“Only one call came in, and it’s not unusual to hear shots out in a rural area.”

“True. But why are you calling me? The Lake home isn’t in my jurisdiction.”

“Because first I called the FBI, but Ava and Eddie are still in Portland. Jeff said Mercy has been covering the case locally for those two, but I got her voice mail when I called.”

Truman’s heart sped up. “She’s gone to her cabin for the weekend, and her cell service is sketchy up there. I only get through about half the time. Is Jeff sending another agent out there?”

“He’s going to try.” Impatience rang in Bolton’s tone. “I know you’ve kept your nose in this case, and I’d hoped your perspective could help us figure out what the hell happened up here.”

“What happened?”

“I’ve got a dead body. Brent Rollins. He was shot in the head and he’s hanging out of Salome Sabin’s Subaru.”

The hairs on his arms lifted. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I wish I was. The Lake home is deserted, and I can tell there was a struggle here.”

“I’m on my way.”

A deputy escorted Truman on foot to the crime scene. At least the snow had stopped and nothing new had fallen overnight. After twenty minutes of huffing and puffing, they reached Bolton. Two county vehicles and Bolton’s SUV were parked fifty yards back from the scene. They must have arrived at the scene before realizing they needed to keep other vehicles—like Truman’s—off the property to preserve the tracks in the snow.

They got lucky with the weather.

From a distance Truman saw the victim in the car. His head slumped out the driver’s window. Truman followed Bolton to the Subaru, swallowing hard as he recognized Rollins even though part of his skull was missing.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Amen,” answered Bolton.

“Who shot him?”

“That’s the big question.”

“You said you checked the main house?”

“Yep. It’s empty. All the doors were unlocked, and there was food left on the kitchen counter as if someone left in a hurry.”

“Any missing vehicles?”

Bolton twisted his lips. “There are two empty spaces in that huge garage. I didn’t see the Hummer, but who knows if something else is missing. I put a BOLO out on the Hummer.”

“I know he has a black Lexus SUV.”

Bolton’s face cleared. “I didn’t see one in there.” He turned to one of the deputies. “Get the information on a Lexus SUV owned by Christian Lake and put out another BOLO.”

Truman stepped closer to the Subaru and looked through the shattered rear driver’s-side window. A chaotic grouping of groceries and blankets filled the back of the Subaru . . . as if someone had packed in a hurry. On the floor on the passenger’s side was a small pink hat. “Shit.”

“I saw it,” Bolton replied.

“Might be from another day,” Truman stated. “It is her mother’s car.”

Both doors on the other side of the car hung open, and a broken trail in the snow led away from the car.

“Where’s that go?”

“About fifty feet to that tree. It looks like they crouched behind the tree. And there is a second path where someone else joined them.”

Truman noticed how the trail from the Subaru was frantic and messy. The second trail to the tree was distinct footsteps.

“At some point they all came back to the road.” Bolton pointed at a wider broken path that led from the tree to about twenty feet from the Subaru.

Truman spotted familiar wide tire tracks on the road where the third trail ended. “They got in the Hummer.”

“Right. But were they forced? Did they go willingly?” Bolton shook his head at the possibilities.

Truman moved to the broken driver’s window, looking past the grisly corpse. Blood spatter covered everything in the front of the car: windshield, dashboard . . . but a large section of the passenger seat was clean. And so was part of the passenger door.

“Someone was sitting in the passenger seat when he was shot.”

“Agreed.”

“Salome?”

“That’s my first guess. The clean area is the size of an adult.”

Frustration filled him as Truman stared at the spray of blood on the windshield. “But we’re speculating. Was Rollins helping them or forcing them to leave with him?”

“My money is on helping. The Subaru tracks lead back to a small cabin where it appears Salome and Morrigan have been staying. There was a grocery receipt on the counter. It had Rollins’s name from his credit card on it.”

Truman had a moment of relief that the mother and child had been in a safe place. But the dead man in front of him testified that their safe place had turned ugly.

“Rollins was helping them hide, but did Christian know the two of them were on his property?”

“Christian Lake is also missing.”

Both men looked over at the Hummer tracks.

“There’s one more thing.” Bolton led Truman away from the car and up a gentle slope among the pines. Twenty feet from the car was another broken trail in the snow.

“The shooter.”

“I believe so. We’ve followed the path. It starts at the house, goes almost to the cabin where Salome was hiding, but then it makes a sharp turn toward the road. Right here it reverses direction and goes back to the house.”

“Do you think he was heading to the cabin but heard the car leaving?”

“It’s a theory.”

“Is Christian Lake the shooter or driver? Or neither?” Truman tried to keep an open mind.

“He could have been in the Subaru passenger’s seat.”

Truman thought it was doubtful but nodded.

“Another possibility is that the target was Rollins,” said Bolton. “I know the FBI suspects that Salome fled because she was afraid she’d be killed, but maybe she was the shooter here. Maybe Brent took off with her kid.”

“Shit.” Bolton was better than he at exploring all possibilities.

“What about Gabriel Lake? Last I heard, he was staying at the big house.”

“I’ve tried to reach him. I know he’s been avoiding all investigator calls, so I’m not surprised.”

Mercy should see this. Truman pulled out his phone and called twice. No luck.

Unease bubbled under his flesh at her silence. She’s fine. This happens every time she goes up there.

“Want to see the cabin?” Bolton asked. “Then we’ll do the house.”

“Sure.”

During their walk Truman checked in with his department. It’d been a quiet morning so far, and Ben had everything under control. Truman informed Lucas he’d be out of the office most of the day, but to call him if needed. He hung up with a twinge of guilt, knowing it was a personal reason that would keep him out of the office, not work.

He followed in Bolton’s steps. Each one was nearly a foot deep.

His unease didn’t lift.

For his own sanity, he’d drive up to Mercy’s cabin and check on her as soon as Bolton was finished.

One of the best things about Mercy’s cabin was the disconnect from society.

One of the worst things about her cabin was the disconnect from society.

In a world where everyone stared at screens all day, Mercy appreciated the forced break. Instant information was an addiction. Each time she came, Kaylie had several moments of frustration, craving the easy distraction of infotainment at her fingertips. Their cell phones rarely worked, and Mercy hadn’t invested in satellite Internet. A sin in Kaylie’s eyes. Mercy called it detox.