The door opened, and he shoved the morbid images crowding into his brain back as fast as he could.

“Just spoke to him,” Elroy announced, and handed Amarok a slip of paper with an address scrawled on it. “Said you can come by. He’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks for your help.” Amarok took the note and returned to his truck to key Dax’s address into his maps. It was only ten minutes away. Amarok had to pay him a visit, but he doubted Elroy’s brother would be able to tell him anything more than Elroy just had. And if Dax couldn’t tell him anything new, he was wasting his time.

The second that realization hit, he felt his muscles bunch and the anger, fear and panic he’d been holding back since he found Evelyn gone erupted. Pain shot through his hand as he slugged the steering wheel, but he didn’t care. Once he’d taken that first swing, he couldn’t stop. Crying out with all the anguish he was feeling, he punched everything within reach, which freaked out Makita and got him barking and turning in the seat. The dog couldn’t understand where the fight was.

A knock on the driver’s side window finally drew Amarok’s attention.

“You okay?” Elroy called through the glass, his eyes wide with shock. “Or should I call someone?”

Amarok could easily imagine what Elroy had to be thinking after witnessing such a spectacle. But he didn’t understand what Amarok was going through; no one could understand.

Amarok was breathing hard, but he forced himself to regain control, ordered Makita to sit still and rolled down the window. “No, I’m fine,” he managed to say in a somewhat normal voice. But he wasn’t fine. He’d never felt so helpless. And the rage that filled him as a consequence was consuming everything else—all objectivity and control.

“Are you sure?” Elroy looked skeptical, and for good reason.

“Yeah, I’ve got it. I’m okay,” he lied, and threw the gearshift into Drive, jamming down on the gas pedal so he could get out of there.

As he rocketed away, a glance in the rearview mirror revealed Dax’s brother standing in the street, looking after him. He had to think Amarok had lost his mind, but Amarok didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except bringing Evelyn home.

“God help you when I finally get my hands on you,” he muttered to whoever had taken her.

Minneapolis, MN—Thursday, 1:00 a.m. CST

“They’re letting me go.” When Terry pushed his mop and bucket into Lyman’s room, his face was red and sweaty and his hair was standing up as though he’d been combing his fingers through it over and over again.

Lyman blinked at him. “What do you mean—letting you go? You’re getting off early tonight?”

“No. I got canned. The new night manager just gave me my two weeks’ notice.” He spat on the floor he was supposed to be cleaning. “That fat bitch has had it in for me ever since she started here.”