Phil scratched his neck. “True. I’m so tired I’m getting punchy. I don’t know how you’re still functioning.”

Amarok thought of Evelyn and what she meant to him. He’d give anything for her and their unborn child, even his life. “When something happens to someone you love, you do what you have to do,” he said, and closed the door.

Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 1:45 a.m. AKDT

Evelyn felt the van come to a stop and tensed. Were they already in Fairbanks? It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since they’d pulled over before. But they had turned off the highway. She’d been able to tell because the tires had begun to make a different sound. They were rolling over dirt and rocks and not pavement.

Maybe Bishop had been picking up keys or something. She didn’t have much concept of time. It seemed as though it had been a while since he’d complained about how difficult it was to rent a house these days, though. The property management company he’d referenced must’ve come through.

At least the wait was over. As terrified as she was for what was about to occur, she was also anxious to have it over with, to finally reunite with Amarok—if possible.

The driver’s side door creaked as it had before and, once again, the cabin light came on. She was so frightened by what might lie ahead she was beginning to sweat and tremble. The memory of stabbing Emmett was returning to her even though she was trying hard not to think about it, sending her adrenaline skyrocketing too soon. She couldn’t even keep her eyes closed properly and feared Bishop would notice the effort she was putting into it.

Was he looking at her? It was taking him some time to get out of the front seat. She was dying to know why.

What was he doing? After hearing him rummage around in the passenger seat, she smelled cheap men’s cologne. He’d put on so much she almost gagged.

He was getting ready for something. But what? It was still dark outside. Certainly, he wasn’t meeting someone in the middle of the night.…

She curled her fingernails into her palms, waiting to see what would happen next.

He closed the driver’s side door, but softly, as though he feared slamming it might wake her, and just when she’d assumed he’d left her and was about to get to her knees so she could look through the windshield—thinking she might be able to get out of the van while he was gone and sneak away without having to confront him—she heard him unlock the back.

He was coming for her.

She hated that she was still wearing the gag. She could hardly breathe through it, was getting winded even before she had to act. But without that in her mouth, he’d know something was up as soon as he saw her.

Calm down. Unless you want him to stick an ice pick through your eye sockets and scramble your brain tonight, you have to play this just right.