Bryce wasn’t party to what had happened with Tubal Cain. Cain was actually Martin Maxwell, a former member of the secret service, better known as a bone-harvesting serial killer. When my brother John was kidnapped by Cain, it was inevitable that I hunted the man down, but it served Walter that I buried him without a trace. On that occasion Walter had given me unofficial sanction to kill the maniac: it looked like I was being offered the same terms again.

“I’m right, Bryce?”

“I was supposed to show you the photos and then put you on Abadia’s trail,” Bryce said. “Walter didn’t anticipate that you would be a fugitive from the law.”

“If he’d come directly to me, those cops wouldn’t have died, Imogen would be safe, and I wouldn’t be being hunted like a rabid dog.”

“An’ we wouldn’t have to freeze our asses in Maine,” Rink said. To add validity to his words, he flicked on the windshield wipers to bat away the sleet. “There is a good reason why I live in Florida.”

“Won’t be here long,” I promised him.

“I think we’re wasting our time coming here,” Bryce said. “The woman’s already dead.”

“We don’t know that. Until we know for sure, we assume she’s still alive.”

“You’ve seen the photos, Hunter. You know what happens to the victims.”

“That’s exactly why we’re here: I’m not going to let that happen to her.”

“We should concentrate on finding Abadia.”

“No, Bryce. We concentrate on finding Imogen first.”

The woman was in danger through no fault of her own. She’d been snatched as a way of hurting me. Kate and I had been together—if only briefly—before she was murdered, and I thought now that if Kate were still alive, I’d be looking at Imogen as an extended member of my family. And no one fucks with my family.

My problem was where to start.

Imogen’s house was the obvious place, but for the time being it would be cordoned off behind crime-scene tape and a horde of investigators. Going there would solve nothing and most likely see us behind bars.

“Does Walter have any idea who’s behind this?”

“Abadia.”

“Okay. Let’s play make-believe for a minute,” I said. “Let’s just suppose that Abadia survived three point-blank rounds in the chest and he’s now looking for revenge: where would he start?”

“He starts by identifying the men sent to kill him.”

“Exactly. But those files were buried. So how does he get to them?”

“He needs someone on the inside,” Bryce said. It was like he’d just confessed a sin and he jerked upright in his seat. “Hey, now hold on! I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with this?”