Grant shook his head. “Believe me, I would have remembered it.”

They resumed walking until Grant stopped in front of a wall of ice with a distinctive jagged pattern. “I remember this though,” Grant said.

“I think I’ve seen it too, but I know I’ve never been here.”

“Because it was in the photograph Everett gave me on Christmas Eve. We took it right here.”

“Of course,” remarked Frankel. Suddenly, he realized something else. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Those gifts he gave us,” said Frankel.

“What about them?”

“He was telling us what he was up to—flaunting it again in our faces.” Frankel pointed at the wall. “Like the story you just told me how it all started with this place. Everett was telling us it was going to end up back here.”

He turned back toward Grant. “That DVD and book he gave me?”

“Gone with the Wind,” said Grant.

“The main plotline has Scarlett O’Hara pining away for the man that her cousin ended up marrying.”

Grant’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell.”

“I’m sure that picture he gave Rachel meant something too,” Frankel added. “But for the life of me, I can’t tell you what.”

Frankel could see Grant thinking of the snapshot taken long ago at the Brighton seashore. The commander’s eyes suddenly widened.

“The family he wanted but could not have,” Grant said. “Me dead and buried in the dirt—leaving Rachel, Allison, and him as one happy family.”

“Very good, detectives!”

Grant whirled at the sound of Everett’s voice behind them.

Frankel reached in his coat for his gun but two sounds beat him to the punch.

The first was Rachel screaming at the top of her lungs.

“John!”

And the second was the blast of a rifle shot.

Frankel was knocked to the ground and his pistol scattered along the icy floor before he even realized what had happened.

He had taken a bullet between his shoulder and chest.

Grant turned to help him but Everett’s voice echoed through the glacier.

“Stay right where you are, Austin.”

Lying on the ground, Frankel could barely turn his head, the pain was so excruciating. He saw Everett standing in middle of the path with a rifle aimed directly at his brother’s chest.

Rachel suddenly appeared. She rushed over and dropped to her knees beside him. “John . . .!”

She tried to cover the bleeding wound with her hand but he writhed away in agony.

“I tried to warn you,” she told him.

“It’s okay,” Frankel grumbled. “You’re okay . . .”

Rachel nodded, tears falling down her face. “I am,” she whispered.

Frankel watched as she turned to look up at her uncle.

“You have to help him,” she pleaded. “You have to do something!”

But Everett’s eyes and the hunting rifle were trained on Grant.

“I told you to come alone.”

“You, of all people, shouldn’t be telling anyone what to do,” said Grant.