She didn’t even need to concentrate to heal herself now; he wondered if she realized she didn’t need to concentrate to heal him as well, at least when they were touching. And maybe when his extra energy helped her.

“Okay,” he said. “Say he knew we were coming. That he was able to find out about us and knew what to expect. What should that tell us?”

Hollis thought about it, her head tilting slightly as she looked past her partner to where Bishop and Miranda stood talking to the two grim deputies, one male, one female, both staring down at the partially uncovered remains of Megan Hales.

He hadn’t buried her very deep.

“That he’s committed.” She pulled her gaze from the pitiful grave, unwilling to look again at what had likely attracted the attention of the crows, what they would have seen themselves if they had managed to discover this odd little glade more than half-hidden from anyone both downslope and upslope by large boulders and more of the thick brambles and other undergrowth and at least three clusters of fairly low, thick blue spruce evergreens.

It was very visible now.

The mocking glitter of the diamond engagement ring, winking brightly even on this grayish day, on one of the long, withered and blackened fingers jutting up stiffly from the loose soil that had covered the rest of her body.

The pink nail polish tipping the ends of those withered fingers had, eerily enough, not faded a bit.

Hollis looked again, and again yanked her gaze away and looked up at her partner’s grave face.

“That he won’t stop until somebody stops him.”

—

HE KEPT TO his observation point because he was sure they wouldn’t look for him, or for victims, here. The only downside was that he wasn’t close enough to see much, and heard nothing.

Well, not the only downside.

The goddamned crows.

He wasn’t sure, even now, whether they were acting at the bidding of someone, some person, or if the crows themselves had chosen for some unknown reason to get involved.

If it was the former, he needed to identify that particular enemy, and fast. If it was the latter . . . well, the crows hadn’t figured into his plans. They were just birds, after all, and even if Duncan had claimed to command them, he was gone.

But they were around; he had noticed that days ago. And it seemed to him there were more about, flying around the valley almost like they were patrolling it.

Not only that, but he’d been near enough to watch Nellie Cavendish walk to the bank this morning, her dog beside her—and more than one crow had seemingly held positions along her usual route, perching on lampposts and benches, watching her.

And watching the people around her.

That had been . . . unexpected. Not shocking; he had to at least consider the possibility that communicating with the crows could be a Cavendish Talent not at all exclusive to Duncan no matter what he’d said, very rare but still perhaps one Nellie held. Especially if the tales told about what had really happened back in January were even close to truth.