That could make all the difference.

His mother entered his mind, his father’s words regarding his mother, too, but he quickly banished any thought of them. He’d said it before, but what he was going through was bad enough without having to address the resentment he felt toward the woman who’d given him birth—

He slammed on his brakes.

Mikita half-slid off the seat, grunting.

“Sorry, buddy.” He’d been pushing forward so fast, thinking he’d find Bishop on the road ahead and not pulled over on the side, that he almost missed the black van, only the back of which he could see, parked down a dirt road off to one side. It looked as though it had been spray-painted, that this was the van he’d been searching for, but he couldn’t be sure. It was almost hidden by trees. Had the driver pulled any farther off the road, Amarok would’ve missed it. And had this happened any earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to see for the dark.

As it was, he’d flown past it before the sight registered.

Had he caught up with them? If so, he had no backup, no help from Fairbanks PD, since any roadblock they put up was still several hours away.

He had no cell service, so he couldn’t alert anyone, either. And he had no idea what he’d be facing, whether Bishop had a gun or some other weapon.

But he was used to working alone.

After pulling into the trees a quarter mile or so beyond the van, he grabbed his rifle, climbed out and waited for Makita to jump down. “Let’s go get Evelyn,” he murmured softly, and motioned for his dog, who knew what to do from the countless times they’d had to creep up on hunters who were spotlighting, to follow him quietly and at a distance.

28

Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:33 a.m. AKDT

The metallic taste of blood filled Evelyn’s mouth.

She’d dropped the hammer and stopped fighting a split second after Bishop waved a gun in her face, screaming he’d shoot her if she didn’t shut up and hold still. But he was so upset that she’d stabbed him, so enraged that she would try to escape after all he’d done so that they could be together, as he put it, he lost control. Retying her hands and feet wasn’t enough. He’d slapped her several times with his left hand before using the gun in his right to strike a much more savage blow, which was why she had blood running from her nose and her mouth.

He was bleeding, too, even though she hadn’t been able to stab him very deeply. His shirt was soaked, and the red stain on his pants was growing ever larger. She could see it easily now that it was getting light.

“If I can’t fix this—if I have to risk capture by going to a hospital, I’m going to kill you before I leave!” he gasped, yanking up his shirt to take a look at his own injury. “I would’ve been so good to you. But you won’t meet me halfway.”