Chapter 13

This was not how she wanted to die.

Flynn gripped the rock behind the falls, her breath exploding inside her lungs, and pulled with everything she had inside her. Up, against the current, plastered against the rock?—

Air.

She clung to the rock, gulping it in, blinded by the water, the terrible thunder of the falls around her, engulfing her.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She opened her eyes, blinked away the water.

Somehow, she’d come up behind the falls, the water a curtain between her and freedom.

But she’d survived, and right now, despite the frigid water and the hammering of her heart, that mattered.

Pulling herself up, she found a small ledge. Scooted herself onto it, skinning her knees, bloodying her hands. Then she drew her knees to herself, clasped her arms around them, and shivered.

Last she’d seen of Axel and Parker, they’d been scrambling toward rescue from the sky. But her grip had given way, and she hadn’t had a hope of latching on. Please be alive.

She closed her eyes, the terror of careening over the falls still razoring through her, catching on her breaths, filling her throat, working out now into stuttered breaths.

Get ahold of yourself.

She opened her eyes, blew out a breath. She’d been forced to the bottom, hit the rocks, fought the pummel of the water until it pushed her free, curling into itself and bringing her with it. Blood trickled down her legs—whether from her hands or knees, she couldn’t know. But that rock had saved her life.

Now what?

Somewhere out there, people—Axel—were looking for her, she knew it in her bones.

Funny, Kennedy slipped into her head. Did she know the same? That Flynn would come looking for her?

Or had she just kept running, afraid, alone . . . into the darkness?

Flynn drew herself tighter, the thought tunneling through her. Clearly she and Kennedy were exactly alike, because she’d done that very thing. Run, alone, into darkness.

And yes, God had saved her. That truth exploded through her, and she gasped.

Maybe that’s what she’d been meant to find—not Kennedy in person, but maybe . . . peace.

The kind of peace that Barry Kingston had been talking about. “God says, ‘Trust me.’ He is not a God of chaos but peace. And when we trust him, we can know he will be with us, here in the valley or up on the mountain or even in the depths of the sea.”

Or behind a wall of water? Because the falls pinned her in on every side, crashing down three feet ahead of her, the power of it—and the thought of swimming through it—turning her weak.

Oh God, I really want to trust you—please?—

“Flynn!”

The voice sounded, faintly, on the other side of the veil.

Axel?“Here! I’m here!”

“Where?”

“Behind the waterfall!”

Nothing. “Axel!”

Another moment, and then his voice came from a different direction, closer to shore. “Okay, I can see you—are you okay?”

“Where’s Parker?”

“She’s safe. Are you hurt?”

She looked at her hands, then the shelf, and finally got a glimpse of Axel. He clung to the rock just outside the veil, near the shore, a red life jacket, like a beacon, strapped to his bare chest. “No. I’m fine—but I don’t think I can swim through the waterfall!”

“Listen, work your way over and then—just dive in. I’ll grab you.”

She sat in a pocket, and to move his direction, she’d have to cling to the gritty rock, hope the rush of water didn’t rip her away. But maybe—“I’ll try!”

Climbing back into the water—it stole her breath—she worked her fingers into the granite, kicking against the pull of the current. Started to edge her way over.

The water pelleted down, hitting her shoulder, her head. She went under, clawed her way back up, and scrambled back. “I can’t do it! It’s too strong!”

“You’re stronger than you think. Duck in and push yourself off the wall. The momentum will carry you out and I’ll grab you!”

She spotted him in the water, out of the churn pool.

Yeah, and then her momentum would take him down the river and over the next falls.

“No!”

He slapped the water. “C’mon, Sparrow! Do this!”

Her eyes filled. Shoot!

“Wait—stay there.”

Where did he think she might go?

He scrambled up onto the shoreline and disappeared.

Please don’t let him do anything stupid.

He returned in a moment, holding a stick. No, a paddle. “Listen. I’m going to push this through the curtain—I can’t hold it long, so I need you to grab it. I’ll pull you out.”

Right. This might work. “Okay!”

She scooted over, right next to the wall of water.

He braced himself, then reached the paddle into the falls, breaking into the curtain.

She flung out her hand for it. Missed. The action dislodged her from the rock, and suddenly the pool grabbed her, tugging her down.

No!

Her hands scraped the rock, and she kicked hard, slammed her head but scrambled up and came out inside her pocket. Free.

Her name rose above the thunder, Axel completely freaking out. “Flynn! Flynn!”

“I’m fine! I—think . . . I don’t think?—”

“We have to get you out of there! The lower your body temperature drops, the weaker you’ll get. I’m coming in after you?—”

“No!” The last thing, very last thing, she wanted was for him to die with her. But—“Let’s try the paddle again!”

He hesitated.

“I can do it!” Her voice tremored, but she blew out a breath. Another. Then worked her way back to the edge, the water fighting her. “Now!”

He had already rebraced himself against the rock and now stretched out the paddle.

She reached for it, but her fingers only skimmed it. Her end started to float away, caught in the current?—

She flung herself at it, blind?—

The water took her, forcing her under. But she got her hand on the paddle and held on with everything inside her.

Axel dragged her up, like a fish on a hook, pulled from the depths. She hit the surface, sputtered, but lifted her chin against the froth and got both hands on the paddle.

He towed her in with a jerk, grabbed her by the wrist, then dropped the paddle and hauled her body to his. “I got you. I got you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around him, clinging to him as he pinned her to his body.

His breaths came hard against her, but so did hers, and she simply closed her eyes, buried her face in his amazing shoulder.

A full minute, maybe more, went by, and finally she lifted her head. “That was so stupid.”

“Yeah, well, stupid is my middle name.”

“No wonder your brother called you Lugnut.”

He grinned.

And she kissed him. Oh, how she kissed him, practically inhaling him, her entire body, her entire focus, on possessing this man who had become light and courage and the partner she’d always wanted.

Wow, she loved him. And that feeling simply exploded through her.

And then, like the drop over the falls, his words from the forest came back to her.

“I can’t . . .”

Oh.

Oh.She lifted her head, breathing hard, the truth breaking over her.

He was Jack. The guy for now, the adventure.

He didn’t want her real life. And as if fate read her mind, his next words only confirmed it.

“So, no more of these near-death experiences, okay?” he said, and touched her forehead with his.

She forced a smile. Now wasn’t the time. “Agreed.”

But a chill had taken her heart even as he helped her to the rock, then pushed her up, out of the water.

He climbed out beside her. Shivered.

“Me too,” she said, trembling, her throat thick.

“I think my radio is toast.” He pulled it out of his life jacket, dripping. “Hopefully Moose is still circling.”

But she didn’t see the chopper.

Maybe because a shot cracked the air.

Flynn froze. No. What? “He’s still out there.”

“Is he shooting at Moose?”

Maybe.She got up. “Let’s get off this shore before he sees us. We make easy targets.”

He trekked after her into the woods, and she didn’t look behind her, not sure what to do with the slurry of emotions.

“I can’t . . .”

Really, she knew that. Knew it. And frankly, she got it.

Had been dealing with the same question ever since he crashed on Denali.

No, they were exactly Jack and Rose—a relationship both explosive and combustible.

She hadn’t realized how she was plowing through the forest, going deeper off the deer path, until he grabbed her hand. “Where are you going?”

She turned. “The same place my sister went when Wilson Bowie tried to kill her.”

He stared at her. “Wilson Bowie?”

“Yeah. Well known in the community, a fisherman, lost his wife, his second wife cheated on him . . . right about the time of the first murder.”

“But Parker?”

“She’s a little young. I don’t know how he got her to stop for him, though.”

“I do.” He stopped. “Hondo.”

“Who?”

“Sully’s dog. He was in town with the Bowies after a visit to the vet.”

She stopped. “Parker works there sometimes.”

“Wow. Call me impressed.”

“It’s my job to listen.” She’d started walking through the woods, her hand in his. “So, Wilson knew she was going to see Laramie. Maybe he saw her in town, picked up Hondo, and waited for her?”

“I can’t believe it’s him?—”

“I can’t believe I missed it. He was right there—on Sully’s fishing trips, he has the tattoo . . .” She looked at him. “I got distracted. Which you can’t do when you’re hunting a killer. And Parker nearly died.”

He stopped her, pulled her to face him. “This is not on you, Flynn. We found her because of you. And she’s safe.”

Oh, how was she supposed to walk away from this man? Her eyes burned. “Yeah.”

His hand touched her cheek. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

A crack split through the forest. Flynn grabbed him, pulled him down nearly on top of herself. “Seriously?”

He rolled over onto his knees. Met her eyes. “I’m going to find him.”

“No, you’re not. We’re going to run. He has a bolt action .270 rifle—it takes time to load, and he needs to be set and tracking us to get a good shot. Running is our best option.”

“What about your knee? Can you run?”

She grabbed his hand. “Keep up.”

Then she took off, jagging around trees, over downed logs, ducking under branches.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I hope so!”

They came out of the forest into a grassy field, and she scooted around it, keeping near the trees, glanced at the sky, then plunged back in.

“Who are you? Katniss Everdeen?”

“My sister and I spent every summer at wilderness camp in northern Minnesota. They taught us things. Like in the northern hemisphere, moss grows on the north side of a tree. And of course, the sun goes from east to west in the sky. We’re heading northeast. Didn’t you go to Boy Scout camp?”

He had kept up with her. Now he stepped ahead of her. “No. I did things like hunt deer and fish for salmon and swim in rivers—and that, girlfriend, is a deer stand.” He pointed to a wooden ladder that led up to a platform built against a tree. “Which means there’s a deer trail around here. There.”

She followed his point and spotted the thin trail not far from the stand. “Now who’s Daniel Boone? Good job.”

They jogged down the trail, and yeah, her knee had really started to burn, but she gritted her teeth against it because, according to her calculations . . .

They came into another field. Except—“Those are berry bushes with bear cages,” Axel said.

Indeed, thick berry bushes sat inside massive enclosures, reinforced with rebar and wire and wood, cloth over the top to protect them from birds.

And beyond that, as they walked over the hill, a garden, almost an acre of fenced area, with more rebar and wood enclosures.

Chickens roamed another enclosure, a dog lifting his head and rising to bark. Big and white, he resembled a sheepdog, enough to spook or even attack a predator.

Like them. “Good dog,” she said.

Weirdly, the dog seemed to settle, sat and looked at her.

“He likes you,” Axel said.

Something sort of shifted inside her. The action reminded her of Jericho.

The path had widened, and she spotted a barn, along with a number of smaller timber-framed houses. A path ran down to a large lodge, and gray smoke spiraled out of the tall stone chimney.

“Where is this?”

“I think it’s called Woodcrest,” Flynn said. “According to Shasta, it’s an art community.”

“Looks like a faith community too,” Axel said and pointed to a building with a cross rising from the roof.

They passed what looked like a school, with wooden play structures—a house, a climbing wall, a swing set.

They walked down the path, and beyond the barn, she spotted a corral with horses, and beyond that, another fenced yard with cattle.

“It’s like its own world, tucked away in a forest,” Axel said.

“That’s exactly what it is,” said a voice behind them.

She turned, and Axel’s hand tightened in hers.

A man stood on one of the porches. He wore a pair of jeans, a jacket, a wool hat, his hair shaggy out of it, a hint of a beard, and Wellingtons. His arm hung in a sling. “Can I help you?”

It didn’t sound like he wanted to help.

A couple children, maybe five or six years old, ran around the side of the house into the yard, chasing a cat, who jumped on the deck and into the house. They stopped by the man—probably their father—and took his hand, turned and stared at Flynn and Axel.

“Um, I’m looking for someone,” Flynn said, and despite Axel’s hold on her, stepped forward. “Her name is Kennedy, and she’s my sister.”

A beat passed, during which her heart decided to step up and enlarge, cutting off her air, and then?—

“Yep, I can see that.” He sighed, looked at the kids, back to her. “Sorry, but she’s not here.”

Flynn blinked, trying to take apart that sentence. “She’s not . . . Was she here?”

He looked away, back to her. “Why are you asking?”

“Because it’s her sister,” Axel said. He also stepped forward.

The man held up his hand. Then turned to the kids. “Go inside. Papa will be in in a minute.”

Flynn imagined they looked a little suspect—blood had roughed up her hands, and she had wiped them on her pants, and Axel was also still soggy and beat up from the rocks. Had a bit of a scrape on his jaw.

“We don’t mean any harm,” she said. “I’m just . . . I’m just trying to find my sister. I lost her three years ago, and I thought she was dead. And if she’s not, then . . . I’d really like to find her.”

The man stood, stoic.

“And I think she’s here. And I think . . . I think she makes these—” She pulled out the black sparrow. “And maybe she’s not going by Kennedy. Her name could be Sparrow, or maybe . . . I don’t know . . . anything. But she’s beautiful and smart and creative and brave and loves animals and people and—” Her throat filled. “And if she’s not here, then I need to know so we can say goodbye. But—and I don’t know why—but everything inside me says that she is here . . . so . . .”

He made a face, then came down the steps. “I’m so sorry . . .”

Oh.

She closed her eyes. Nodded.

“I’m not allowed to?—”

“Flynn.”

Her breath caught. She turned.

And good thing Axel had hold of her, because her knees felt like they could buckle.

Kennedy stood on the porch of the lodge, the door open, a few other people coming out around her. Long red hair tied back with a handkerchief, in a tie-dyed dress, wearing moccasins, her face tanned, freckled. Skinny but fit and . . .

Oh.

Oh.

And then Flynn’s knees did buckle.

“Flynn!”

Kennedy was off the porch, running down the path, even as Axel caught her.

“She’s okay. Just shocked,” he said.

Yeah, what he said. But she found herself just as Kennedy reached her. Pulled Flynn into her arms.

Oh, she even smelled the same—piney, with lavender and a little cedar and lots of crazy sunshine that seemed to emanate out of her. Flynn closed her eyes, felt her heart sink into rhythm with her sister’s, and tears ran down her face. Flynn put her hand over her eyes, trying to hold herself together.

Kennedy, alive.

No, she didn’t have a hope of tucking herself back in. She held on to Kennedy and full-out sobbed.

Axel came around her then, his arm warm on her back. Kennedy must have looked up, because she heard, “It’s been a long week.”

And then she started to laugh. It came out unhinged, a little crazy, but it made Kennedy laugh, and then Axel and not a few of the people who had come out to see the spectacle in the street.

She finally let her sister go and wiped her face. Axel put his hands on her shoulders as she met Kennedy’s smile. “So, that guy there told us that you weren’t here.”

“That’s Donald. He’s a little protective.” She winked at him.

Donald winked back.

“There’s a story?—”

Kennedy’s smile fell then, and her breath jerked as she looked past Donald, past Flynn, and then opened her mouth and screamed.

* * *

“Stay behind me.”

It was all Axel could think as he turned.

Because the truth simply blindsided him.

It seemed incredible that the Midnight Sun Killer might be someone he knew. Someone he’d not necessarily grown up with but who had known his family and maybe some of the others that he had killed.

“Dillon. What . . . what are you doing here?”

Dillon Bowie—how had he missed him during the rescue? But it all snapped into place now as the man walked down the street, holding a .270 Winchester, dressed in forest camo, a hunting pack over his shoulders, his face grimy, his hair under a wool cap, a smidgen of blood on his face.

“I think I nicked him,” Flynn said behind him.

Or the forest had slowed him down. Whatever—it hadn’t been enough to stop him.

And now he stood in the middle of the path into Woodcrest, his gun aimed at, well, Axel. Because he had stepped in front of Kennedy and Flynn.

And wasn’t moving.

Axel raised his hands. “I don’t know what you’re thinking here, Dillon, but this isn’t going to go down well.”

“Get out of my way, Axel. I’ve been hunting this girl for three years?—”

“It’s not going to work!” This from Kennedy, and Flynn was right—they were a pair of troublemakers. “I’m not going with you.”

“You are. You both are.” Dillon fanned the gun around the crowd, and a few of them gasped and stepped back.

“You can’t actually be serious!” Flynn said. “Every one of us sees you. Knows who you are!”

Axel stiffened as the man pointed the gun at him again.

“Really?” Dillon said, his voice low. “Maybe you don’t know where you are, honey, but no one here is going to say a word. Not when they know what I can do to them.”

Axel saw Donald draw in a breath, and his jaw tightened.

“Dori,” said Flynn quietly.

“He killed Dori?” Kennedy said.

“I’ll bet you wondered why that little girl never came back. She was tougher than she looked. Took me two days to track her down. Even injured as she was.”

More gasps, and a couple women started to cry.

“So, here is how this is going to work. I know this is a peace-loving community, and I am gonna leave it at that. All I want is these outsiders. The twins. And I leave, just like that. No harm. And I don’t come back. Unless I have to.”

He turned to Axel. “Oh, except for you. You’re a problem, with your new television show. People might miss you. So I’ll give you a head start. You’ll have to choose—stay together and die, split up and maybe one of you gets away. But not all three.”

“I’m going to have to decline,” Axel said.

“Not an option. Move.”

Axel stayed.

“Okay.” Dillon pulled out a bear gun?—

“That’s mine!” Flynn said?—

And he shot Donald.

The man jerked, fell, rolled in the dirt, moaning.

“Not dead yet, but I can fix that?—”

“Seriously! What is wrong with you!” This from Kennedy, who’d come out from behind Axel. She stalked toward Dillon. “Fine. Take me and be done. But leave these people alone?—”

And he could have guessed that Flynn would walk out from behind him too, grabbing hands with her sister.

Sheesh.

Axel gave Donald a once-over. The pellet had hit him in the shoulder—the one with the sling—but it looked like it had gone through the fleshy part, taking out a chunk of skin.

“Sorry, man,” he said and stepped up behind Flynn. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Flynn looked at him. “Stay here.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He scooted in front of them again, his hands up. “Dillon, let’s just . . . take a breath here. No one needs to get hunted?—”

“I’m going to let you walk past me and start running. I’ll give you two minutes.”

Axel had entered a Walking Dead horror show. “Dillon?—”

“Or I could just leave you here with Donald.” Dillon raised the bear gun.

Axel reached for Flynn’s hand, then Kennedy’s. “You said two minutes. Make it five—two is hardly a challenge for a real hunter.” He looked at Dillon, his heart a fist, pounding through his chest.

“Axel,” Flynn hissed. “What are you?—”

“Five. Go.”

Axel took off, pulling Flynn behind him. Kennedy picked up her skirt, raced ahead, past the barking dog and the chickens, past the garden and the berry cages, and then she veered away from the path, across the field.

Where on earth?—

Flynn followed her, limping a little, and he had a strong feeling who might be the pair left behind.

He got Flynn to the edge of the forest. “Kennedy!”

She was twenty feet into the woods and now turned. “Hurry up!”

“Where are we going?”

“C’mon!” She turned back, and Flynn grunted. This wasn’t going to end well.

In every single scenario of how his life might end, being shot in the back by the Midnight Sun Killer hadn’t even remotely entered his brain. So, yeah, he had nothing.

Except, well, he wasn’t done yet.

Kennedy stood at a small clearing, breathing hard. Looked at him. “Help me.”

With what?And then he saw it—a trapping pit. Layered with loam and leaves and left to rot in the woods.

Kennedy found the handle, tugged, but it barely moved.

He got on the other edge and gave it some oomph. The trap opened, and she let it drop.

A hole, maybe fifteen feet down. The bottom glistened.

Water. Clearly, the top was porous. And the bottom made of rock and clay, poor drainage.

A net was rolled up at the edge. Kennedy went to pull it across.

“The fall kills them or wounds them, and then . . . We need some way to get meat, and we don’t have guns.”

“You should get some.”

Kennedy gave him a look. “Help me get some leaves over this.”

“He’s not going to walk into this. He’s smarter than that.”

She looked at him, and shoot, she possessed the same green-eyed fierceness as her sister. “Do you have a better idea? Because thank you for bringing my past into my world.”

Oh.

But maybe that was directed at Flynn. Ouch.

Of course Flynn responded. “Hey. You’re the one who took off into the wilds of Alaska without telling anyone.”

“What do you mean without telling anyone? I sent my necklace out with Dori. With a note. How was I to know that Mr. Crazy Stalker would find her and . . . and . . .” Kennedy’s voice crumbled. “I can’t believe he killed her.”

“Kennedy—” Flynn started.

“Why did you bring him here?”

She blinked at her. “Seriously? Because I was looking for you! Because I love you! Because deep down inside I knew you weren’t dead?—”

“Of course I’m not dead.”

“You acted dead?—”

“No, I acted disappeared. I didn’t want him to find me—and hurt someone I love.” Her eyes glazed. “That’s why I ran away when he showed up with Sully. Do you seriously think I would leave Sully? I loved Sully. But I also saw this man shoot a wolf mother feeding her babies. And he shot at me, and I knew he wasn’t going to stop. Just like all those monsters you hunt.”

She wiped her hand across her cheek. “So yeah, I left, and I hoped to stay gone, and I’m sorry you thought I was dead. I did try to get a message to you. But I’ve been safe for two years. Safe from this monster until you showed up. Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?”

She let the silence sting. And Axel wanted to move toward Flynn, but honestly, they had no time. “Our five minutes are ticking away. I need you two to put this away so we can stay alive.”

“How?” Kennedy said.

He came over to Flynn. “Kennedy, your sister got hurt looking for you. She has a bad knee. And I need you to come over here and help her.” He turned to Flynn. “I need you to run.”

“No—Axel—” Flynn shook her head, eyes wide.

“Yes.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to finish this.”

She stared at him, her breaths thick. “He’ll kill you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Have you met me? I have nine lives.”

“I think you’re down to, like, two remaining.”

“That’s all I need.” He kissed her, hard, a hand around her neck. Then, “Go.”

“Wow, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Her eyes filled. Kennedy had come over, put her arm around her waist.

“Run, ladies. Run.”

Flynn nodded, then took off with her sister at a half run, half limp.

He watched them go.

Think.

But he’d already come up with a plan. Desperate and stupid, but maybe it could work. He threw leaves and moss over the netting, a couple sticks, more leaves, and then covered the open door with loam.

Sheesh, it was a neon welcome sign. Don’t step here. It’s a trap.

Still, he found a spot behind a downed tree and hunkered down. Stopped breathing, only his heartbeat in his ears, swishing.

In the distance, he could hear the women thrashing through the woods, a collective moose, although moose were large, silent animals.

These two sounded like buffalo.

They didn’t stand a chance.

Probably he didn’t either. He wasn’t ex-military like Moose or Dodge Kingston. He was a swimmer, not a fighter.

And that’s when he got it.

Plan B.

Or maybe the only plan. He scooped up a rock, held it in his fist.

Just in time, because Dillon the Serial Killer edged into the forest, holding his father’s old rifle like he might be hunting bear.

The man crouched, staring at the leaves and the trail, a regular tracker, then stood up and listened.

Axel hid maybe fifteen feet away, hunkered under brush, his breath tight as Dillon scanned the forest.

Dillon advanced, one step, then two, and then kept going.

Please, God, let me be fast.

Axel flung the rock through the forest, away from him, across the path. Birds scattered and Dillon turned, searching?—

Axel lunged toward him.

He might be his own brand of buffalo, but he was also a panther, and he cleared the forest and tackled Dillon just as the man turned.

Shot.

Missed as Axel wrapped his arms around Dillon, scrambled forward?—

They hit the net and fell.

It was deeper than he’d thought, maybe from years of accumulation, because the water seemed to suck him down—or maybe that was Dillon’s hold on his life vest. But still, they landed in the muck and mud and liquid, and despite the semi-cushioned landing, it blew out Axel’s breath.

He shoved Dillon away, fought for footing, and pushed himself up.

It was ten feet deep, easy, and he was treading slime.

Dillon popped up next to him and Axel turned just as a fist slammed into his head. Ringing, but he shook it away, rounded, and dove for Dillon.

The man was thrashing, trying to get to the sides, but Axel grabbed him back and threw his own punch.

Dillon howled as blood exploded from his nose. He reared back and pushed Axel away.

Axel treaded water, also kicking away. It wasn’t completely viscous. He could tread and kick, although he didn’t want to know what might be decaying in here, the smell rank.

He might not have thought this completely through because, yeah—no exit. At least, not one he could spot. He made the mistake of turning to search, and Dillon grabbed him from behind, an arm around his throat, and pushed him under.

He let himself go, dropping hard, bringing Dillon with him.

Holding onto him at the bottom.

He could hang here all day. Or five minutes—whatever came first.

Dillon punched him, fought to wrench free, and a minute in, Axel let him go.

Surfaced behind him.

Dillon was coughing, hanging on to the side. He stiff-armed Axel. “You’re going to die in here.”

“But the women aren’t, so . . . there’s that.”

Dillon stared at him.

“You should know that I’ve won records for my ability to tread water.”

Dillon swore at him and lunged.

Shoot,he’d hoped Dillon would play the long game.

Dillon took him down, on top of him as he thrashed and punched. Axel touched bottom, and his feet kicked bones—he thought they might be bones. Probably sticks—please, sticks. But he grabbed Dillon’s grip, shook free, pushed him down, then kicked him away.

Surfaced.

Dillon came up spluttering, swearing.

“All day, man. All day long.”

“You’re a cocky—” And Dillon finished with a long string of interesting nouns.

“Maybe. But I’m not a murderer. So I’m going to out-survive you and watch you slowly drown, and I’m going to tame my inner hero and let you die, because you or me, pal, and I can’t save us both. Your only hope is that my team shows up to rescue me before your boots and silly hunting gear weigh you down to join the other bones at the bottom.”

Dillon’s eyes widened. He turned and clawed at the edges of the pit. Dirt and rock. And every time he found purchase, he fell back.

Axel treaded.

Dillon shouted, then lunged again at Axel.

Axel kicked him away, bloodied his mouth, kept treading.

“Does your son know you’re a killer?”

“Leave him out of it.”

“How’d this happen? How’d you start killing women?”

Dillon was breathing hard, his grip sliding off a tree root.

“No. What I want to know is why you killed Aven.” He hadn’t quite expected the question to rise inside him, take root, to stir a feeling that scared him a little.

He could be a murderer too, if he let himself get too near this guy.

Maybe he needed rescue more than he thought.

“Aven. I don’t?—”

“She was my cousin. Fifteen. You shot her in the back?—”

“The camping trip. I remember—” Dillon smiled now from the corner, an animal. He stopped fighting the water then, treading, staring at Axel. “The girl just floated by. No one saw her but me, so I ran down the shoreline, and she just kept going. And she was tough. Good swimmer. She finally got to shore and just sort of collapsed there. So I went down and picked her up. And then I realized we were near my dad’s old fishing cabin on Jubilee lake, and I thought we could have some fun.”

“Stop.”

“You’re trapped. You’re going to listen.” Something dark flashed in his eyes.

A chill threaded through Axel. He’d stuck his hand into the darkness and was trapped with a river monster.

“She fought me?—”

Axel threw a piece of floating debris at him, but Dillon batted it away.

“And she was loud?—”

He pushed off, launched at Dillon, grabbed him by the throat. Slammed his fist into his face.

Dillon jerked, looked back at him, his mouth bloody. “But she?—”

Axel pushed him under the water. Wrapped his arms and legs around him, holding on to him as they went down.

Dillon punched him in the throat, and some of Axel’s breath leaked out. But he had plenty—enough to get ahold of his brain, to slow it down.

He wasn’t a murderer.

But Dillon had stopped fighting him. In fact, he went heavy and just let himself sink, all the way to the bottom. With the bones and sticks and mud.

Axel let him go, tried to push him away, to surface.

And that’s when he realized—the man had hooked him with the carabiner on his hunting pack—right through Axel’s life vest.

Dillon rolled on top of Axel, pinning him in the gore as he let his breath leak out, drowning them together.