He killed the beam of the flashlight and slipped it into his coat pocket. The flakes had stopped falling again, and the light of the moon was enough out here. He felt the sweat inside his mittens and the shake in his legs, and the fiery rush of adrenaline lit up his body like an electric shock. There’s nobody else around; you could be dealing with the fucker right here, right now, just you and him, one on one.

He scanned the entire complex slowly, watching for any movement, or light, or bit of smoke. Nothing.

Come on now, she could still be alive. He unzipped his jacket, and pulled his .38 out of its holster, trying desperately to keep his hand steady. There was no time to get help; he might have been seen.

Slipping out from the protection of the tree trunk, he made his way down the steep bank, stumbling and sliding until he reached the ice at the bottom. Nothing stirred, and he hurried across the frozen river towards the closest structure, a half-completed building along the right edge of the pit. Out in the open, he was painfully aware of how vulnerable he was under the moonlight, with the snow crunching under his heavy boots. He would have to move fast.

He made it to the corner of the building without incident, and leaned carefully around the other side. The complex looked like a ghost town. The entire side of this structure was open, and great drifts of snow filled the inner section, its surface completely smooth. Moving out and around it, he kept the gun held out at arm’s length, like he’d seen cops do in movies. He’d never pointed the gun at anything other than the targets at the range, and it felt uncomfortably heavy and awkward now.

He walked quickly along the edge of the pit to the left, making for the old mine building. At the wall he crouched and crawled under a window, then slowly raised his head and peered into the darkness. It was lighter outside with the moonlight, and he had to cup his hands to the dusty glass and squint. Even then, he could see only shadows. His hand shook and rattled the gun barrel against the glass. Once again peering in, something caught his attention. One of those shadows, over in the far right corner, slumped over in some impossible position, looked like a body.

A little body.

Sweat began to roll in little beads down Thibideau’s forehead, stinging his eyes. What if it’s her? Christ, what if the killer’s standing right there, just out of sight, in one of the deeper shadows?

But she could be hurt, unconscious…