No lights shone behind curtains in any cabin. Snow powdered the ground, shining eerily in the half light.

He listened tensely. Not so much as a pine needle dropped. The stillness was nerve-wracking.

Was that a natural silence? Was it too quiet?

Well, yes, from his perspective it was too quiet. How did people sleep when it was this still? Was he mistaking bad dreams and guilt for the real thing?

Goosebumps sprang out across his arms and shoulders, and he shivered. He hated the cold. He hated the silence.

Maybe he should get dressed anyway.

Nothing moved in the darkness. There was not a whisper of sound.

Adam swore under his breath, closed the door, and dressed quickly. A couple of minutes later he eased open the cabin door and slipped outside. There was no moon. The shimmering snow threw a surprising amount of illumination—except where the wall of tall trees cast deep and disorienting shade.

He had no target destination and no plan. As tired as he was, he knew he was done sleeping for the night, so he might as well put his mind at ease.

Not that anything that happened in the next forty minutes put his mind at ease.

The fact that the surrounding cabins remained dark was surely a promising indicator that the scream had been a product of his nightmares. Even so, he set off toward the Lakehouse restaurant, the thin crust of snow crunching stealthily underfoot.

He did not find the source of the scream, but he did find footprints once he left the shelter of the trees. Lots of footprints. In fact, they seemed to be coming and going in all directions.

“What the hell?”

He couldn’t tell when the footprints had been made—maybe Rob or Zeke would have had better luck with that. The tracks were filling with soft white even as he tried to follow them in what appeared to be circles.

He walked past the boathouse, and then walked back to his cabin and went the other direction. There was no sign of anyone.

Finally, cold and more tired than when he’d gone to bed, Adam returned to his cabin.

The rustic interior was comfortingly warm compared to the snowy night. He threw more pellets into the stove and made coffee.

The footprints meant nothing on their own. And if there had really been a scream, why had no one else heard it?

The truth was this case was triggering bad memories. There were just enough similarities…

There were also key differences, and that’s what he needed to remain focused on.

He studied the room décor. It was a different cabin from the one he’d stayed in back in October. He thought of the broken bed slat and smiled faintly. He wished now he’d let Rob stay.

Rob was right. It didn’t have to mean anything more than shared companionship and sex. Both of which he was in desperate need of. His rejection of Rob made no sense given that he did find Rob very attractive. More attractive than he’d found anyone in a long time.

Or maybe that was the problem?

He glanced at the painting over the bed and remembered Jonnie’s comment about “real art.” This was another landscape, only the lake was front and center rather than the mountains. He rose and examined the brushstrokes.

In the corner of the landscape was a black slash of signature. DK. Dove Koletar? Rob had said Koletar was the son of the original owners of the campground, so it was a possibility that he’d been the artist. If that was the case, if the painter had been an untrained twenty-something, Adam was a bit more impressed by the craftsmanship.

He sat back down on the chair beside the stove and picked up his coffee cup.

Maybe Koletar simply had really bad luck. It was possible. Anyone could be a victim. That was the terrible truth. Sometimes it was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In Koletar’s case…

Adam had been conjecturing Hate Crime. That was thinking like a gay man versus an investigator. Because if it had been a hate crime, why wait until Koletar was leaving town?

There was a certain type of predator that liked to play with his victim, and it was just barely possible that Koletar had run afoul of one of those. Stalker or psychopath, this offender had seen his victim escaping and acted. Generally, that type of predator existed in film and books. The Chianti-swilling, classical music-listening, omnipotent serial killer was a fictional creation. Mostly, these predators eluded capture because of the inherently random nature of the victim selection process, and a combination of luck and the lack of both manpower and imagination on the part of law enforcement.

Like a horrific Monty Python skit; nobody ever expects a serial killer.

Which didn’t change the fact that Koletar had been killed after he made the decision to leave.

Why?

Because someone didn’t want him to go?

Looking at it from that perspective…well, it changed everything.

It cracked open the can of possible suspects, and now everyone from parents to peers had to be considered equally. If he was correct, instead of looking for Koletar’s enemies, Rob should be looking for Koletar’s friends.

Adam considered this and swallowed another mouthful of bitter coffee.

* * * * *

“If you’ve not been assigned a grid location, come see me.” Frankie was shouting through a bullhorn from the stage of the gazebo in the small park at the center of town. “Remember, this is a team effort. Don’t go wandering off on your own. And if you do find something, anything, contact your team leader immediately. Team leaders, mark it and call it in.”

“This is going to be chaos.” Russell did up his blue jacket in irritable snaps. He had returned to Nearby at first light along with reinforcements from Medford and Klamath Falls. “Too much ground to cover. Too many civilians. Too much time since the girl disappeared.”

Adam nodded. Russell was probably right, but the situation couldn’t be helped. The terrain was what it was—and there was a lot of it. And because there was so much ground to cover, they needed every volunteer they could get. The team leaders were park rangers, state troopers, and law enforcement from neighboring towns, but they couldn’t be everywhere at one time, and no matter how often you instructed people to touch nothing, someone always did.

“He could have escaped before the perimeter was ever set up.”

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

Russell either didn’t hear him or wasn’t interested in what Adam thought. “Has anyone mentioned bringing in Portland?”

“So far we’ve got a homicide and a missing girl,” Adam said. “Not exactly a case for the FBI.”

“Yet here we are,” Russell said. “And like you said, it’s murder on federal land.” His blue gaze was challenging. That was Russell’s default with Adam. In Russell’s opinion—in a lot of people’s opinion—Adam’s career was on a downward trajectory, and Russell seemed to feel that being partnered with Adam was a reflection on him. So he did his best at every opportunity to challenge or distance himself.

Adam didn’t care. He was relieved to be off morgue duty and happy to actually be investigating something, anything again. He was intrigued by the situation at Nearby. And there was—well, stick to the case.

He was hoping that Russell might come up with an urgent reason for returning to L.A. That was unlikely. If Russell was recalled, Adam would likely be recalled too.

He met Russell’s critical look and said, “This is the sheriff department’s turf. We’re here in a support capacity. It’s not our case.”

Russell opened his mouth, no doubt ready to argue this point, but Rob, looking unreasonably well-rested and energetic, came up to speak to them.

“You two can work alongside me or Zeke,” he said briskly. He glanced briefly at Adam and directed the rest of his comments to Russell. “Up to you. I’d stick with someone who knows the area. It’s easy to get lost in these woods, and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”