“Come on, Amarok!” Phil yelled from outside. “Open up!”

With far more irritation than he had a right to feel, Amarok trudged back through the house, dropped the box he was carrying in the living room, told Makita to shut up and sit down and picked up Evelyn’s cat, so that Sigmund wouldn’t get outside as he wrenched open the door. “I’m busy. What is it?”

“I have a surprise for you. Can you come on over to the Moosehead?”

“No.” He closed the door and put the cat down, but he didn’t lock it, so Phil let himself in and followed Amarok into the living room.

“Finding anything?” He gestured at the boxes Amarok had searched so far, looking for a mug shot of a guy with a scar over his eye.

“No.”

“Well, I hate to take you away from this. But it can wait thirty minutes or so, can’t it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Amarok insisted. “I have to do everything I possibly can, and I have to do it right away.”

Phil propped his hands on his hips. “Amarok, you’re demanding too much of yourself. You’re not superhuman. Look at you—you can barely stay on your feet.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted gruffly. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep, even if I tried.”

“I doubt that’s true. You’re about to keel over right in front of my eyes, so why don’t you let us help?”

He peeled the lid off the new box. “Who’s ‘us’?”

Phil put the lid back on so that Amarok would have to look up at him. “You’ll see.”

Amarok’s eyes were burning, but he resisted the temptation to rub them. He didn’t want to give Phil any more fuel for his side of the argument. “Fine,” he said. “But whatever it is, you’d better make it quick.”

As Phil pulled him out of the house, Amarok whistled for Makita behind him, but Phil wouldn’t let him get into his own truck. “You’re not driving anymore, buddy,” he said, and all but shoved Amarok into the passenger seat of his new SUV before letting Makita in the backseat.

“Then hurry.” Taking any time away from his search made Amarok feel he was letting Evelyn down.

When they pulled into the Moosehead, the parking lot was full, even though it was mid-morning—a time when Shorty rarely opened, especially on weekdays. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’ve arranged a search party.”

It took a second for that to register. Amarok was crashing hard after the caffeine pills he’d taken in order to drive safely back from Anchorage and remain functional since. “Where are you going to search?”

“Both here and in Anchorage. We’ll be looking for any sign of the man with the scar—or anyone who’s seen him, the van or Evelyn—and we’ll cover as much ground as we can for as long as we can keep our volunteers.”

The more people who were looking, the better chance Evelyn had. Amarok couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of gathering so much help himself. It was proof that he was considering this more of a personal problem than a crime. “That’s a good idea,” he said, conceding.