Jack lit a kerosene lamp and opened a drawer to take out two flashlights. Otis walked the length of the cabin, hands on his hips, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“This is real nice,” Otis told Jack. “It’s just as nice as you said.”

“No electricity, but you don’t need any.” Jack pulled open the hatch on a cast-iron potbelly stove and started filling it with the firewood stacked alongside it. “Got a chemical toilet through that door,” he pointed.

He opened another door beside it, and through the fading light Maggie could see a bed. Despite the musty smell the place looked well taken care of, stocked and recently used.

“Got everything you need right here,” Jack said.

“How about some water, a towel, and some alcohol?” Maggie asked.

Both men looked at her as though they had forgotten her presence.

She didn’t care. She no longer had anything to lose.

Her heart had been pounding with the rhythm of the rain, both filling her ears. Her panic had settled into a heavy weight that crushed against her chest and left her nerves raw. She had spent the last of her adrenaline. She was exhausted, damp with sweat, and cold. In her hurry she had shoved and snapped her handcuff too tight and the metal had been chewing into her flesh every time Tully jerked his hand. And Tully had not said anything more than what sounded like the mutterings of a man in pain. His skin was hot to the touch. His body was drenched with sweat. The bleeding had slowed but she had no idea how much blood he had lost.

Without a word, Jack went to one of the cabinets and, to Maggie’s surprise, pulled out a small towel. From another cabinet he grabbed a bottle of water, and from a lower shelf he pulled out a brown bottle with a black seal. Whiskey, no doubt.

He brought the three items to Maggie and set them on the floor in front of her.

“You’ve seen what I’m capable of doing,” he told her. “Are you sure it’s worth cleaning him up?”

She ignored him and grabbed the water, hoping in the dim light he couldn’t see how badly her hand was shaking.

“That’s what I like about you,” he said. “You take on a challenge even when it’s thrown at you. We’re a lot alike, Magpie.”

She wanted to tell him to stop calling her that, but it would probably only please him to know it bothered her.

“So that’s what this is about,” she said, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Instead she went to work on Tully, immediately finding it awkward to use one hand while the other was tethered. She pretended it wasn’t a problem and continued with her attempt to sound brave.

“You send me running halfway across the country,” she said, “just to get a good look at your handiwork. Then you drag me to the middle of nowhere to show me how much you and I are alike? Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“You want to know what it’s about? I’ll tell you.” He squatted down in front of her, a safe distance away but so that they were eye level. “I knew the first time I saw you that you’d be a challenge like no other.”

She hadn’t noticed how wolflike his eyes were. Narrow set, black, and piercing in an otherwise handsome and amicable face.

“As soon as the rain lets up I’m going to let you go.” He paused, and she knew he was looking for some sign of relief—a false relief. “I’ll let you and your buddy have a chance to run. I’ll even give you a head start. Just like I gave Noah.”

It felt like a jolt of ice shot through her veins.

“But if I catch you, the two of you’ll have to decide who I kill first.” He smiled and sat back on his haunches. “You have a background in psychology. I think you’d appreciate my little …” He searched for the right word. “My study of human nature. It’s quite interesting what a person will actually do or say to get me to kill their best friend first. I’ve heard all kinds of pleas and begging. Even bribes.”

Then his face got serious again and his eyes bore into hers as he said, “What are you willing to do, Maggie O’Dell, to save yourself? What are you willing to sacrifice? Who are you willing to sacrifice?”

CHAPTER 63

Creed had heard the Coast Guard helicopter land in the field at the other side of the forest’s entrance. It took them another fifteen minutes to find him. By then, Bolo had led him to where Maggie and Tully had left the bank and gone into the river. Bolo had even found what looked like a wadded paper towel, rust-stained with what Creed feared was blood.

Two of the Coast Guard crew had already taken the warden to the hospital. Two others stayed behind. They had an inflatable Sea Eagle SE 370 in the water ready to go, but then the clouds burst open. The downpour hadn’t let up yet. Lightning streaked the sky, long flashes and flickers accompanied by claps and crashes of thunder. They waited in their vehicles, parked single file behind the two Chevy Tahoes.

An hour passed with the storm only growing stronger. There were no signs of it letting up anytime soon. Creed sat behind the steering wheel. From the backseat, Bolo laid his head on the console next to him, his nose nudging Creed’s hand until Creed petted him.

One of the Coast Guard crew knocked on Creed’s window.

“We’ve got to leave. If it lets up, we’ll be back.”

“I understand. Thanks.”

He watched them in his rearview mirror. Their SUV had to back up and turn in the narrow space. Rainwater ran across the red-clay dirt path. It wouldn’t take much more and the road would be a mess. But Creed made no attempt to follow. How could he leave when he knew Maggie and Tully were somewhere out there, one of them bleeding? That it could be Maggie gnawed at him.

There had to be a way. But night came quickly in the forest. The lightning only grew more intense, rippling clear across the sky with the crackle of thunder making it truly sound and feel as though the heavens were ripping apart and breaking into pieces.

Creed had gone through two thermoses of coffee. His eyes felt like sandpaper every time he blinked. Too little sleep. And too little to eat, but his stomach was churning acid. He couldn’t even look at the sandwiches Hannah had prepared for him. He tried to feed Bolo, but the dog was as miserable as Creed.

Although dogs didn’t associate scents or sights with emotions, they did read their owners’ and handlers’ emotions very well and could easily become depressed, upset, or subdued. It was one of the reasons Creed tried to keep his emotions in check when he was with his dogs, and the habit rubbed off into his personal life. Probably why he had no personal life.

His cell phone startled him and his pulse quickened. He saw the caller ID, hoping it was Tully. Then he recognized the number and his heart settled back down.

“Have you found anything?” he asked in place of a greeting.

“I checked the property taxes and federal land sales as well as leases like you suggested but nothing came up for Otis P. Dodd or any family members,” Agent Alonzo told him.

“Did you check Santa Rosa and Okaloosa Counties?”

“Yes.”

Damn it! There was a small portion of private property that bordered the forest. Creed knew there were some old fishing cabins on the river that had been battered by the hurricanes but were still used. It was a long shot, but he was so hoping it would pan out.

“Blackwater River goes up into Alabama,” Creed said. “Starts in the Conecuh National Forest, right at the border. You might check Escambia and Convington Counties up in Alabama.” But that was an even longer shot.

“I’ll take a look,” Alonzo promised. “I did find something interesting, though, when I started looking into Otis’s family background. He left home when he was fourteen. Ended up at Boys Town in Omaha, Nebraska, then was sent to a foster care home. A couple in Iowa who couldn’t have children of their own took in troubled boys. I could kick myself that I didn’t check out Otis’s childhood.”