Patrick didn’t know anything about Alex Kinton. He didn’t know who was on that plane. He didn’t know why Whittenhall appeared to be one symptom away from a stroke.

Anger simmered and smoldered in his chest. Patrick had way too many questions without answers. He chewed on his cheek. What is the best way to get Whittenhall to talk? Good thing Patrick had bucket loads of patience. With a little time, he’d figure out what made Whittenhall tick. He’d caught the nervous glances the marshal had cast toward him. A nervous man was usually a guilty man. Patrick just needed to find out why.

Tim Reid stopped beside Patrick. “Still not talking to you?” Reid’s gaze followed the marshal. Even Reid was picking up the nervous vibes Whittenhall shot out like ammo.

Patrick shook his head, lips tight.

“Why’re they all fired up about that Kinton guy?”

Patrick shrugged and didn’t answer. During their initial meeting, Kinton had been terse, direct, and determined to get to that crash. Not bad things to be, Patrick believed. That was the kind of person he needed on his hasty team.

But obviously Kinton had made the early morning phone calls to Patrick. He’d talked himself onto Patrick’s team by posing as his boss. Ex-boss. All the facts and logic pointed to Kinton as a manipulative liar. That was not the type of person he needed on his hasty team.

Heat shot up Patrick’s throat.

Why? Why did Kinton need to get to that plane?

Patrick glared at Whittenhall still yapping on his cell phone. That asshole knew why. And he wasn’t telling.

“So what if Kinton’s an ex-agent? What’d he do, kill someone?” Reid was muttering to himself, not expecting answers.

“He can’t hurt anyone out there. Everyone on that plane is gonna be dead. No one survives that sort of shit.”

“Shut up,” Patrick snapped.

Patrick hated that kind of pessimism. It was too early in the game. People survived out in the elements when no one should have. Patrick cut out the amazing stories and kept them in a notebook. Especially the plane crash stories. Children who lived even when their parents didn’t. Seniors with broken bones who survived nights of subzero temperatures. The human spirit was amazing. It drove people to achieve the impossible.

Patrick never said never.

It was his duty to hope for the best. He’d be letting down the people on that plane if he didn’t. They deserved every effort he had to give.

Reid hadn’t flinched when Patrick told him to shut up. The easygoing deputy was the type who let everything roll off his back. Sort of like the soggy snow was doing right now. The rain had turned to snow exactly at noon. Already the puddles were showing thin sheets of ice forming at their edges as the temperature dropped. The promised cold front had blown in with a vengeance.

Patrick glanced guiltily at the Madison County RV pulling into the clearing. His new headquarters. He was going to have a roof over his head while his team struggled in that icy shit.

“Hey, Gentry!” Reid hollered, and Patrick’s gut clenched as he turned to see a tall man shake hands with a perimeter deputy and then stride confidently toward him and Reid, lifting a hand in greeting.

Shit. Not now.

Patrick didn’t want this guy in the base camp. The newcomer was a helicopter pilot for the nearby air force rescue squadron and had assisted several times when Madison County Search and Rescue needed air support. Obviously, no flying could be done today. The wind and weather were creating near whiteout conditions in the Cascades and all helicopters were grounded back at the air force base. A pilot who couldn’t fly was a bundle of energy that Patrick didn’t need bouncing in his face today. Especially a pilot with a vested interest in the safety of the search team. Gentry would go ballistic when he heard about the suspicious circumstances with the ex-marshal. He’d immediately assume the worst for the security of the team.

Patrick pasted on a smile and greeted Brynn’s boyfriend.

“What do you know about that plane?” Liam’s forehead wrinkled in concern, nearly touching his dark crew cut as he questioned Patrick.

The pilot wouldn’t stop peppering Patrick with questions. When did the team leave? How long did he expect the search to take? Had he heard from Brynn?

Patrick shot a black glare in the direction of the US marshal. “I don’t know fucking enough about that plane.”

“I heard Darrin Besand is the escorted prisoner.” Liam dropped his voice.

Patrick’s eyebrows shot up. Darrin Besand? His skin crawled.

Besand had been sentenced to life in prison for a string of killings that went back twenty years. Raping and strangling women had been his favorite pastime. And he’d had no preference for age or race. No one had linked Besand to two-thirds of the killings until he’d confessed after his first trial. The killings were too varied. Detectives in eight counties and three states hadn’t realized they were looking for the same man.

After his arrest, the killer had become a media sensation when he’d started communicating with a Portland television reporter via mail. He’d made her his confidant, offering her exclusives in exchange for getting his stories on TV. Regan Simmons was young, beautiful, and searching for her big break to get out of the Portland television market and into something bigger, more glamorous, like LA or New York. The serial killer’s story had been huge, and Darrin Besand had offered her the opportunity for national exposure on a silver platter. She’d eagerly grabbed for it with both hands.

Turned out, Besand had been sending Regan Simmons mail for five years prior to his arrest. She’d kept the letters but brushed them off as coming from a nutcase who’d simply wanted attention. If only she’d taken his letters to the police back then… maybe there would have been fewer victims. Investigators had been furious to discover she’d had direct information from a killer with details about what he’d done to his victims, and she’d said nothing. She hadn’t believed they’d been true. Patrick slowly shook his head. What had the woman been thinking?