a deep overhang. “Guys who come here want to see what it’s like to rough it,” he said over his shoulder. “That’s partly why so many choose to hunt or fish the interior, where they face harsher weather and fewer amenities. A lot of the cabins can’t be reached without a bush plane.”
Privacy. As she gazed at the cabin, that word popped into her head again. Provided a psychopath already had a victim, he’d like this remote location. Jasper would like this location.
She supposed it was natural that he’d come to mind at the first hint of trouble. After what she’d been through, she was predisposed to think the worst. She had to ask herself if he could be back. Somehow he’d learned his mother had been somewhat friendly to Amarok, so he’d killed both his parents, immediately cut off that avenue of information. But it had cost him something, too. Now he no longer had their help or their financial support, and no inheritance, either. They’d left everything to charity, since they couldn’t name him, their only son, in their will.
He had to be angry, looking for revenge.
No doubt that was one of the reasons her panic attacks had returned. She knew it was just a matter of time before Jasper reappeared, and the longer it went the more anxious she became.
He was too smart to kidnap someone like Sierra, though—someone whose disappearance would be reported to Amarok.
Unless that was part of the game …
A tremor ran through her despite the warmth of her heavy coat, boots, scarf, gloves and earmuffs. Emotionally, she wasn’t strong enough to face Jasper right now, wasn’t where she’d been even a year ago. She needed to fix that, needed to get ready—and stay ready. But she’d been trying! She couldn’t seem to recover on her own, and since she didn’t feel she could get counseling, she wasn’t sure what to do.
“What are you thinking?” Amarok had opened the door and was standing in the gap, waiting for her.
She chose not to say anything about Jasper, didn’t want to bring up something so unrelated to what the facts currently suggested. “I’m thinking someone could be out to sabotage my efforts at Hanover House by making it look like we’ve got another problem. People will assume this is connected to me and what I’m doing in Alaska, since all the other problems have been, too.”
“Who would go so far as to sabotage you?” he asked. “Fitzpatrick tried to discredit you, but that wasn’t exactly sabotage. He was trying to take over at Hanover House.”
“What about Sandy Ledstetter’s father or brother?” Like Sandy’s mother, both men glared daggers at her if she happened to see them at the Moosehead or elsewhere. She could feel the entire family’s enmity. Again, the nasty notes someone had been leaving on her car came to mind, but Amarok wasn’t aware of those. He didn’t know how she was being treated, either. She was careful not to complain to him about smaller slights or snubs. She didn’t want him feeling he had to
stick up for her.
“I’ve known Davie and Junior my whole life, Evelyn. They’d never do anything like that. What makes more sense is that all the publicity surrounding Hanover House has drawn a previously unknown predator to the area.”
She could easily imagine psychopaths being enticed by the challenge and notoriety of killing in the very shadow of the institution meant to arm the innocent against them. She and Amarok, at various points in the past, had discussed the possibility, which was probably why he mentioned it now. “You’d believe that over sabotage?”
He waved her off. “Even that’s a stretch. We haven’t yet established that we have a predator, remember?”
She drew a deep breath. “Yeah, I remember.”
A pile of luggage sat inside the door, just as Amarok had said. Evelyn watched as he checked the handles and tags, searching for fingerprints, which he attempted to lift with white powder, since the bags were black. “This is probably futile,” he admitted.
“At least you’re trying to get what you can.”
When he was done collecting prints, he examined the bags with a magnifying glass, looking for specks of blood—and found none. Then he set his tools aside, opened each suitcase and went through them. Other than linens, now crumpled and balled up, which had to be brought in by each renter, since there was no washer and dryer in this remote place, he found what one would expect to find—clothing and other essentials. There was nothing unusual. No drugs. Not even a small bag of pot.
While he documented his efforts with notes and pictures, she donned a pair of latex gloves and went into the kitchen. There were some beers in the fridge and some empty cans in the wastebasket—a total of twelve. That equaled two six-packs. “What did Leland tell you when you asked him if they’d been drinking?”
Amarok answered from the living room. “Said they each had a couple of beers.”
Then Sierra might’ve had a couple, as well, but even more wouldn’t have been excessive, given the amount of time they’d been here. There was certainly no evidence of heavy drinking.