“You know what the kicker is, Chief?” His laugh is a terrible sound, like the tearing of flesh. “It wasn’t even about the money.”

“Then what?”

“Oldest reason in the book. Any time I wanted it. Day or night. All I had to do was come here and climb on. It was like a drug and I was a junkie. Pathetic, huh?”

“Why did you let things go so far?” I ask. “I mean with the investigation? You knew how it would end.”

“That fucking Betancourt called me at the last minute, after Walker had his heart attack. You were here in a matter of days.” His laugh is an ugly, coarse sound. “If I’d gone to Schrock, he would have killed you. That would have been a clusterfuck.” He lifts a meaty shoulder, lets it drop. “I never thought you’d get this far. Figured I could control you. Keep a tight rein.” He frowns at me. “But you were like a dog with a bone. The harder I pushed to get you out of here, the harder you pushed back to stay.

“Hell, I knew it would end one day. Always figured if things blew up, I could put all of it on Schrock. Or put a bullet in him. I got a lot of shit on him.” He swigs from the flask. “You beat me.”

Lifting my head, I look around. Beyond the aura of light, it’s still dark. The three snowmobiles are parked in the same spot, twenty feet away. I look around for my cell, but it’s nowhere in sight. No sign of the .22. Where the hell are the state police Betancourt promised to send?

“Look, Kate, I’m fucking sorry, but this isn’t going to end well for you.” He sighs. “I don’t think it’s going to end well for either of us.”

I work the fabric at my wrists, but it’s wrapped tightly around both wrists, run between them, and knotted. “What are you going to do?”

“The boys are going to take you across the border to a lake, cut a hole in the ice, and…” He shakes his head and lifts the flask. “I’m sorry.”

He kneels, grunting as if it’s painful. Setting his hand against the back of my head, he helps me to a sitting position and brings the flask to my lips. “Here you go.”

I sip, buying time. The taste of the whiskey makes me shudder.

His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. His nose is running, snot shiny on his upper lip. He doesn’t seem to notice. “It’ll make all this a little easier for you.”

“I appreciate that.”

My voice is calm, but fear is a beast rampaging inside me, pacing and clawing and tearing me up from the inside out. Where are the state police? Why aren’t they here yet? Did Betancourt realize the situation was urgent?