The Siskiyou Mountains are a place of staggering beauty—and staggering secrets. The dense forest that takes up a large chunk of Northern California and Oregon is the home of a lot of good people, quite a few shady characters, and more dead bodies than anyone would like to admit.
There were places in these mountains that hadn’t been walked by a person in decades, mines that had fallen into disuse after technology had finally sped up and the railroad went bust, and old roads that hadn’t been taken care of in years. After all, there was no one to walk them.
“This is unbelievable,” Zooey said, staring numbly out at the valley stretched in front of them. There was still the scent of smoke in the air, and she could almost feel the heat still coming off the ground.
They were eighty miles into the forest, far from people, from homes, from any towns. This was the real wilderness: hard to access, hard to find. The small clearing that Cyrus’s firefighter friends had discovered during the final run of the mountain was not natural. It was man-made.
Their unsub had cleared these trees. By himself. One by one. To create the perfect burial ground.
There were seven Xs formed by volcanic stones laid out in the valley, marking each grave with a six-foot mark. Like a sick imitation of a headstone, but instead of the girl’s names, instead of giving them personhood, instead of honoring them, he rendered them nameless, voiceless.
Like things instead of humans.
Paul stared across the clearing. The floodlights had been set up and a forensic team from Sacramento was twenty minutes away, choppered in by special request.
Zooey was going to need some help.
“I’m going in,” she declared. Without another word, she marched up to the first X, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, and then a pair of leather work gloves over it. The group of firefighters Cy had convinced to stick behind and help gathered around her as she began to describe what she needed them to do with the rocks.
“You think this is gonna help find him?” Cy asked, coming up to stand next to Paul. “Or do you think this is just gonna really piss him off?”
It was a thought that he hadn’t wanted to voice, but there Cy went, being the blunt weapon to his more careful approach. It was why the two of them were friends. And why he really was the only person he’d trust with this.
“I’m pretty sure this is going to do both,” Paul said. “Look at this place.” He gestured around them. “This is his temple. As far as he’s concerned, he built this. He probably comes here to visit them regularly. You don’t bury them like this, with care, with markers, if you’re not coming to see them.”
“You should have the sheriff do armed patrols around the perimeter, so your pack of geeks flying in don’t get picked off one by one,” Cyrus said. “He’s gonna come back here and see what you’ve done.”
“I know,” Paul said. “We’ll make sure they’re protected.”
“You’re gambling a lot here, Paul,” Cyrus warned. “He’s got your niece.”
“I know that,” he said, his words coming out harsh. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what’s at stake here? But this guy . . . he’s had almost sixteen years to evolve, Cyrus. Do you know what kind of ego you’ve gotta have to take a girl and not just kill her, but keep her captive for months, maybe years? That’s a damn hard shell of confidence to penetrate. The only way he slips up is if it feels like someone’s finally pierced his shield. This . . .” He gestured to Zooey and the firefighters, who were making great time with moving the rocks off the first grave. “This is my arrow into his seemingly invincible armor. First cut’s always the deepest.”
“I hope you’re right,” Cyrus said.
“I’ve gotta be.”
By the time the team of forensic techs had arrived, the sheriff and his deputies had also arrived. And Zooey had started digging. The firefighters had moved on to the second grave under Zooey’s careful instructions as the forensic techs had gathered around her, awaiting instructions.
“Boss!”
Paul hurried over, steeling himself when he saw Zooey had uncovered the first body. His fists clenched when he recognized Keira Rice. And his stomach churned when he saw her hair, French-braided carefully along her skull, her plaits tucked over her shoulders, tied on each end with bright yellow ribbons.
Just like how Cass used to wear in her hair when she played softball. Down to the bows on each end.
He was duplicating her. Because he didn’t get to kill her the way he wanted. Fuck. It was so sick. It made him want to find a tree and punch his fists raw and bloody.
“Goddamn it,” he said. He’d hoped that maybe, Keira was alive still. Even though he knew deep down that it was unlikely.
“She looks like she’s only been dead for days,” Zooey said. “Hey, you.” She snapped her fingers at one of the forensic techs. “Go get one of the deputies. I’m going to need a body bag and a stretcher to carry the bodies up the embankment.”
She leaned back on her heels, staring at Keira’s body. “Poor girl,” she whispered, her eyes sad. But then she lifted them to Paul’s, her expression turning determined. “If there’s anything to find, boss, I’ll find it. We’ll bring Robin back and catch this bastard. He can outsmart a lot of things, but he can’t outsmart science.”
“Paul!” Sheriff Alan hurried down the slope that led into the clearing, a satellite phone in his hand. “Your mama’s trying to reach you. Station says she’s been calling nonstop.”
Paul frowned, taking the sat phone from the sheriff and hitting the receive button.
“Mom?”
“Paul? Oh, thank God. Where are you? I’ve been calling everywhere trying to find you.”
“I’m at a crime scene, Mom. What’s wrong?”
“Abby’s gone, Paul,” his mother babbled, her voice shaky. “She was looking for the dog with Jonah. Jonah’s got a concussion. He said he didn’t even see who hit him. And when he came to, she was gone. He can’t find her. I can’t find her. Everyone’s looking and no one can find her.”
Paul’s hand clenched around the sat phone, his entire fucking world coming to a freezing stop.
He’d taken Robin.
And now, he’d taken Abby.
Of course.
He was still evolving.
Still challenging himself.
He needed to prove he was better than Wells.
And two captives were better than one.
Chapter 32
“Abby! Abby! Come on, wake up!”
Someone was tapping lightly on her face, well, more like slapping her face.
“Please, Abby! I really need you to wake up.”
She blinked. God, her head was killing her. She tried to swallow, and her mouth was so dry she sputtered, her tongue feeling like a wad of dry cotton in her mouth. Her vision swam, blurry and indistinct, until the brown-and-cream blur looming over her came into focus.
“Robin,” she croaked out, trying to sit up too fast and nearly throwing up in the process. The world flipped upside down and tilted, the rough brown walls of the . . . where were they?
“Sit up slow,” Robin encouraged her. “Whatever he gives you makes you feel like crap at first. But it wears off quick.”
The teenager helped Abby sit up, leaning against one of the wood walls of the room—no, it was a shed. A windowless one. There was a stinking bucket in the corner and a thin, bare mattress against the far wall.
And a giant, brown-red stain on the concrete floor.
Abby sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the stain. Robin’s eyes flew to the spot and the girl’s throat clicked as she swallowed.
“I know,” she said. “Don’t look at it. Abby, did you see who took you?”
Abby’s eyes widened. “You haven’t seen him?” He’d had Robin for two days. Surely she’d seen something in that time. How were they going to get out of here?
Robin shook her head, pointing to the steel door, which had what looked like a flap welded to the bottom. “He shoves food through there twice a day.”
“What happened, Robin?” Abby asked. “What can you remember?”