Allan grimaced and tapped his pen on his notepad. “Glad I’m not the only one.”

“I’m certain the experts at Quantico will be able to run analysis to determine at least that much.” Eban crouched beside her chair. “Don’t feel bad.”

Darby rubbed her arms in an unconscious self-soothing motion. “I wish I could help more.”

“It was a long-shot at best. Let’s grab our stuff and head back for the night.”

He was aware of eyes following them.

“You want an escort to wherever it is you’re staying?” Allan offered.

Eban huffed out a laugh. That was the very last thing he wanted. “We’re good.”

Chapter Thirty

Darby sat back and enjoyed the view of Eban driving. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left police headquarters. He’d done his Jason Bourne thing and darted around town in what seemed to be a random pattern presumably designed to fox anyone pursuing them before they’d headed first north and then, finally, east toward the cabin. He obviously took the threat of being followed seriously. So seriously he had also done a quick check for tracking devices, which, at minus thirty, was pretty dedicated to the cause. She was grateful he hadn’t found anything.

The wind was howling, snow blowing across the road, buffeting the car like a poltergeist in a bad mood.

Darby squinted at the flakes that were coming down hard. “Do you really think the other FBI agents will be able to fly in tomorrow?”

“I doubt it. I’ll call Frazer in the morning, see where he is and what additional information they might have on this UNSUB.” They reached the turn for their road, and she watched Eban slow down before scanning the ground in front of the SUV for tracks.

“Doesn’t look like anyone has driven down there recently,” he said.

“Not in the last hour or so,” Darby agreed. “The wind will eventually blow away all traces, even in the sheltered areas.”

He grunted in agreement. He knew that. He was doing his utmost to spot any signs the killer might have tracked them down and to make her feel like she was involved in the process.

“I’m going to carry on for a few miles and then double back. In case someone is using our tire tracks for the same purpose.”

“Smart.” She grinned at him, and he flashed her a smirk.

“I might not be a Ph.D. candidate, but I have my moments.”

“You do have your moments.” She sent him a long, hopefully suggestive, look.

His smile sparked as he figured out her meaning. In the hot tub, earlier. He didn’t reply though. He was too worried this killer would track them down and was in hyper-protective mode.

She was worried too, but her anxiety had maxed out after Tim Carstairs had assaulted her and she could no longer think about her current situation without going over into the abyss. The fear of becoming a paranoid, gibbering wreck—again—meant she’d pushed the current danger to the far corner of her mind. She wasn’t being reckless. She had an armed, highly capable, full-time bodyguard, and a team of top investigators hunting this individual. But her brain was fried. It needed a break from fear.