A scream shredded the air.
Too late.
Bryce
Bryce swept his flashlight over footings that had once served as a cabin’s foundation. Grass grew high around the lichen-covered concrete. A white wooden cross and a bouquet of battered fake flowers leaned against one of the footings, the faded shrine of long-ago murders.
He’d called Perreth on the way up, once it was too late for the detective to stop him. Now he regretted it. Instead of helping, he’d diverted the detective’s attention, making him waste resources investigating a weather-beaten memorial and the foundation of a cabin that was no more.
Bryce walked back to his car. Maybe they’d already found Sylvie. Maybe it was already over. Taking one last look around the pine and hickory and glowing white skeletons of birch, he lowered himself into the car and pulled out his phone.
A scream ripped through the forest.
Sylvie. She was here.
He grabbed his new rifle from the back seat, thrust himself out of the car, and raced toward the sound. He moved quickly through the barren understory of pine and fir. But before long the landscape changed. More deciduous trees took over the forest. Their leafless branches stretched to the starry sky, affording more light. But brush began to crowd his path. Thorny branches of wild blackberry ripped at his jeans.
By the time Bryce spotted the log cabin, he was thoroughly out of breath. A light glowed bright around window shades and through small chinks in the cabin’s wall. A van parked in front of it, the same van he’d tried to rescue Sylvie from yesterday morning.
So he was right after all. Well, sort of. Only it wasn’t the cabin itself that was important. It was the forest. The same forest where Dryden had hunted Bertram’s daughter.
Val’s search for property owned by Bertram hadn’t listed this place. But there had to be some way he knew it would be vacant. Either he rented it, or… A sign out front explained it all.
Sami’s Sanctuary.
Bryce doubted it was an accident that Sami Yamal bought a cabin near Dryden’s hunting grounds. And that Bertram took advantage of it. If Yamal hadn’t been so bitter toward Bertram, Bryce might have wondered if they were in on this together.
Obsession layered upon obsession.
Bryce crept toward the cabin, his rifle at the ready. It had been years since he’d last gone deer hunting with Tanner, and the weapon felt awkward in his hands. It had never been his thing from the beginning. The great outdoors. Shooting things. He’d preferred boating and fishing. He was pretty sure he could shoot Bertram though. Just line up the bastard and take him down.
The professor never should have threatened Sylvie.
Reaching the door, Bryce leaned close to its rough surface and listened. No voices. No movement. He reached for the rusty knob. Tested it. It moved under his fingers.
One…
Two…
Three…
Bryce twisted the doorknob and shoved. He lunged into the cabin, rifle at his shoulder, and swept the small space with his gun. A kitchen filled one side of the room, furnished with table, chairs, and an old wood stove. A battered couch lined the opposite wall.
Vacant.
He focused on an open door. Bathroom? Bedroom?
Stepping as quietly as he could, he inched to the side until he could see inside. Two twin beds lined the walls, mattresses bare except for a shabby pillow on each. Ropes tangled from bed frames. And on the floor lay the shredded remnants of a bridal gown.
The scream he’d heard must have come from outside.
The hunt had already begun.
Val
“You missed the turn.” Val said, watching the green road sign slip into the darkness behind Stan Perreth’s car.
The detective gave her a dismissive glance. “Did not.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“I’m going a different way.”
“Why, you felt like taking a long cut?”
Perreth grunted. “This is probably a wild goose chase, you know. That cabin was torn down years ago.”
“Then why did you insist on coming with me?”
At least two miles hummed under the tires before he answered. “I thought it would give us, you know…”
Val tensed. “No. I don’t know.”
“Some time together.”
“Are you nuts, Stan? I explained this to you. I’m engaged.”
“You didn’t say happily engaged. That’s a tell.”
Val rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. “Are you really going to make me come out and say it?
“Say what?”
“It’s not going to happen, Stan.”
“Then why lead me on?”
“Lead you on?” Val shook her head. She could see now that there was no winning for her here. Stan would insist she was into him until she offended him, and then he’d be angry. She’d tried to navigate this mine field plenty of times before. It always led to an explosion. “Let’s focus on the case.”
“I told you, the cabin isn’t there anymore.”
“Bryce thinks there’s something to it. I’m inclined to believe him.”
“Over believing me?”
“I got it. The cabin isn’t there. I believe you. But if Bertram is our man, and he’s trying to pay Dryden back, it makes sense that he’d come here. He wasn’t at his properties. He hasn’t used his credit card. And I didn’t ask you to come up. I just didn’t want Bryce to have to handle it alone, just in case he’s right. He’s no cop.”
“Neither are you.”
He didn’t have to remind her, but Val didn’t see the upside to pointing that out.
But Stan wasn’t finished. “Where did he keep Diana Gale all this time? The trunk of his car? It’s not logical to drive all the way up here when he doesn’t even have a place to stay.”
“Revenge has its own emotional logic.”
“Oh, I see. It’s a woman’s intuition thing. Hell hath no fury, and all that.”
Val fought to keep from rolling her eyes. “No, it’s more like crazy powerful witch magic. Turn here.”
He followed her direction this time. A mile later, they reached the road Bryce had told them about and took a right, plunging into forest.
They drove another several miles, the road edging lakes and wetlands, and delving deeper into a mix of evergreen and deciduous trees that gave the Northwoods its name. To Val’s relief, Perreth didn’t talk, probably content to just stew and think up new slights to salve his ego. Val was about to switch on the radio when a high screech pierced the quiet.
“Was that an owl?” Perreth asked.
Val brushed her hand along the holster at her waist that held her personal weapon, reassuring herself it was there. “That sounded like a scream.”
Sylvie
Sylvie raced in the direction of the scream.
She spotted them on the clearing’s edge. Diana knelt in the tall grass. Bertram stood over her, his fist tangled in her hair. A knife blade gleamed in his hand. The rifle was slung across his shoulder.
Adrenaline slammed through Sylvie so hard she felt dizzy. She wanted to scream, launch herself at him, rip out his eyes with her fingernails. But she had to be smart about this. One slash of the blade, and Diana would be dead. And if he decided to use the rifle…
Sylvie gripped the branch, her palms sweaty, and circled toward them through the edge of the woods. She moved as fast as she dared. Creeping up behind him, she raised the branch to her shoulder.
He was five steps away.
Four.