He also found a torn sheet, electrical cords that had been ripped from the lamps and proof of a struggle.

Claire wasn’t sure she wanted it to get light. She’d kicked Jeremy in the face and then the balls when he tried to grab her, which had dropped him to the ground and given her just enough time to steady herself and run into the forest. But he’d come after her. For the past hour, she’d heard him searching through the trees, sometimes very close, alternately calling her name and throwing a temper tantrum when she wouldn’t respond.

The darkness had worked in her favor. All she had to do was stay still and let him be the one to thrash around. As daylight approached, she had to risk moving—without any shoes. Considering that her feet were already so cut and bruised, she’d have no chance if it came to a footrace. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to limp very far…?.

“How could you do this to me?” Jeremy wailed.

The words bounced against the surrounding mountains, creating an echo. Do this to me…do this to me…do this to me. She hated the sound of it, hated his voice, hated his distress and what he’d done to her. But hating didn’t help. And neither would answering. She couldn’t reason with him. He wasn’t capable of it.

Ignoring the fatigue that overwhelmed her, she began to pick her way through the rocks and trees as quietly as possible, moving in the direction from which they’d come. That dirt road had to lead somewhere. She planned to follow it as much as possible.

He’d been pretty out of it since they’d left the motel, but he seemed to be moving in the same direction she was. “Claire! Your mother’s in the car. She wants you to come back.”

God, help me get out of here. She saw no way to make it. Any real exertion would require water, or she’d become dehydrated and unable to think clearly herself. As cold as it was at night, it could get very warm during the day, which meant she’d sweat, and that would compound the problem. But staying here and hoping help would come to her wasn’t an option. She couldn’t trust Jeremy, couldn’t even guess what he might do if he caught her. He’d been acting so bizarre; in the past hour he’d even started firing his gun. She didn’t know if he was trying to hit her, or some imagined zombie, or simply dispel his frustration, but it scared her…?.

Knowing it could take hours to get anywhere—she had no idea how many miles they’d driven or what, if anything, was in the area—she forced herself to pick up the pace. She didn’t want to spend another night in the forest, even without Jeremy.

She walked for what seemed like hours. After a while, she could no longer hear him. He’d fired off a shot fifteen minutes or so earlier, but that was it.

She heard other noises—scurrying, scuffling, rustling, a crack, an odd echo—and couldn’t tell if she should worry that he might jump out from behind one of the trees.

Where had he gone? What was he doing? Had he given up? Was he letting her go? Or was he still following her?

She knew she should strike out, deeper into the forest. Staying so close to the road risked letting him catch her, but she couldn’t abandon the only lifeline she had. Her feet hurt too badly. She was almost ready to crawl just to give them a break—

A twig snapped. Very close. And it sounded as if something large had broken it.

She froze as she tried to figure out if she had fresh cause for alarm. She listened but couldn’t hear anything except the caw of a bird. And when she turned to look behind her, she couldn’t see anything except pine tree after pine tree and the dappled sunshine that filtered through the branches.

Was it Jeremy? Was he close? If not, where had he gone? And why had he stopped screaming for her?

It didn’t matter. Once she was safe, she’d send someone back.

Keep moving, she told herself.

She took a step before looking up and ran smack into the barrel of a gun. There was a man holding it, and he didn’t seem pleased.

“What are you doing, wandering around my property? And what have you been firing at?”

He was tall, wiry and approaching fifty, but she’d been so sure it was Jeremy, Claire sagged to her knees.

“Are you all right?” Realizing she didn’t even have shoes, let alone a gun, he lowered his weapon.

“I need help,” she whispered, and he offered her his hand.

Her feet cleaned and bandaged, Claire had a blanket around her shoulders and a hot cup of coffee in her hands as she sat in the sheriff’s office in Libby. Isaac sat next to her, his expression grim. Myles, behind his desk, didn’t look much happier. They’d just received the news that Jeremy had been found by the son of the man who’d helped her—but he hadn’t been found alive. That last shot she’d heard had been the one he’d put through his own brain.

Claire felt bad about that. It made her wonder if all those other shots had been Jeremy preparing to end his own torment. She couldn’t help thinking that if she’d stayed with him, she might’ve been able to calm him enough to save his life—and survive. But it was those gunshots that had brought help, and he might not have fired them if she hadn’t run away. They could still be sitting there together, in his old Impala, going hungry and talking about zombies. The ranch on which they’d inadvertently trespassed was so large the owners themselves admitted they probably wouldn’t have come across that car for days.

Or maybe, as Isaac had pointed out, if she’d stayed, he would’ve put a bullet in both of them. It was a chance she couldn’t have taken, even if she had to do it over again. Both Myles and Isaac agreed on that.

“Maybe what he did is for the best,” Isaac said, taking her hand.

“The best?” she repeated, a little shocked.

“I can’t imagine him being happy anywhere except Pineview, can you?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine any of them being happy anywhere except Pineview—even her, and she’d wanted to leave for so long.

“No,” Myles said. “And the law wouldn’t have allowed him to stay. For obvious reasons.”

Because he was a danger—not that he’d ever meant to be. That was the sad part.

Isaac had told her what Les had said. He’d also told her about the suitcase he’d found in the crawl space of Jeremy’s house, and what was in it. “So you think it’s true?” she asked. “You think Jeremy killed my mother?”

“I do,” Myles said. “It checks out.”

“We all thought Don didn’t love Jeremy. But he loved him enough to kill for him—to have David killed.”

“Don knew what would happen to Jeremy if the truth ever came out.”

Claire adjusted her blanket. “So Tug and Roni, they had nothing to do with it?”

“No. Tug gave Don the money, but he thought he was lending it to save the house from foreclosure. Don was supposed to be working it off, but he didn’t follow through.”

“What was he supposed to do?” she asked.

“A lot of things. Most recently he was supposed to help Joe and his brother remove some trees from the old Bentmore property.”

“That’s why he was with Joe!”

Myles nodded. “Tug thought providing Don with a purpose might help him regain control of his life, which would help Jeremy, too.”

Claire sipped her coffee. “Jeremy told me where his father’s buried.”

“Is it under the house?” Isaac asked.

She nodded. “You knew that, too?”

“I saw what I thought might be his grave.”

“We’re on it,” Myles said.

“Do the doctors know whether or not Les is going to survive?” Claire asked.

“He’s in intensive care, but they’ve already removed the bullet. His prognosis is good.”

“So he’ll stand trial.”

“You bet he will,” Myles said. “For killing David. For killing Rusty. For arson. And probably for killing the man who died in his office. I received a message just a few minutes ago that the police in Coeur d’Alene have found evidence of at least five calls between that man’s business partner and Les Weaver.”