“Look around, Lance. Any sign where he went?” The few raindrops had turned into a misty drizzle. It felt good now, but soon it would make visibility poor.

“There,” Booker said, pointing across the creek toward the rich, thick growth that bordered that side of the gulch.

Sure enough, a small sapling had been trampled.

It could have been done by a bear or a mountain lion. But it was the closest they had come to a trail, and they took it. As they went deeper into the woods, it was obvious by the soil prints that a two-legged predator had come this way.

“You okay to go on?”

“I’m fine for now.”

Still, they went slower than she would have liked. She took out her radio and called her location in to Charlie. Charlie was on Miranda’s team and had ten years more experience than she did. Though filled with static, it was good to hear his voice. Charlie’s team was ten minutes from the Parker Ranch.

That meant it would take them at least an hour to get to the bottom of the Gulch.

“Charlie, I’m out.”

“Roger that, take-”

“Wait.”

Then she saw it: the shack.

“Miranda?”

“It’s here. I think I found Ashley. I’m checking.”

“Proceed with caution.”

She swallowed. “I am. Out.”

The dilapidated wood structure sagged with age and Montana’s cold, wet winters. The tin roof was rusted in spots, but unlike Rebecca’s prison, this one had at least one window.

Every pore of her body screamed, “Be careful!” He could be here. David Larsen, the Butcher.

“Miranda,” Booker whispered. He stood right behind her. He looked pale and was sweating profusely.

“You have to sit down,” she said quietly.

“I can’t. What if he’s there?”

“Be backup.”

They drew their guns. She was surprised her hands weren’t shaking, although every hair on her body seemed to be tingling.

Holding her gun with both hands, she cautiously approached the structure. Booker motioned for her to go one way and he’d take the other. She pointed to the window. He nodded, and she squatted beneath it, trying to keep her breathing under control. She was almost gasping, her fear bubbling to the surface.

Not now. Please, not now. Ashley’s life depended on her. If she failed…

No. She couldn’t, wouldn’t fail.

Slowly, she peered into the room. As her eyes adjusted to the near dark of the cabin, she saw a naked woman tied on a filthy mattress in the middle of the floor. Her blonde hair looked dark from dirt and blood.

Sharon.

The pain, the anger, the humiliation came flooding back, overwhelmed her, and she sank to her knees. Oh, God, why? Why did you create such a monster?

It wasn’t Sharon, it was Ashley. And Ashley needed her.

What if she was already dead?

Miranda took a deep breath and stood, looking through the window again. As she watched, she saw the rise and fall of the woman’s chest. She was alive. Maybe there was a God after all.

Then Miranda realized Ashley wasn’t alone.

Miranda was ready to shoot the man through the window. He was lying next to Ashley as if basking in the afterglow of sex. She’d shoot him and cut off his balls and stuff them down his throat. Hate and rage filled her and she lifted her gun.

She paused when she saw a glint of metal. She tried to see the man’s face, but couldn’t. He was restrained, tied with rope, his hands and feet bound behind his back.

The body was familiar. Dark hair. Beige shirt.

Nick.

He was alive!