Maggie knew if she got in the boat it would mean leaving behind anything and everything that was familiar. She remembered Trooper Campos saying this forest was over two hundred thousand acres, most of it isolated this time of year. And Jack looked like he knew the terrain quite well. She wondered if there was even a dumping ground. Or had Otis simply made it up as part of the game to deliver her to Jack.

Earlier he’d had Otis pat her down after he finished with Tully, and immediately he found the Taser. Jack made a tsk-tsk sound and gave a slow shake of his head to scold her, but again he smiled, and this time he actually looked pleased.

He’d also taken both hers and Tully’s cell phones. But neither of them had thought to feel around her ankles. Not like the ASR spray would do much good. She couldn’t act quickly enough with Tully shackled to her. And she would have seconds, not minutes, to take down both men while trying to strong-arm one of their weapons away. But Otis had stayed back after Jack had told him “to take care of business.” This might be her only opportunity with only one of them.

“Get in,” Jack told her, throwing one of his legs over the side of the rowboat and holding it steady.

“And if I refuse?”

“Have you ever cut into human flesh? I mean really cut. Deep down. Maybe right at a joint? Snaps just like butchering a hog.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. She’d seen plenty.

“So why not cut me here instead of taking me somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m not talking about you.”

He pointed to Tully and the implication felt like a punch.

“He’s an asshole,” Tully mumbled.

“Get in the boat.”

She could shove Jack while she pretended to help Tully in. But what if it didn’t work? She was playing with Tully’s life, too, not just her own. Maybe if she got into the boat, then sprayed Jack with the ASR canister and shoved him out. Could she row far enough down the river that Otis couldn’t come running after them?

She eased Tully up and over into the rowboat. It started rocking and nearly yanked her off balance and into the river. The handcuff sliced into her wrist and Tully let out a groan, but he caught her. He conjured up enough strength to hold her up.

Jack just stared back at them. He shook his head again, and Maggie knew the opportunity was lost.

A scream made all three of them jolt. It was blood-curdling, wild and pained and definitely human. Maggie felt it all the way down her spine. Birds fluttered up in response. Even the breeze seemed to pause.

Demarcus.

Then Otis came thrashing through the trees, a mountain of a man pounding up the same path they had just followed. He was drenched in sweat, his orange jumpsuit splattered with blood all over the front where there had not been a splatter before. He was grinning like a madman and holding up something in his right hand like it was a trophy.

“You’re right. Ain’t nothing to it,” he said to Jack.

Now at the side of the boat, he was breathing hard and Maggie noticed he had Jack’s knife in his left hand. In the other he held up what had to be one of Demarcus’s fingers.

CHAPTER 59

BLACKWATER RIVER STATE FOREST

Creed had gotten Tully’s text message. But the GPS readings he sent were surprising. He would have never guessed the killer’s dumping ground to be in the middle of a state forest. But as Creed drove along the winding road he thought, What better place?

Bolo sat in the back, mouth open, tongue out, anxious and panting. Creed had gotten Grace home safe and sound and into Hannah’s protective hands. Unlike Grace’s, Bolo’s body filled the back half of the Jeep.

As far as Creed could tell, the dog was part Labrador, part Rhodesian ridgeback. He got the happy, tongue-lobbing attitude from the Lab part of him along with webbed paws, which made him an excellent swimmer. From his ridgeback ancestry, Bolo had acquired an unshakable bravery. He was hands down the best multitask air-scent dog Creed had, but he was careful about when and where he used Bolo. The dog was overly protective of Creed, almost to the point of being fanatical. The last time he used the big dog, a sheriff’s deputy had yelled at Creed and seconds later the man was flat on the ground, pinned there by ninety pounds of muscle and bared fangs.

In police slang, BOLO was an acronym for Be On the Look Out. Seemed totally appropriate.

From Tully’s text messages, Creed knew that he and Maggie were accompanied by two state troopers, a Virginia prison warden, and Otis P. Dodd. Though the prisoner would be shackled, Creed was glad to have Bolo along this time. As well as his Ruger .38 Special +P placed under the driver’s seat.

Creed found the two black Chevy Tahoes and sent a text to Tully that he’d arrived. As Creed gathered his gear from the back of the Jeep he scanned the trees that surrounded this small clearing. He had one last GPS coordinate from Tully. He glanced at the gadget’s screen and it looked like they were close by, yet he couldn’t see them inside the thick forest.

They were losing light and soon the rain and thunder would arrive. Right now the storm was a rumble on the other side of the west tree line. He had warned Tully that it would be too dangerous during the storm. He wouldn’t allow his dogs to be out in lightning. Tully had assured him if they didn’t locate the site before all that happened, they would resume tomorrow.

Bolo whined, excited and filling the liftgate opening. He nosed Creed’s hand as Creed loaded his backpack. Then he head-butted Creed’s shoulder.

“Bolo, take it easy.”

He glanced at the dog and stopped what he was doing. Something was wrong.

Bolo’s eyes were wild. The hair on the back of his neck stood up straight. His nose was working the air and he was already breathing hard and fast.

Creed stood completely still and tried to listen. Bolo looked as if he heard something. But to Creed’s ears, it was quiet. Almost too quiet.

He checked his phone. No return text message from Tully, but reception would be spotty in the middle of the forest. He told Bolo to stay still while he put on and buckled the dog’s vest and harness. He could smell the dog’s sweat and feel the tension in his body.

Dogs didn’t associate different scents with different emotions. But some large scents would elicit a reaction. A large scent could mean a cadaver exposed and in the early stages of decomposition.

Creed felt a knot start to twist in his gut. The other possibility for a large scent would be blood—fresh blood and lots of it.

CHAPTER 60

Jack had chained Maggie’s right ankle to an iron ring in the floor at the back of the boat. Not like she’d be able to fall over the side and disappear under water and out of sight. The river was too shallow.

Otis rowed while Jack directed him around the fallen branches and tree stumps that appeared in the middle of the river. A snarl of tree roots appeared out of the fog like a sea creature with tentacles. It even startled Otis. Maggie tried to commit landmarks on the banks to memory, discouraged each time Jack directed Otis into another outlet from the main river.

There seemed to be dozens of creeks and streams that forked off. Each one snaked and curved. Sometimes it looped around what appeared to be a dead end with a sandbar of sugar-white sand or a bank of red clay. Then Jack would point out yet another channel for Otis to take, one that was hardly visible beneath the overhanging branches and the tall reeds.

The forest towered over them on both sides with very few clearings. Water lilies covered the surface of the water in some areas. Birds had quieted, either because of the approaching storm or the approaching madman. The sounds of the water swooshing under the oars would normally be soothing. Now it reminded Maggie that the farther they went, the farther away he was taking her from civilization.