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By lunchtime, the backup from Salt Lake City had arrived, three dark SUVs and a tactical van, a complement of young, hardy agents with grim looks on their faces.

Windermere called a team meeting in the diner, brought the Bureau newcomers in with Kerry Finley, Agents Wasserman and Mundall, the Flathead County deputies. She and Stevens outlined the situation, the rest of the terrain. Sent a couple of the younger deputies to establish a checkpoint ten miles up the highway to Stryker, a couple more down to Lupfer, ten miles south. Dispatched most of the agents and the rest of the deputies east to the North Fork Flathead Valley, the Nicola Creek area in particular.

“Focus on the creek, but spread up and down the valley,” Stevens told them. “Stay out of sight as best you can. Keep your eyes open, and we’ll try to flush him out to you.”

“And stay warm. Stay dry,” Windermere added. “It gets a little nippy when the sun goes down.”

Finley lingered behind. “I thought I should say my good-byes now,” she said, kind of sheepish. “Seeing as how there’s a lull in the storm.”

Windermere frowned, and Finley caught her expression, explained: “Feds are here. Flathead County’s on scene, and according to Sheriff Parsons, we’re out of our jurisdiction. My boss seems to think you all have this case under control.”

“The problem with bosses,” Windermere said. “Sometimes they don’t know their head from their ass. Unbelievable.”

“I can stick around for the rest of the day,” Finley told them. “But the sheriff wants me working a drug case in Eureka first thing tomorrow morning, and he’s strongly suggesting I sleep on Lincoln County soil tonight. So . . .” She held up her hands. “You feds have something to keep me busy until nightfall?”

Stevens gestured down to his map. “Have a seat, Deputy,” he said. “I want to run something by you.”

They set Finley running patrol on US-93, the highway south to Whitefish and north to the Canadian border.

“I’m almost certain Hurley’s headed east,” Stevens told the deputy, “but he’s doubled back on us before.”

Finley rubbed her chin. “I see where you’re going. Hate to get caught with our pants down.”

“We have checkpoints on the highway north, here, at Stryker,” Windermere said, pointing, “and south, here, at Lupfer. But we’re shorthanded at the southern end. We need an experienced hand to keep an eye on things.”

“I can do that.” Finley studied the map a moment longer. Then she stood. “I’ll check in with you both if anything comes our way. If not . . .” She held out her hand. “Agents, it’s been a pleasure. Good luck the rest of the way.”

Stevens and Windermere shook hands with the deputy, bid her good travels back to Lincoln County. Promised they’d keep in touch, watched her Explorer drive off until it disappeared.

“Feels weird to be working this case without her,” Windermere said. “For a while, she was the only thing keeping us alive.”

Stevens knew his partner was right. He’d always considered himself an outdoorsman, but Kerry Finley and the rest of the folks he’d met in this part of the world had showed him how badly he’d been fooling himself.

Do you really trust yourself to track Hurley through this terrain? You think you can survive out there when the weather turns ugly?

Stevens wasn’t sure. He felt a heck of a lot better with Finley around, but Finley was gone, and there was a case to work. Stevens turned from the highway and met Windermere’s eyes.

“Let’s get a chopper back here again,” he said. “I want to check out that plateau.”

—

They flew reconnaissance over the Nicola Pass for the rest of the afternoon. Alternated looking down at the terrain from the window and through the infrared screen in the cockpit. Saw heat below, animals here and there, but nothing that resembled a man.

Finally, the light waning and the chopper’s fuel reserves again dwindling, Stevens asked the pilot to fly a pass over the North Fork Flathead Valley, where the Salt Lake agents and county deputies were on scene. The task force had spread out over about twenty miles along the eastern slope of the mountain chain, a couple agents and/or deputies every few miles, all equipped with night vision, warm vehicles, and all heavily armed.

“Stay alert,” Stevens radioed down to the units. “We don’t know how much ground this guy’s covered, but chances are he’s close. So keep your eyes open and try to stay hidden. He’s a very small needle in a very large haystack.”

The agents radioed back the affirmative, and Stevens nodded to the pilot, who turned the helicopter back toward Anchor Falls. Windermere caught Stevens’s eye as the chopper swung around, another day slipping away, the sunset a glint in her eye.

“We’re going to drink that town out of coffee if we keep this up, partner,” she said, and Stevens could tell she was trying to keep the frustration from her voice. “How do you feel about another sleepless night in a cracked vinyl booth?”

Damn discouraged, Stevens thought. That’s how I feel.

But there was no sense admitting defeat, not yet. He forced a smile. “I’ll take a cramped booth over that hotel in Butcher’s Creek any day,” he said. “At least Norma’s Diner has pie.”

Then the pilot twisted around in his seat again. “You all might be stuck in that diner a while yet,” he said. “You hear the latest weather report?”

The way he asked the question gave Stevens a bad feeling. “Not yet,” he replied. “You want to fill us in?”

“Snow.” The pilot shuddered. “Lots and lots of snow. Midnight, maybe sooner, these mountains get hit hard.”

“How hard?” Windermere asked.

“Hard. Like, zero visibility, ground-the-chopper type weather.” The pilot turned back to the controls. “Let’s just say I’m hoping we find this guy quickly. Come tomorrow, these joyrides are going to get ugly.”