Gus Jardine must’ve had a come-to-Jesus epiphany on the way to Valley General, because as the EMTs were lowering him from the back of the ambulance, he demanded to see Rivers, who, with Mendoza, had followed the ambulance as it had raced, lights flashing, siren shrieking, to the hospital.

From his gurney under the portico of the ER, Jardine, pale and wan, stared up at the cop. “I want a deal,” he choked out. “If I make it through this, I want a deal.”

“For what?” Rivers asked. Mendoza was at his side, possibly recording the conversation, her phone in her hand.

One of the nurses who had run from the open doors of the hospital intervened. “We have to get him inside. STAT.” Thin, no-nonsense, in charge, and shivering in the cold, she motioned for the EMTs to roll Jardine inside. “Get him into ER2.”

“No!” Jardine croaked out. “A deal, Rivers! Immunity. No charges.” He cleared his throat. “And . . . and I’ll tell you where she is.”

“Who?”

The nurse interjected, “Hey, I’m sorry, but we really have to roll!”

“The missing girl. Megan Travers,” Gus said, his face pale as death in the flashing lights of the ambulance.

“This will have to wait.” The nurse was getting angry.

“I mean it, Rivers.” Gus looked like he might pass out at any second. His voice was the barest of whispers.

“Done.” Rivers didn’t have time to waste. “Where?”

“We’re going inside. Now!” the nurse insisted, and Rivers leaned forward just as Gus said, “Land owned by Cahill. Area called Regret Mountain. Spur off of Johnson Road.”

“But where—?”

Jardine’s eyes closed.

“Let’s go!” the nurse commanded and bustled into the hospital, leading the EMTs as they rolled Gus through the sliding-glass doors.

“Got it,” Mendoza said, scrolling through information on the phone as they walked back to the Jeep. “James Cahill owns a whole tract of land. Up in the hills.”

“Let’s go.”

Rivers didn’t dare hope they’d find Megan Travers. Gus Jardine could have been bullshitting him. But maybe not. When he’d held onto Jardine’s lighter for a few seconds, he’d had an image of Jardine driving Megan’s car, then another one with Megan bound and gagged in the back seat.

And his accomplice?

A blond woman who scared him just a little, whom he thought might double-cross him, a woman he called, “Julia.”

* * *

Where the hell was she going?

As Rebecca followed Sophia’s little hatchback through town, she tried to lie back with her rental car, which was difficult as there was still traffic, though very light, not many vehicles providing a buffer, the falling snow providing a thin veil. And it got worse. As Sophia left Riggs Crossing behind, Rebecca lagged even farther back, just barely keeping the taillights of the hatchback in sight.