It was the end.

When Samuel had drowned in the neighbor’s pool days later, the coincidence had been too much for Alex to handle, but all he had to go on was Samuel’s rambling statement about

Darrin being mean to the dog. The police were calling both deaths accidental, but Alex’s gut wouldn’t accept it. Alex picked up a cigarette of Darrin’s and took it to a friend at the Oregon State Police lab. That single cigarette yielded a DNA sample that eventually linked Darrin to the multistate deaths of six nursing home patients and four nurse rape/murder scenes.

Much later Besand confessed to a dozen more.

Alex had led the police to a killer, but this particular DNA evidence didn’t link Darrin Besand to Samuel’s or Rosa’s murders. The police ruled the deaths accidental because there simply hadn’t been any evidence of foul play. Samuel had water in his lungs, indicating he’d died in the pool, but no bruising on his face or neck to indicate a struggle. Just like Rosa. Darrin Besand refused to admit he’d killed Alex’s brother and Rosa.

But Alex knew better.

Paul Whittenhall wandered too close to the media corral, and they stuck their microphones in his face.

“Sir, any word on survivors of the plane crash?”

“Have you heard from the search team?”

“I’m hearing that Darrin Besand is now confirmed to be on that plane. Do you care to comment, sir?”

Paul jerked at the last question and locked gazes with the female who’d thrown it at him. Regan Simmons. The television reporter from Channel 5. The rest of the media looked cold, tired, and irritated. Many of them had spent the night in their cars. But Regan looked energetic and raring to go. She and Paul had spent the night at the same hotel. He knew because she’d shared his room and bed.

He’d confirmed Besand’s presence to her last night with the understanding she’d keep it to herself until he gave the go-ahead to release the information. Now she stared at him, microphone thrust forward, a knowing smile on her lips and a reckless challenge in her blue eyes.

Paul knew he’d been screwed.

Regan had attached herself to him in the bar last night. All perky boobs and shiny hair and perfect teeth. She’d laughed at his jokes and tossed their respective jobs out the window, whispering that she needed to blow off some steam and she thought he looked like he needed to do the same. She’d been right.

The talk had been kept to a minimum. She hadn’t pried into the case, and he’d only dropped Besand’s name as she got dressed to leave. For some odd reason he hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet and had offered her a lead if she’d agree to stay another hour. Under the condition of keeping it to herself for now.

Traitorous bitch.

Now in the freezing snow, she stretched out a smile, subtly licked her lips, and winked. Paul hated his body for responding. Her arched, perfectly plucked right eyebrow slowly rose in unison with his cock as she silently informed him she knew he was hard.

Yesterday he’d tried to quash the rumor of Besand. Giving the usual line of needing to inform family before press. He’d tried to point the media’s nose in a different direction, hinting that the plane had already made its transport and was simply returning home.

He’d only put off the inevitable. If Regan’s station ran the story, everyone else would do the same.

“Darrin Besand?” One reporter nearly swallowed his gum. “When we asked yesterday, you said that was a rumor.”

“Is there confirmation or not?”

“Did she say Besand? The serial killer? Is that true, sir?”

The pack erupted into a chorus of more eager questions, excitement in their eyes. Some broke away to make calls.

“No comment.”

Paul stomped away, crossing paths with Sheriff Collins. “You can answer their damned questions.”

Paul rubbed a hand across his cold face. He’d fucked up getting into bed with that female viper and needed to step more carefully. His thoughts turned to Stewart and Boyles, wondering if the two men would have any success. Surely Boyles was as good in the snow as any of the men the sheriff had sent out. The tiniest flicker of guilt touched him as he studied the tall firs at the trailhead. The trees were barely visible behind the sheets of falling snow. Maybe he should have sent one more man with them…

No. Too many people already knew about Besand. And knew about Kinton. He should have locked Kinton up when he’d had the chance. But there’d been too many eyes on the marshal.

Paul’s shoulders twitched. He could still see the raw anger on Kinton’s face when he’d stormed into Paul’s office. Kinton had already been on leave several times, taking personal time to deal with the shrinking tatters of his marriage. Alex had been obsessed with Darrin Besand since he’d murdered his brother the year before. The police had been unable to prove that Besand killed Samuel, and that made Kinton furious.

Paul had tried to reason with him. “Besand’s been linked to several murders in three states. The guy is eventually gonna fry. Isn’t that good enough? You believe he killed your brother. Do you really need to hear it from Besand’s mouth? Can’t you see the guy is playing with you? He’s jacking off every time you talk to him. He loves jerking your chain and watching you blow a fuse. He’s never gonna admit to Samuel’s death because he’s having too much fun watching you get upset.”

Kinton hadn’t heard a word as he’d paced in Paul’s office and ranted. “Why is Besand being transported each time with only one agent as escort? The guy is solid muscle and smart, and he’s proved he’s dangerous. You know he’s gonna try to escape again. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” Kinton had pointed an accusing finger at Paul’s face. “Besand wants out and will use every opportunity to try. One agent isn’t enough for a psychotic prisoner like him. When we moved him to Salt Lake he nearly killed Cal Berry. Put another agent on him!”