Thomas and Brynn shook their heads. It was a useless question. Too much snow had fallen overnight.

“Maybe he parachuted out.”

“Linus’s gun and holster were gone. I didn’t find a cell phone either.” Alex spoke behind them as he stepped out of the plane, his face emotionless. “Besand was here when the plane went down. He might have lifted weapons off the pilots too. I can’t tell. But he’s definitely armed.” Alex took a deep breath. “I’m sure Besand’s left the area, trying to hike out on his own. He knows his way around the wilderness and isn’t about to hang out waiting for a rescue team who’ll throw him back in jail. I’m going to suggest you guys get Ryan and head back to camp. I need to stay and try to track Besand.” Alex paused. Then he slowly but firmly stated, “I can’t let him walk out of this wilderness.”

Brynn lost her breath at the vengeance in his eyes.

Sheriff Patrick Collins was outside enjoying his morning coffee and scone and watching the media reassemble in their corral when a small helicopter buzzed his base camp. The copter swung in low and thundered in Patrick’s ears before making a beeline up and over the forest in the same direction that had been taken by the hasty team. Patrick swore at the retreating metal, his appetite evaporating.

“Goddamn stupid bastards. They’re gonna get themselves killed.”

Tim Reid jogged over. “Who the fuck was that? Was that a media bird?”

Patrick shook his head. “Liam Gentry and that cocky brother of his.”

“Liam? He convinced Tyrone to take him out in this shit?” Reid stared in the direction the copter had disappeared. Patrick gripped his coffee tighter as a strong gust of wind tried to blow the paper cup out of his hand.

“They’re gonna get blown out of the sky.”

“Are you sure that was Liam?” Reid’s forehead creased as he tried to comprehend the airman’s foolishness.

“I know it was.” The two men had waved directly at Patrick before flying into the Cascades. “That was his brother’s helicopter. We’ve used him before on searches.” Patrick had used Liam’s brother as little as possible. Tyrone had a nasty habit of taking unnecessary risks. Both brothers were brash pilots, but Liam exercised a little control. Liam knew if he wanted to continue flying the expensive, taxpayer-purchased birds, then he had to know when to pull back.

Patrick took a sip of rapidly cooling coffee and wondered what Liam’s commander would say about this stupid stunt. Patrick glanced at the crowd of media, speculating who would be the first to identify the helicopter and owner and then get the information on the air. One night had doubled the size of the crowd, and they were getting arrogant in their questioning. Patrick had held a brief press conference at seven o’clock last night, deliberately after the early evening news, and given as little information as possible.

He rubbed at his eyes. Three hours of sleep was taking its toll. So was the silence from his hasty team.

They’re a smart crew. No one knows the outdoors better.

But why had Alex Kinton gone to so much trouble to tag along with the team?

The question was giving Patrick a headache.

Paul Whittenhall strode up. The marshal had retreated to a hotel room for the night, and had now reappeared with two men outfitted for the wilderness. Patrick recognized one as the younger agent from yesterday.

“Who was in that helicopter? Did you finally get one off the ground? Have you heard from your team?” Whittenhall stopped directly in front of Patrick, rolling out his list of questions. Patrick coolly stared him down.

“That wasn’t one of my copters. Probably a media copter. You left strict instructions that you were to be notified when I heard from my team, so obviously I haven’t heard from them.” He struggled to keep his tone calm. He nodded at the two men behind Whittenhall. “Where are they going?”

“I’m sending in my own team. I’ve got a marshal and a felon out there. I want people with experience on the site.”

Patrick bristled. “You’re only sending two men? You need at least one more to go out in shit like this. I’ll find another—”

“No others. These guys know what they’re doing.”

Patrick watched the younger marshal’s Adam’s apple bob. His partner looked competent and prepared, but this guy looked scared to death. The agent had no idea what the fuck he was walking into. He’d probably never taken a sunny day hike in an open field.

“I can’t let you send—” Patrick started.

“You can’t stop me.” Whittenhall turned his back on Patrick to instruct his team. Patrick opened his mouth then clamped it shut. He’d said his piece and Whittenhall rejected his offer. Reid had witnessed it. If Whittenhall came begging for help later, Patrick wasn’t going to waste taxpayer money on this jerk’s screwup.

“You’re on your own,” he muttered at the big man’s back. The young marshal’s eyes briefly widened at Patrick’s words, but Whittenhall ignored him.

Patrick put some distance between himself and the marshals. He needed breathing room. Reid caught up with him as he stopped at a sheltered table with coffee urns, scones, and doughnuts where Patrick warmed up his drink.

“Why’s he need to send in a team?” Reid complained. “We don’t even know where that plane went down. His guys are gonna be cut off from communication just like ours. It’s stupid to have two groups wandering around blind out there.”