Pristine snowdrifts surrounded the squat cabin, and smoke curled from the chimney.

It was the most beautiful sight Mercy had ever seen. And as if the weather had decided to celebrate with her, the fog lifted, and they could see clearly in every direction. Eden had tracked the odor of smoke. Mercy had been no help, but after a few minutes of walking in circles, they’d spotted the cabin.

Thank you, Beckett.

Eden started to rush toward the house, and Mercy grabbed her arm. “Wait. We need to announce ourselves.” The resident of an isolated cabin wouldn’t expect company. Especially in a snowstorm.

They stopped about fifty feet from the cabin. Mercy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Mr. Dean?” she hoarsely yelled. “Nelson Dean?”

Eden took up the call. “Nelson Dean?” she shouted with the strong lungs of youth.

A figure moved at the window. Mercy waved her arms, hoping she appeared nonthreatening. The door opened, and a tall, gaunt, graying man aimed a rifle at them.

“Who’s there?”

Eden stepped in front of Mercy, surprising her. “I’m Eden Trotter. Beckett sent us. Can we warm up?”

The rifle dipped a few degrees. “You both women?” Surprise filled his tone.

Mercy moved from behind Eden. “Yes,” she croaked, pushing back her hood.

“You walked from the compound in this shitstorm?”

“We did,” answered Eden.

The rifle now pointed at the ground. “You said Beckett, eh? You in trouble?”

“Definitely,” Eden told him.

“Come on in then.” He stepped farther out from under the eaves of the cabin, his boots sinking into the snow. “You must be freezing.”

Mercy couldn’t move. Her energy was depleted. Eden wrapped Mercy’s arm around her neck and shoulder, hauling her forward. Every last ounce of Mercy’s strength was used to raise her feet and step. Nelson Dean leaned the rifle against the house and came out to help. He was close to seven feet tall, his face long and lean with a long, thick beard. Bushy gray eyebrows nearly covered his brown eyes. From what she could see, his eyes were kind.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“What kind of fool travels in this?” he asked as he copied Eden’s position by putting Mercy’s other arm over his shoulder. He straightened and nearly lifted her off her feet. “You must be on Pete’s shit list. What’d you do?”

Speaking was too hard for Mercy. Nelson’s open front door beckoned, promising heat and food and rest, and she couldn’t look away.

Nelson tripped, his chest jerking forward as a warm spray covered Mercy’s face and the crack of a rifle filled the air.

He’s been shot.

Mercy fell, Nelson’s body weight yanking her down. Unable to catch herself, she landed face-first in the snow with Eden beside her.

I can’t breathe.

Floundering, she got her arms under herself and pushed up.

Eden started to shriek, and Mercy stared at Nelson, her heart hammering in her chest.

The snow was pink with spray, and a large chunk of Nelson’s skull was gone.

Mercy fought to make her lungs work.

Still on her hands and knees, she had her eyes locked on the sight of Nelson’s shattered skull a few feet away. She tasted his blood in her mouth and spit, spraying more color on the white snow.

From Mercy’s other side, Eden continued to wail, her high-pitched words unintelligible. She flailed in the snow, crawling away from the dead man and Mercy.

Who shot him?

“Eden, stay down!” Mercy shouted as her brain came back online. Adrenaline pumping her muscles, she lunged after the teenager and protectively threw herself onto Eden’s back, pressing her into the snow.

Eden fought to fling her off, and Mercy leaned close to her ear. “Stop it! We need to get inside and take cover.” The girl stilled. “Stay low and run.” She rolled off the girl and struggled to get to her feet, her knee trembling with pain.

I can’t do this.

“Don’t move.”

She knew the male voice.

Sean.

Mercy froze. And then slowly looked over her shoulder.

Ten feet away, the tall man pointed a rifle at her back.

“Sean!” Eden exclaimed in relief at the familiar face. “I’m so glad—” Eden cut off her words with a gasp. Mercy swore she heard cogs grind in Eden’s brain as she processed that a man she knew had shot another in the head.

“Hello, Eden,” he said with a laugh, pointing the rifle at her.

The teenager’s mouth hung open.

Fighting an instinct to flee, Mercy said nothing, desperately searching for options.

There were none.

Although the temperature was freezing, sweat gathered on her upper lip.

The rifle swung back to Mercy. “Did you know you’re hanging out with an FBI agent, Eden?” he asked.

Pete told him.

“Yes.” Eden’s voice shook, but Mercy was proud of her for staying calm.

“Let’s go inside,” Sean said, indicating with the gun for them to rise. “And do everything I say. No fucking around. You run, you die. Either from my bullet in your back or from the cold.”

Eden pushed slowly to her feet, but Mercy couldn’t stand. Her adrenaline had vanished, leaving her weaker than before.

“Get up,” he snapped.

“She’s hurt,” Eden shot back as she bent to help.

“Yeah, I know. I heard about Pete’s punishment, and it’s been obvious over the last several hours.”

He followed us?

Mercy managed to get to her feet, facing Sean and leaning heavily on Eden, trying not to gasp for air as pain raced up her leg. Surprise lit his eyes as he studied her face.

“Wow. Pete was more pissed off than I realized. You look like hell.”

Self-conscious, Mercy looked away at his intense stare, and her gaze fell on the body in the snow. Her stomach curdled at the spray pattern of blood and brains. “Why him?”

“Nelson? Pete will appreciate that I got rid of the asshole. Now, inside!”

With Eden’s help, Mercy walked toward the door. A minute ago the open door had been a beacon promising warmth. Now it was a door to a prison.

What will he do with us?

She shuddered, and her hands clenched at the thought of returning to Pete. He’d kill her this time. I can’t let that happen.

The air inside the small cabin was heavenly on her icy cheeks. A woodstove in the corner churned out ample heat. The main room contained a small table, a chair, a bed, a rough sink with a single dripping faucet, and many shelves of canned and packaged food. A glimpse into a second tiny room revealed bins and food-grade buckets stacked to the ceiling.

Nelson was prepared for the winter.

He was Mercy’s kind of person.

He had been her kind of person.

She thrust the image of his shattered head out of her mind.

Sean gave Eden cuffs to lock Mercy to the bed frame. Her face pale, Eden secured Mercy’s wrists as Sean closely watched, snapping at her when she fumbled with the awkward cuffs. He held a pistol at her head, his rifle swapped for the gun.

Mercy shot a glance at the rifle leaning against the wall.

He saw her look and smirked. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Mercy sat on the floor and leaned against the mattress, assessing the bed. The frame was made of rough wood and bolted to the wall. She tugged at it and determined it wouldn’t budge.

Sean checked Eden’s work and then rapidly tied the teen to the other end of the bed with rope.

Once he was satisfied with the knots, he sat heavily in the chair and rubbed his face, exhaustion showing in the droop of his shoulders.

“What are you—” Eden began.

“Shut up,” he said coldly. “I don’t want to hear a word from either one of you.” He rose out of his chair and paced the length of the room several times, deep in thought, an intent look on his face as he mumbled under his breath. Mercy watched, wondering if he hadn’t thought ahead before shooting Nelson and taking the women hostage. Again his movements reminded her of a law enforcement officer’s. Or a soldier’s.

Eden leaned her head against the bed and silently mouthed to Mercy, “Now what?”

Mercy raised one shoulder and gave a slight shake of her head, feeling her brain and thoughts slow down. Her own exhaustion swelled and spread, taking over every limb. Now that she’d sat down, her body insisted on rest. She twisted to lie on the floor, her hands elevated by the cuffs, and closed her eyes, no longer caring what went on around her. She was warm, and both of them were alive.

For now.

She slept.

THIRTY-ONE

It took two more days to get a search canine on the scene.

The delay had worn Truman’s patience down to nothing. A car accident just outside Ukiah had halted the first dog who had been called out—the dog was fine, but his handler had a broken leg. After that, locating an available federal K9 team had been more difficult than expected. An ATF dog and handler were finally flown in from Seattle.

Two days lost.

Two days with Mercy somewhere.

Every agent and Truman were livid at the delay.