She smelled smoke.

Her legs were wobbly from the effort to keep up, but she kept struggling ahead, afraid to be left behind, wandering and lost. The boy and dog seemed tireless and they kept moving, covering what seemed like endless ground as she fell farther behind. But she would not lose them now, because she saw where they were headed. They were all being drawn to that ever-brightening glow.

When at last she caught up, the boy was standing very still, his back turned to her, his gaze focused down on the valley.

Far below them, the village of Kingdom Come was ablaze in flames.

“Oh my God,” whispered Maura. “What happened?”

“They came back. I knew they would.”

She stared down at the twin rows of flames, as orderly and regular as military campfires. This was no accident, she thought. Those flames did not spread from rooftop to rooftop. Someone had deliberately set the houses on fire.

The boy moved to the edge of the cliff, so close to the drop-off that for a panicked moment she thought he was about to leap off. He stared down, hypnotized by the destruction of Kingdom Come. The seductive power of fire trapped her gaze as well. She imagined the flames licking at the walls of the house where she had sheltered, turning all to ash. Snowflakes fell, melting on her cheeks to mingle with her tears. Tears for Doug and Arlo, for Elaine and Grace. Only now, as she watched the fires burn, did she truly believe they were dead.

“Why kill them?” she whispered. “Grace was only thirteen-just a girl. Why?”

“They do whatever he wants.”

“Whatever who wants?”

“Jeremiah. The Prophet.” On the boy’s lips, the name sounded more like a curse than a name.

“The man in the painting,” she said.

“And he shall gather the righteous. And lead them all to hell.” He shoved the fur-trimmed hood off his head, and she could see his profile in the gloom, his jaw squared in anger.

“Whose houses were those?” she asked. “Who lived in Kingdom Come?”

“My mother. My sister.” His voice broke and he lowered his head in mourning for a village that was now engulfed in flames. “The chosen ones.”

24

WHEN JANE, GABRIEL, AND SANSONE PULLED UP AT THE ACCIDENT site, they found the search team already waiting for them at the side of the road. Jane recognized Sheriff Fahey and Deputy Martineau, as well as that old crank Montgomery Loftus, who owned the land and greeted the new arrivals with a grudging nod. At least this time, he wasn’t brandishing a rifle.

“Did you bring the items?” asked Fahey.

Jane held up a satchel. “We took a number of things out of her house. There are pillowcases and some clothes from her laundry hamper. It should be enough to give them the scent.”

“We can hold on to these?”

“Keep them. As long as it takes to find her.”

“This is the logical place to start.” Fahey handed off the satchel to Deputy Martineau. “If she managed to survive the crash and wandered away, they may be able to pick up her scent down there.”

Jane and Gabriel moved to the edge of the road and looked down at the ravine. The wrecked Suburban was still wedged there, its charred surface now covered with snow. She did not see how anyone could have survived this accident, much less walked away from it. But Maura’s luggage had been in that vehicle, so it was only logical to assume that Maura herself had been riding in the ill-fated SUV when it plunged off the cliff. Jane tried to imagine how that miraculous survival could have happened. Perhaps Maura was thrown from the vehicle early and landed on soft snow, saving her from incineration. Perhaps she’d wandered away from the wreckage, dazed and amnesiac. Jane scanned the rugged terrain and felt little optimism that they would find Maura alive. This was why she had not informed Daniel Brophy about their return to Wyoming. Even had she been able to penetrate the wall of seclusion that now cloaked him, she could offer him no hope of a different outcome, no possibility that this search would change the ultimate answer. If Maura had been in that Suburban, she was now almost certainly dead. And all they were here to do was find the body.

The dogs and searchers began their hike down to the wreckage, pausing every few yards as the dogs sniffed the area, seeking the scent they’d now been primed to follow. Sansone moved down with them, but he stood apart, as though aware the team considered him an outsider. And no wonder they did. He was a man of few smiles, a dark and unapproachable figure to whom past tragedies seemed to cling like a cloak.

“Is that guy another priest?”

Jane turned to see Loftus standing beside her, scowling down at the invaders on his property. “No, he’s just a friend,” she said.

“Deputy Martineau told me you came with a priest last time. And now this fella. Huh,” Loftus grunted. “Interesting friends she had.”

“Maura was an interesting person.”

“So I gather. But we all end up the same way.” He yanked down the brim of his hat, gave them a nod, and started back to his pickup truck, leaving Jane and Gabriel alone at the edge of the road.

“He’s going to take it hard when they find her body,” said Gabriel, staring down at Sansone.

“You think she’s down there.”

“We have to be prepared for the inevitable.” He watched as Sansone moved steadily down the ravine. “He’s in love with her, isn’t he?”

She gave a sad laugh. “You think?”

“Whatever his reasons for being here, I’m glad he came. He’s made things a lot easier.”

“Money usually does.” Sansone’s private jet had whisked them straight from Boston to Jackson Hole, sparing them the ordeal of scrambling for flight reservations, waiting in security lines, and filing the paperwork to pack their weapons. Yes, money did make things easier. But it doesn’t make you happier, she thought, looking down at Sansone, who appeared as somber as a mourner as he stood beside the wrecked Suburban.

The searchers were now moving around the vehicle in ever-widening circles, clearly not picking up any scent. When at last Martineau and Fahey started hiking back up the trail, carrying the satchel with Maura’s belongings, Jane knew they’d given up.

“They didn’t pick up anything?” Gabriel asked as the two men emerged onto the road, both breathing hard.

“Not a whiff.” Martineau tossed the satchel into his vehicle and slammed the door.

“You think too much time has gone by?” asked Jane. “Maybe her scent’s dissipated.”

“One of those dogs is trained to find cadavers, and he’s not signaling anything, either. The handler thinks the real problem is the fire. The smell of gasoline and smoke is overwhelming their noses. And then there’s the heavy snowfall.” He looked down at the search team, which was starting to head up toward them. “If she’s down there, I don’t think we’re going to find her until spring.”

“You’re giving up?” said Jane.

“What else can we do? The dogs aren’t finding anything.”

“So we just leave her body down there? Where scavengers can get it?”

Fahey reacted to his dismay with a tired sigh. “Where do you suggest we start digging, ma’am? Point out the spot, and we’ll do it. But you have to accept the fact this is now a recovery, not a rescue. Even if she survived the crash, she wouldn’t have survived the exposure. Not after all this time.”

Searchers clambered back onto the road, and Jane saw flushed faces, downcast expressions. The dogs seemed just as discouraged, tails no longer wagging.

The last one up the trail was Sansone, and he looked the grimmest of all. “They didn’t give it enough time,” he said.

“Even if the dogs did find her,” Fahey quietly pointed out, “it won’t change the outcome.”

“But at least we’d know. We’d have a body to bury,” said Sansone.

“I know it’s a hard thing to accept, that you don’t have closure. But out here, sir, that’s the way it sometimes is. Hunters have heart attacks. Hikers get lost. Small planes go down. Sometimes we don’t find the remains for months, even years. Mother Nature chooses when to give them up.” Fahey glanced up as snow began to fall again, as dry and powdery as talc. “And she’s not ready to give up this body. Not today.”