Chapter 35

She'd definitely gotten the best footage of the night. Rachel Raprenzi sloshed through the icy mud puddles to reach her vehicle, her heart absolutely singing. She was the only reporter to have hung out in the right spot for so many fucking freezing hours, and it had paid off.

Her cameraman, a solid guy named Roger, had perfectly captured the moment when Huck Rivers carried one of the rescued girls out of the woods, his faithful dog at his side.

Yeah, she'd pretty much accused him of being a serial killer, but the contrast between his dark hour and his hero moment would make for excellent copy. She wanted to do a little dance, but there were still emergency personnel around removing crime scene tape and putting away gear. It turned out the five girls had just gotten lost and had hunkered down in a makeshift shelter until Huck and the dog had found them.

Rachel had pressed close to get an interview, but Huck had told her "No comment." She couldn't decide whether he was friend or foe, but angry makeup sex had always been the best, so she held high hopes.

"Excellent footage. We streamed it live," Roger said, jogging up to her side. He put his camera equipment safely in his van.

She high-fived him, uncaring of the rain drilling into them both. Since she was no longer on camera, she'd ditched the umbrella and now just wore a hood over her head. "I'm freezing. I may spend the next three hours in a hot shower."

"So long as you are in the studio, first thing," he said. "You're actually a live witness to this. Do you want me to interview you?" The guy had been trying to get on camera for weeks.

"No," Rachel said. "I will tell my audience what I witnessed, and then, hopefully, we'll get an interview with Captain Rivers."

Roger snorted and wiped rain off his face. "You're crazy. You accused that guy of killing all those women by the rivers. He's never going to talk to you."

"He'll talk to me if it's in his best interest, or in the interest of the public," Rachel said quickly. And it would be. Rumor had it that Abbott might be dead, but she had a hunch there was still a serial killer out there.

She hadn't been completely serious in accusing Huck, but he did have ties to all three victims. It had been easy for her to make a case against him. Perhaps she should delve deeper into the investigative side of these killings instead of just reporting the facts. If she actually solved a serial killer murder, every podcast she created for the next month would go viral with very minimal effort.

Plus, if she could show Huck Rivers that she was just as smart as that stiff Laurel Snow, perhaps they'd have a chance again. "I'll see you in the studio later this morning, Roger," she said.

"You betcha." He turned toward his van, which he'd parked off the side of the country road.

She shook her head. While around her age, he would never attain the success coming her way. That was hers and hers alone.

The rain increased in force, so she ducked her head and hustled to her compact, which she had parked off the road away from the emergency vehicles. It was much easier to sneak up on a scene on foot than by car. The authorities always waved cars away.

She slid inside and turned on the ignition before blasting the heat. She hadn't realized how cold her fingers had become. Humming softly, she dreamed about the Pulitzer someday coming her way. If she had to destroy Huck Rivers to get there, she would. Although she'd much rather reach that red carpet with him at her side.

It had been a mistake to ruin their relationship in Portland. But considering he was so dedicated to his job that he worked even when supposedly on leave, he should be able to understand how important her job was to her. Righteous anger filled her, but she pushed it away. That wouldn't get her anywhere. She had learned long ago that honey worked much, much better with Huck than vinegar.

She drove slowly on the pothole-riddled road for several miles, noting the storm becoming even worse. Sometimes a rainstorm was more perilous than a snowstorm. When would summer arrive? How wonderful it would be to have the sunshine again. She turned down another road, winding through the forested area.

Why would anybody want to go camping for a day and a half? Who cared about a stupid merit badge?

The truck hit her out of nowhere, zooming from a side road, smashing into her passenger-side door. She shrieked and held on to the steering wheel as her compact spun and crashed into a tree. The sound of metal crunching filled her head as the airbag smashed into her face and then deflated.

Her ears rang and darkness poured into her for a moment.

She blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what had happened, when rough hands grabbed her arm and yanked her from her vehicle. She screamed, fighting, trying to see, but the guy was too strong. He held her against a hard male body and lifted her toward a dark form.

He shoved her face-first against a truck and forced her hands behind her back, quickly tying them. She struggled, trying to see, but her vision remained cloudy. He pulled a blindfold over her eyes. She kicked back, screaming as loudly as she could, her voice competing with the wind. A door opened, and then he easily lifted her up and shoved her into some sort of crate. The metal door clinked shut, and then the truck door shut.

She scrambled around, flopping on her side, having to curl her legs up. The smell of wet dog filled her senses, and she burrowed into a blanket, trying to reach out with her knees. He'd forced her into some sort of small wire crate. She sneezed from the wet dog smell. The truck light came on, but she could barely see from behind the blindfold.

Then her kidnapper hefted his weight into the truck and slammed the door. He smelled like pine and the storm outside.

"This is kidnapping. Nobody has seen you. Let me go," she said.

He didn't answer. The engine was already running, and she could hear him move the gear shift, and then they started driving.

Terror filled her. "I'm not kidding. Let me go."

She tried to kick out, but the crate was too small. Then it hit her. She was in the back seat of a Fish and Wildlife truck—in a dog's crate.

"Huck?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He didn't answer but instead turned on the radio.

"Huck, I'm sorry. I did not mean to make you so mad."

It was the perfect kidnapping. He had just been a hero on her own show carrying that girl out of the forest.

Where was the dog? What had he done with the dog? She'd probably hear him if he sat in the front seat. Had Huck put him in the back bed of the truck? In the storm?

"Huck, you can't do this. You know you can't do this." Oh, God. Huck Rivers was the River Reaper and his last name was Rivers. He'd made a joke out of his own last name. He mocked them all.

She took several deep breaths, trying to dislodge the blindfold but failing. Her tightly bound hands were starting to lose feeling now. "You have to let me go. You can't do this."

He still didn't answer.

"Huck, the least you can do is talk to me. We were engaged. Remember?"

He hit the brakes, and she slammed against the side of the crate, her shoulder protesting in pain. He chuckled low, and she strained to listen.

"Huck, I'm sorry. I'll fix it. I promise. You don't have to do this. No one believes you're a serial killer."

He was being stubborn. She remembered that side of him. But she'd never been terrified of him.

They drove over several large potholes, and she bumped up and down, bruising her body against the edges of the crate. Finally, they came to a stop.

She shrieked as loudly as she could. Her senses sharpened as he put the vehicle in Park and opened his door and then the door at her feet. Soon coldness and rain washed over her as he opened the crate and wrenched her out. She screamed, and he slapped her. Her head ricocheted back.

"Don't do this. Please don't do this, Huck."

She was crying, trying to reason with him and fight at the same time. He easily hauled her over frozen ground and tossed her to her knees. The ice cut into her pants. She tried to remember what she had gleaned from the crime scenes. Had he brought her to a river? The sound of cracking ice came through the night. It sounded as if he jumped up and down on the frozen river.

She felt around for any sort of weapon. He hacked for several more minutes, and she tried to crawl away, but she couldn't see anything. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back.

"Huck, please don't do this. I'll help you," she begged.

A knife touched her hand, and then the ropes fell away. She tried to reach for the blindfold, but he slapped her hand. She kept her hands down. Okay, she might not be able to see, but she could fight.

Why had he freed her hands? Did he want her to fight the ice when he tried to drown her?

He grabbed her hair and dragged her toward the sound of bubbling water. She gathered all her strength and pivoted on the ice, kicking him in the legs. He grunted and fell, crashing next to her. She punched out as hard as she could, connecting with soft tissue. He howled. Was that his eye?

It had felt like an eye.

She scrambled up and ran, ripping off the blindfold as she went. He lumbered behind her. She could now see that they were at the side of a creek near a forest. Running with all her strength, she barreled into the tree line, cutting and pivoting and turning with every chance she got. She heard something crash behind her. Had he tripped? Had he fallen? She didn't care. She kept going, her chin down, running as fast as she could through the trees, trying to lose him.

Finally, she barreled around an outcropping and ducked down deep in a clump of bushes to gather her breath. She was freezing, but she was alive. Her cheek hurt from where he'd hit her.

Where was he?

She peeked out, watching. Only falling rain sounded around her. She waited for at least a half an hour. In the distance, a truck rumbled. Had he given up? Had he gone away? She stayed perfectly still as the rain beat down on her for another half an hour, maybe more. She lost track of time.

Holding her breath, she finally stepped out of the bushes. Her eyes adjusted to the dark night. If she followed the river the way it flowed, she would eventually reach safety. Ducking her head, she kept moving, stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other. Shock tried to take her, but she staved it off.

How could Huck Rivers be a serial killer? How could she have missed that in him?

She soon came upon a series of cabins that had been closed for the winter. Her breath catching, she continued on until she saw lights in a larger home beside the river. She tripped several times but made it down the long driveway to the front door, where she started pounding. After a while, lights flicked on inside, and then the door opened to reveal an elderly couple in warm-looking bathrobes.

"Help," she said. "I need help." And she fell into their house.