He’d torn the whole room apart before realizing it wasn’t there, after which he’d had to go through the rest of the house. That contract was the one thing he needed, the one thing he had to have, because he knew it should have the address that she hadn’t bothered to copy on to the receipt.

At last, he’d found it in a stack of mail shoved into one of the drawers in the laundry room, of all places. But the second he’d seen John Edmonson’s name, the five-hundred-dollar amount and the name of the property—Southwick Family Egg Ranch—he’d known he’d done the right thing.

This was where Emmett had taken Evelyn; he was sure of it.

Whether she was still there, however, remained to be seen.

The second he’d had the address, he’d rushed to his truck, jumped inside and sped off. But once he’d arrived at the ranch, he’d had to slow his approach considerably. Although he saw no vehicle on the premises, there was a light on in the building. He had no idea what was going on in there. He’d just been creeping up from behind, his gun at the ready, trying to get close enough to decide what he was dealing with and how he would handle it when he’d heard the scream.

Only it hadn’t come from the plant, as he would’ve expected.

It’d come from one of the long, narrow coops not far from where he’d hopped the fence.

Amarok arrived at that specific coop in a matter of seconds, but when he threw open the door and angled his gun and his flashlight inside, expecting to see Evelyn, he was surprised.

A young woman he didn’t recognize was kneeling on the ground, trying to retrieve a handgun of her own. She grabbed it as he filled the entrance, and, for a moment, he thought she might shoot him. She pointed the muzzle at him but, thankfully, realized he was a police officer and dropped the weapon.

“I’m Sergeant Murphy,” he said, lowering his gun, too. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer either question. Her hand shaking, she pointed at a pile of manure. “Th-there’s a dead body,” she said, and burst into tears.

Amarok was just bending down to pick up her flashlight, which had rolled away from her, the beam forming an eerie white circle on the wall, when he saw what had, apparently, made her scream.

Catching her by the arm, he helped her up and pushed her behind him so she wouldn’t have to see the gruesome sight any longer. Then he grabbed the shovel he found nearby and used it to uncover enough of the corpse that he could determine it wasn’t a woman.

Thank God!

“Emmett Virtanen,” he said.

What with the bloating, skin slippage and insect activity—Amarok was fairly certain the body had been here for several days—it was difficult to determine what this person had looked like. He’d only guessed it was Emmett because it wasn’t Lyman Bishop and there were vague similarities between this corpse and the pictures he’d seen of Emmett in that grainy video from the Quick Stop.