She also needed a measure of luck and a whole lot of nerve. She had the screwdriver in her right hand, was hiding it behind her as though her wrists were still tied, and she’d managed to adjust her position a bit. She was now lying on her side horizontally across the back of the van as though the movement of the vehicle had shifted her around. Rising up from a prone position, and in her condition, wasn’t an easy thing to do, of course, but she’d done it before, with Emmett.

If only her aim could be as true …

At least she had a sturdier weapon.

But it was also duller and thicker. It would take all her strength to jam it into his body.

“Evelyn?” Bishop’s voice held no command. He wasn’t trying to wake her; he was testing her to see if she was asleep.

She didn’t react. She needed to draw him closer, get him to focus on hauling her out of the van all on his own. Only then would she have the chance to stab him, kick him out the back, crawl through to the front and take off, leaving him on the road.

He deserved to bleed out right there—deserved much worse, in fact, and she had no compunction about making it happen, not with her own life and her child’s life in jeopardy.

But he didn’t try to pull her out to take her inside of wherever they’d be staying next.

She heard his buckle jingle as he undid his pants.

Then he started to crawl inside with her.

27

Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:00 a.m.

Makita sat in the passenger seat, his eyes glued to the windshield as Amarok rocketed down the East Parks Highway toward Fairbanks. Amarok knew his dog could sense his focus, his anxiety, his own watchfulness, and was paying strict attention. In short, Makita understood they were working and he was eager to do his part.

“We aren’t looking for any hunters tonight,” Amarok told his dog. But he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. Bishop was a hunter, of sorts. It was just that he hunted women instead of animals.

Amarok glanced at the cell phone on the seat beside him. He’d called Fairbanks PD before leaving Anchorage, told them a known serial killer with a kidnap victim was headed for their city and asked them to set up a roadblock on AK-3. He had no way of telling how far Bishop was ahead of him. But there was only one highway connecting Anchorage and Fairbanks. If Bishop hadn’t already arrived, if he was still on the road, at least he couldn’t branch off. If they stopped every motorist until early morning, when Amarok arrived, they might be able to sandwich Bishop between them.

That had been a good call, one that gave Amarok a degree of confidence that this might soon be over. But was there anyone else he should contact? What more could he do? He was getting used to being able to call anyone at any time, but he was back in Alaska now. There’d be some long stretches without service as he passed through the wilderness areas of the interior.