Chilled (A Bone Secrets Novel) (25 page)

Jim looked over his shoulder. Alex nodded and stepped to cover Jim as he turned the corner and pointed his gun into the open back of the cockpit. Every fiber of Alex’s being strained to hear. The inside of the cockpit was silent. Jim motioned him in. The two men studied the interior. Linus was still stretched out on the floor where Jim and Thomas had placed him yesterday after he’d been tossed out by the avalanche.

“Has anything been moved?” Alex asked.

Jim continued to examine the inside, his gaze constantly moving and sweeping. “I can’t tell. The wind’s blown some snow in. But I would think there would be more. You know how windy it got last night.”

Alex nodded. Three-quarters of the ripped entry to the cockpit was blocked by a bank of snow. It had been totally blocked until Jim and Thomas dug it out. His neck prickled again and he swung around, his gaze tracking the tree line.

Nothing.

“Fuck this. There’s no one here. There wasn’t anyone here last night. If Besand was on that plane—” Jim started to say.

“He
was
on it. He took Linus’s gun.”

“Well he’s gone now. He left before we got here yesterday. And unless he found a tent or tarp to sleep in overnight, we’re going to stumble across a human Popsicle on our way out. More likely a hunter or hiker will find him this summer.” Jim kicked at the snow. “Let’s get back and get packed. We need to head out too.”

“You think Ryan is ready?”

Jim frowned. “He seemed better last night. I’ll see how he feels this morning.” A myriad of emotions flickered on Jim’s face. Concern, determination, and exhaustion. “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Brynn still believes you’re a marshal.”

Alex didn’t say anything.

“She might suspect something though. I nearly told her.”

“I’ll tell her.” Alex had never felt the loss of his job so keenly as at this exact moment. He had nothing but an inner burn to stand face-to-face with his brother’s killer.

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?”

Paul shrugged.
“Die Hard.”

Collins relaxed slightly. “I wouldn’t mind a little John McClane right now. Anything to get my mind off this shit.”

Paul nodded. The sheriff wanted to make small talk? He didn’t believe it for a second.

“I’ve just heard about that chopper that flew overhead yesterday. Remember?”

Paul’s spine tightened, and he nodded again.

“Was a pair of local boys. Both pilots. One’s from the air force rescue squadron up north. His brother flew the two of them out to look for that downed plane.”

Paul grew hot in the icy air. “Air force? You knew about that?”

“I know who Liam and his brother, Tyrone, are. We’ve used them before in rescues. I didn’t know that was them in that bird yesterday.” Collins’s eyes darted to the left and Paul knew he was lying. The sheriff had known exactly who’d flown overhead and why. “The rescue squadron didn’t sanction that flight. It was just two boys trying to help out on their own.”

“They find anything?”

Paul hadn’t thought it was possible, but Collins grew more grim. “They haven’t been heard from. They were supposed to return yesterday. No one can raise them.”

Paul stared. “So now you’ve got two aircraft down in those woods.”

Collins met the stare. “Yes, I do.”

“Any more aircraft going up today?” He deliberately drew out the words.

Collins shook his head. “Not in this weather. I don’t know what got into their heads to try to fly yesterday.” His eyes went to the left again and Paul wondered what he was holding back.

“Press know this?”

“No.” Collins looked like a beaten dog.

“Gonna mention it in your next conference?”

Collins winced. “Don’t know. Their families need to be told first. And those boys weren’t part of this process. They were acting on their own.”

“Looks like you’ve got another rescue to organize.”

Anger flashed in the sheriff’s eyes. “I don’t know that they went down for sure. I’ve got people on the phone trying to find them. They might be holed up in a hotel with a couple of pretty women, waiting out the storm.”

Paul almost missed the flicker of skepticism in the sheriff’s eyes. Collins was a lousy liar. That could be a good trait or a bad trait in a cop.

In Paul’s opinion it was usually bad.

“Let me know what you hear.”

“Will do.” Collins marched back to his RV.

Paul knew he was lying again. The sheriff wouldn’t tell him any information until it was absolutely necessary. He watched the retreating back of Collins’s parka, the big Madison County Search and Rescue name and logo clearly visible through the snowfall. Collins hadn’t mentioned Darrin Besand or either of the search groups. Everything was in a holding pattern. Until the damned snow and wind let up, no one was finding anything. He rubbed at his frozen nose, thinking of Kinton spending the night in the woods. He hoped he froze his balls off. Paul was still trying to accept the fact that Kinton had attached himself to the search group.

Kinton couldn’t have guessed his connection to Darrin. There was no way.

So why the fuck had he gone to such lengths?

Paul grabbed the broom he’d leaned against his truck and swept vigorously at his hood. Powdery snow flew. Kinton was out to get him. He could feel it. He’d heard the rumors. Kinton asking questions. Kinton nosing around, asking about Darrin and his transport coverage. If Darrin had left Kinton’s brother alone, they’d never be in this mess. Kinton wouldn’t have looked twice at Darrin, but Darrin killed the relative of the one guy who had the tenacity of a hungry dog staring at the last bone in the world.

Damn it.

This transport was supposed to have been Darrin’s last flight. But not in a plane crash sort of last flight. It was a last flight to get

Darrin off his back, give him what he needed to walk away and stay out of Paul’s life. If Darrin hadn’t survived, that was OK. It solved the problem. If Darrin had survived and crossed paths with Kinton…

Paul had warned Darrin, several times, to cool it. He’d known what Darrin was doing. He’d known his tastes and habits. He’d read about the cases in the paper, talked to the detectives. To Paul it was like Darrin had signed his name to his victims.

But Darrin had gotten away with it for so long.

And Darrin knew that he knew.

Paul hadn’t needed a reminder to keep his mouth shut.

He valued his wife and his expensive home. He valued his way of life.

Darrin could destroy it all with one sentence.

Alex Kinton could be the person to pull that sentence out of Darrin.

How had he missed
that?

Alex and Jim hadn’t been looking up as they checked the men in the cockpit. And they especially hadn’t been looking at the ceiling, but both men stared at it now.

“Could the pilots reach…”

“There’s no way.” Jim’s voice was flat.

Alex already knew that. “Yesterday, did you look—”

“I can’t remember. I’ve been racking my brain since I saw it. I don’t know if I looked up there yesterday or not.”

“It’s gotta be new.” Alex reached out to touch the blood on the ceiling. Dry. But dry from twenty-four hours ago or last night? Or this morning?

His hand shook as he slowly lowered his arm.

“He didn’t finish writing his words. Maybe we scared him off before he finished.”

“It’s finished,” Alex whispered. He couldn’t swallow. His throat was completely dry. But his heartbeat rivaled a rock band.

“‘A man’…that part doesn’t look finished. What was he going to write after ‘A man’?”

“A-man is me.”

Jim pulled his startled gaze from the bloody writing on the ceiling. “You?”

“That’s what he called me. ‘A-man.’
A
is for Alex.”

“You had fucking nicknames for each other?” Jim sounded ready to puke.

Alex shot him a level look. “I didn’t call him anything but murderer.”

“Did he ever say the other part of this sentence?”

Alex read it again. He didn’t need to. The second he saw it, he knew exactly what it meant and who it was for. “That’s how he referred to his victims. The younger ones, anyway. The nurses. He was particular about their looks. Took pride in his selection.”

He watched Jim’s Adam’s apple bob. His hands were in tight fists, and Alex didn’t blame him one bit. Alex was feeling like he’d been sucker punched in the head. Several times.

“He’s seen you up here. He wrote this for you. About Brynn. But he can’t know that she’s a nurse. How could he?”

Alex shook his head. “He doesn’t know. He just knows she’s beautiful. That’s enough for him.”

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Jim spoke through clenched teeth, but Alex could hear his panic.

Alex nodded. He didn’t know if Jim meant the cockpit or the forest. It didn’t matter; they just had to move. The men checked their weapons and turned to leave, but Alex couldn’t stop himself from taking one last look at the writing on the ceiling.