When that was accomplished he’d start his life over. Concentrate on his computer game development. It had always been a hobby. An excellent-paying hobby. He had no worries about retirement, and he’d always enjoyed it better than the security programs he wrote. Could he stick to it as a career?

Most definitely. He stood straighter.

His life wasn’t completely about Darrin Besand. Not quite.

But Besand had been his primary focus for two years. Especially the last year. That couldn’t be healthy, so much negativity flowing through his brain and heart. He’d spent the last year getting as close as possible to the scumbag. Visiting him in prison and following him to different states as he stood trial for his crimes. They’d developed a sort of sick repartee. Alex had nearly begged for any crumbs of information Darrin would drop about his crimes that Alex could pass along to detectives. Darrin had always gloated, feeding off Alex’s pain.

Darrin had revealed the hiding places of two female bodies in Arizona during one particularly upsetting exchange. For those women Alex had traded stories of his wife’s dislike of Samuel, ripping open fresh emotional wounds to bleed all over the prison floor. But Alex’s suffering was worth it. If he could alleviate the pain of other families then he’d gladly sacrifice some time being mentally poked at by a killer. It was almost as if he was seeking absolution for not listening to Samuel, for not letting him live in his home. Yes, he was experiencing mental and emotional pain through the process, but helping solve Darrin’s other crimes made it worth it.

But each session’s aftermath was hard.

Alex had to shower for extended periods of time after being in the same room with the killer. Or swim in his hotel’s pool. Lots of chlorine seemed to destroy the stench of Darrin’s ego. But nothing had completely helped with the cling of despair that swamped Alex after those meetings.

“Christ. It’s not the end of the world.” Jim was staring at him, studying his face.

Alex jerked. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

Alex met Jim’s gaze, but there was no pity, only strength.

“Besand’s last assumed victim was a male. I remember it. I also remember the vic’s brother was instrumental in getting Besand arrested. Something about DNA evidence even though it didn’t link Besand to that last murder. You were all over the news for a while. No wonder Sheriff Collins thought you looked familiar when you first met.”

“It was nothing.” Alex looked away.

“You probably stopped Besand from killing a lot of other people.”

I didn’t stop him soon enough. His gut wrenched as looked back to Jim, silently transmitting those words.

“I’m sorry about your brother, Alex.”

Now pity did flash in Jim’s eyes. Alex turned away from him and started back up the hill. He said over his shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’ll tell Brynn the truth.”

“Hang on. I want to get these guys’ IDs. There’s a chance we might not be back.”

Jim ducked back into the cockpit while Alex waited. He could help Jim get the pilots’ drivers’ licenses, but he really didn’t want to go back in there. Breathing was difficult. The cockpit was so tiny and those bodies…

“Alex! Come look at this!”

Jim sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach. Alex’s teeth ground as he whirled around and took two leaping steps back to the cockpit.

He knew it would be bad.

Paul Whittenhall’s mood was black.

The damn rescue team was unreachable. He hadn’t heard a word from his own two-man team, and Regan Simmons had spent the night with the cameraman from CNN.

Paul had been awake most of the night expecting her to call or knock on his door, and she hadn’t done either. After the dirty looks he’d shot her at yesterday’s press conference because of her comments about Darrin Besand on the plane, what’d he expect? If looks could kill, she’d be slaughtered. And he thought she’d return to his bed?

How stupid was he?

Two new deputy marshals were manning the outpost from Antarctica with him. He didn’t know either very well. They were new to Oregon and not men he considered part of his inner circle. He gave them strict instructions not to talk to anyone, especially media, and left them alone. They’d spent most of the time in one of the federal SUVs. They’d tried to hide their DVD player, but Paul had seen it and knew they were watching one of the Die Hard movies.

He glanced at the black Suburban. One of the men threw his head back and laughed at something on-screen. Paul wanted to strangle him out of sheer boredom and stress. But there was nothing else for the men to do. Why not watch a movie?

Paul stomped around the vehicles. He’d made a path over the last few hours and continued to stomp down the fresh snow as it fell. Every few laps he’d stop and brush the snow off his own Suburban. And a few other cars. He had too much restless energy. If he were a decade younger and knew the slightest bit about winter survival he would’ve gone in after Kinton. He had too much to lose if Kinton and Besand crossed paths now.

Besand had to be dead.

“Whittenhall!”

Paul turned at the voice of the sheriff.

Sheriff Collins looked tired. The skin around his eyes was tight, like it was tired of holding open the lids. His mouth was pressed closed so firmly his lips were nearly hidden.

“Sheriff?”

Collins glanced over Paul’s shoulder at the Suburban with the two agents inside. “They watching anything good?”