Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:00 a.m.
Makita sat in the passenger seat, his eyes glued to the windshield as Amarok rocketed down the East Parks Highway toward Fairbanks. Amarok knew his dog could sense his focus, his anxiety, his own watchfulness, and was paying strict attention. In short, Makita understood they were working and he was eager to do his part.
“We aren’t looking for any hunters tonight,” Amarok told his dog. But he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. Bishop was a hunter, of sorts. It was just that he hunted women instead of animals.
Amarok glanced at the cell phone on the seat beside him. He’d called Fairbanks PD before leaving Anchorage, told them a known serial killer with a kidnap victim was headed for their city and asked them to set up a roadblock on AK-3. He had no way of telling how far Bishop was ahead of him. But there was only one highway connecting Anchorage and Fairbanks. If Bishop hadn’t already arrived, if he was still on the road, at least he couldn’t branch off. If they stopped every motorist until early morning, when Amarok arrived, they might be able to sandwich Bishop between them.
That had been a good call, one that gave Amarok a degree of confidence that this might soon be over. But was there anyone else he should contact? What more could he do? He was getting used to being able to call anyone at any time, but he was back in Alaska now. There’d be some long stretches without service as he passed through the wilderness areas of the interior.
He considered checking in with Ada to see if her mom was going to pull through—and to see if Edna had been able to offer any more information on Evelyn—but he guessed they didn’t know much yet. It took so long to be admitted to the hospital and for the doctors to do their thing.
Ada would’ve reached out to him if she had anything to report. They’d developed sort of a kinship during their brief encounter on the ranch. She’d just recovered her loved one, but she understood how desperately he was working to recover his.
“Makita, you’re on my phone,” he said once he started looking for it and couldn’t see it.
The hyperfocused dog didn’t budge, but Amarok managed to slide his hand underneath and come up with it.
He checked to make sure the ringer was back on—he’d silenced it when he went onto the ranch so it couldn’t give him away—and realized that he’d already missed a call. He hadn’t seen it when he spoke to Fairbanks PD, but there it was, and he recognized the caller.
Detective Lewis had tried to reach him.
So, the bastard had called him back, after all. Did Lewis have Emmett Virtanen’s phone records at last? Or was he enraged because he’d somehow learned that Amarok had snatched that rental receipt out of Emmett’s mail?
He pressed the voicemail icon and listened to Lewis’s message.
Amarok, the phone records are in. It’s pretty late here, so I’m heading home, but I wanted you to know I wasn’t holding out on you, as you’ve probably been thinking.
Amarok had been thinking he was being stonewalled, so having Lewis call him out on it made him feel as though he’d been too much of an ass himself.
I still don’t agree with what you did, Lewis continued. But … He sighed. I understand why you did it. Anyway, I’m e-mailing you a map of the area in Anchorage where Emmett’s phone was last used. I’m hoping you’ll find an obvious place inside the boundaries I have marked where Evelyn might be—or at least be able to pinpoint the best places to look.
It sounded as if he was about to hang up, but then he came back on the line.
I’m afraid there’s one more thing. Emmett hasn’t used his phone since last Thursday. I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t bode well. If he’s destroyed it so we can’t track him, he could be pretty far from that location. Call me tomorrow so we can talk about this.
Emmett hadn’t used his phone because he couldn’t use his phone. Lyman had probably killed him the moment he arrived in Alaska. How he’d gotten the better of someone so much bigger and stronger Amarok couldn’t even begin to guess. Maybe he had a gun and trust, or overconfidence, had left Emmett vulnerable. Amarok hadn’t done enough with the body to determine how Emmett was killed. He hadn’t had the time, hadn’t wanted to destroy any evidence. Determining the cause of death was the medical examiner’s job, anyway.
Makita seemed to be getting sleepy. He yawned widely as Amarok returned Lewis’s call. Amarok wasn’t expecting the detective to pick up; he merely wanted to leave a message.
Before he could do that, however, he got a call himself.
Pulling the phone away from his ear to see who was trying to reach him, he cursed. This was a call he’d been dreading.
It was Brianne, Evelyn’s sister. Evelyn’s entire family was frantic. Evelyn had been missing for over a week. Her mother hadn’t even been functional since receiving the news.
And now he had to tell them that he wasn’t really much closer to finding her.
Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:05 a.m. AKDT
Evelyn tried not to hold her breath as Bishop brushed the hair off her face. He’d left the back doors open when he climbed into the van with her, so, thanks to the cabin light, she knew he could see her quite well despite the darkness of the woods around them.
She had to make it appear as though she were sleeping peacefully. He would find it strange if her chest weren’t rising and falling—or if her eyes were scrunched too tightly closed. But it was so difficult not to try to peek at what he was doing.
She longed to use the screwdriver she had hidden behind her back right away. She was in full fight-or-flight mode. But she could hear him and guessed he was positioned too close to the open doors. If she tried to stab him now, he’d just rear up in surprise and fall out, and then he’d be on her again before she could crawl into the front of the van and drive off.
No. She had to wait until he was fully committed to the rape he obviously had in mind. Only once he dropped his pants along with his defenses, was overcome with lust, would she have the opportunity to do enough damage to possibly save herself.
When she didn’t move, didn’t react to his touch or his voice, he said, “You are so elegant. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman. I think I’ve loved you from first sight.”
Love? The only person Bishop loved was himself, but he did crave attention, admiration and, of course, physical gratification.
Evelyn was so stiff she was afraid she’d give herself away before she could make a concerted effort to stab him.
“Let me touch you,” he whispered. “What are you saying? You want me, too? Really? I never knew.”
The fantasy he was playing out was so confusing for a rape. He was approaching her gently, kindly. Luckily for her, Bishop didn’t have a taste for violence unless he felt threatened or he was angry. She and her baby had that going for them. But she also knew he’d switch the second she offered any resistance. She’d seen him turn into Mr. Hyde with Edna. And she’d heard about his encounters with Beth.
Right now, he was enjoying pretending that this was consensual, as though they were lovers, which fit with the odd things he’d said about becoming the father of her baby.
When his hand covered her breast and squeezed, it was all she could do not to recoil. But she remained perfectly still. He was starting to get aroused; she could tell by the shallowness of his breathing. She needed that, needed the testosterone in his system to interfere with his thinking.
“You feel like a goddess,” he whispered. “And it’s been so long for me. All I did was dream about making love to you while I was away.”
At some point, he’d realize her legs weren’t tied. If he planned on mounting her, he’d expect to untie them first. She’d have to act as soon as his hands wandered low enough, but he wasn’t in any hurry to get down to business. He seemed to relish the anticipation, wanted to make a whole production of it.
She kept telling herself to ignore the way his fingers were caressing her nipple, the overpowering scent of his cologne and the breathless quality of his voice, all of which acted on her nerves like nails going down a chalkboard. But she couldn’t manage to lie still when he removed the gag and his wet, soft lips closed over hers, licking and sucking.
The second he slid his tongue into her mouth, she bit down as hard as she could, until she tasted blood, and brought the screwdriver around to stab him.
She wanted to feel the metal slide into his abdomen all the way to the hilt. Only then could she be somewhat assured that she’d hurt him as badly as she needed to. But she couldn’t get it to go any deeper than an inch or so.
She must’ve hit a rib!
She drew back to thrust again; she had to act fast.
He slugged her in the jaw before she could. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the pain of her bite and her first thrust, both of which had happened at the same time, and not a particularly powerful blow. She didn’t feel his full response until a second later, when the initial shock wore off and he realized she wasn’t only awake but free of the ropes and fighting to achieve her freedom.
Using the leverage of his body, he rolled her onto her back and pinned her right hand to the floor, squeezing so tightly she had to release her weapon. Then he seemed to fumble for something he couldn’t find—A weapon of his own? Maybe a knife or a gun?—buying her a few precious seconds before his hands closed around her throat.
He cursed at her as he began to squeeze, just like he had with Edna.
Unable to pry his hands away, Evelyn began to buck, knocking him off center just enough that he had to let go of her neck to stop himself from being thrown to one side.
She screamed for help the second she was capable, as loudly as possible, and she kept screaming and thrashing around, trying to reach the screwdriver again, or the hammer.
Even if she couldn’t find a weapon, if she could just get around him and get out she could disappear into the thick stand of trees she’d glimpsed outside.
“Shut up, you bitch!” he cried, and slapped her so hard her ears rang.
The fight wasn’t going well. She was losing, and she knew it. It was only a matter of time before he subdued her again. And then what would she do? She’d already sprung her surprise, knew she would never have another chance, not now that he understood how determined she was to get away.
“I’ve got a gun! Do you want me to kill your baby?” he yelled. “Kill you? Here I am offering to love you, to pleasure you. And this is what I get. Haven’t I been good to you?” he railed, and, shaking her like a rag doll, started to choke her again.
Stars danced before Evelyn’s eyes. He’d mentioned a gun. That had to be what he’d been searching for before. If only she could find it.
In order to do that, however, she had to get him off her.
Although she clawed at his hands, his arms and his face, it was no good. She was growing weaker, could feel herself losing consciousness.
And then, suddenly, the pressure eased. He grabbed something from the floor not far away—she was pretty sure it was indeed the gun he’d mentioned—and jumped off her.
She gasped for breath, filling her lungs with air. Her eyes were watering, and her limbs felt like rubber.
Why hadn’t he shot her? Where had he gone?
It took several moments before she could think straight, which turned out to be a tragedy. Had she been able to gather her wits sooner, she might’ve had another chance to escape. But it wasn’t until Bishop slammed the back doors, jumped into the driver’s seat and revved the engine that she realized he’d been interrupted.
Someone else had come upon them. In her short-term memory, she could recall hearing voices: Hey, what are you doing out here? What’s going on?
She screamed and banged on the walls of the van, but she was afraid whoever it was—Hunters? The police? A nearby home or cabin owner?—couldn’t hear her.
And then the chance was gone.
She fell back, rolling into the opposite wall as Bishop put the transmission in gear, backed up so fast it caused the van to sway from side to side and took off, the tires bouncing over boulders and ruts as he drove relentlessly away.
Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:20 a.m. AKDT
Bishop could feel something wet soaking his shirt and knew it was blood. The bitch had stabbed him! He didn’t know what she’d used. He’d been too frantic to pay attention to it in those rage-filled seconds immediately after. But he was hurting, and it was her fault. He’d also injured his lame leg in the mad scramble to reach the driver’s seat and get out of the forest before those hunters, who were out spotlighting, no doubt—as if what they were doing was any more legal than what he was doing—could figure out he had a high-profile kidnap victim in his van.
Part of him worried he’d pop a tire driving out of the forest so recklessly. The van jounced and swayed, throwing him back and forth and making him gasp in pain, as he navigated the narrow dirt road to the highway, but it didn’t take long to reach the pavement.
As soon as he did, he made sure he had the gun he’d grabbed as he got out of the back of the van and pressed the gas pedal down.
Evelyn, who’d been knocked about in the back, was still trying to right herself, so he checked his rearview mirror for headlights.
There was a pair coming up on him. They had their brights on, which suddenly dimmed.
He didn’t think it was the hunters. They couldn’t have been close enough to their vehicle when they came upon him to be able to jump in it and give chase so quickly.
Sure enough, the other car fell back and disappeared from view.
No one was coming after him, thank God. He was in the clear. Even if the hunters had reached their truck or car by now, they wouldn’t be able to catch him. He doubted they’d be able to tell the police, or anyone else, either—not before they got back to the city. No way did they have cell service. They were in the middle of nowhere, not even halfway to Fairbanks.
Evelyn, however, was still a problem. She was no longer tied up and she had access to whatever she’d used to stab him. He hadn’t had a chance to pick up whatever it was. He’d been too worried about reclaiming the gun.
Turning on the cabin light so he’d be able to see her, he checked his rearview mirror. After attempting, unsuccessfully, to get out the back and, he supposed, jump onto the road, which would probably have killed her, she was now trying to reach him with a hammer!
He jerked the wheel, throwing her off balance and knocking her down. But he had to keep driving like a maniac to make sure she stayed down, and he was afraid it would cause him to wreck.
He had to pull over so he could tie her up again and check his wound, and he had to do it right away.
While he was at it, he’d knock her out with that hammer she was wielding and give her a lobotomy. She’d had plenty of chances to behave. It wasn’t his fault he was going to cut into her brain while she was pregnant.
He gripped his side to slow the bleeding and ease the pain.
So much for trying to be nice.
She’d just caused him the last problem she’d ever be able to give him.
Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:30 a.m. AKDT
When Brianne had called, it was just after six her time. Amarok assumed she’d wanted to talk to him before her mother got up. She was staying with her folks so they could help her take care of the newborn.
She’d said baby Caden was doing fine, and she seemed to be holding up herself. But she’d been understandably subdued and concerned, as he’d known she would be, about Evelyn—Lara too. Thanks to what was going on, Lara had fallen into a deep depression. The doctor had her on a high dose of anti-anxiety meds and was giving her sleeping pills just so she could get through the nights.
Amarok felt terrible that he couldn’t tell Evelyn’s family he had everything under control. He wished he could. But he had no idea how this would end, and he had to be honest about that. He couldn’t set them up, give them false expectations.
He studied the road ahead, searching for taillights. Every new vehicle he came upon offered him fresh hope, until he drew close enough to see that he hadn’t yet found the van.
His eyes flicked to the clock on his dashboard. How much longer could it take? He wasn’t getting to Fairbanks fast enough. What if Bishop was already there? What if he was too late?
Raking his fingers through his hair, Amarok struggled to fight off another wave of exhaustion. He wasn’t at his best. He wasn’t anywhere near his best. He couldn’t even think clearly anymore.
But he had to keep going. This could be his only chance to recover Evelyn and, God willing, their child—if their child was still alive.
He picked up his phone to see if he had cellular service.
He didn’t. That wasn’t unexpected, but he wished he could check in with Fairbanks PD, make sure they had their roadblock in place. Even if he couldn’t catch up with Bishop, maybe they’d stop him and put an end to this nightmare.
He contemplated the call he’d received from Shorty after hanging up with Brianne. Shorty had been so eager to tell him that Jasper had given up his information and named a particular warehouse in the industrial part of Anchorage as the place where Evelyn would be. But Amarok couldn’t imagine how that related to anything he’d learned himself, so he was glad he hadn’t driven all the way to Hilltop. Had he gone to Hanover House instead of Edna Southwick’s, it would’ve set him back by two or three hours. He would’ve missed finding Edna and receiving the much more valuable information she’d provided.
For all he knew, she’d passed away since, so those two or three hours could’ve made all the difference. Going to the prison instead might even have cost him the opportunity he had now of catching up with Bishop before Bishop disappeared into the three hundred thousand people who populated the city of Fairbanks.
Dawn was breaking. Amarok could see the sun rising over the tops of the mountains and was grateful for the light. Not only did it help him stay alert, but also if he did come upon Bishop, at least now he’d be able to see him and anything he might have in his hands.
That could make all the difference.
His mother entered his mind, his father’s words regarding his mother, too, but he quickly banished any thought of them. He’d said it before, but what he was going through was bad enough without having to address the resentment he felt toward the woman who’d given him birth—
He slammed on his brakes.
Mikita half-slid off the seat, grunting.
“Sorry, buddy.” He’d been pushing forward so fast, thinking he’d find Bishop on the road ahead and not pulled over on the side, that he almost missed the black van, only the back of which he could see, parked down a dirt road off to one side. It looked as though it had been spray-painted, that this was the van he’d been searching for, but he couldn’t be sure. It was almost hidden by trees. Had the driver pulled any farther off the road, Amarok would’ve missed it. And had this happened any earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to see for the dark.
As it was, he’d flown past it before the sight registered.
Had he caught up with them? If so, he had no backup, no help from Fairbanks PD, since any roadblock they put up was still several hours away.
He had no cell service, so he couldn’t alert anyone, either. And he had no idea what he’d be facing, whether Bishop had a gun or some other weapon.
But he was used to working alone.
After pulling into the trees a quarter mile or so beyond the van, he grabbed his rifle, climbed out and waited for Makita to jump down. “Let’s go get Evelyn,” he murmured softly, and motioned for his dog, who knew what to do from the countless times they’d had to creep up on hunters who were spotlighting, to follow him quietly and at a distance.