Page 12 of Silent Prey

Jones shook his head and shrugged. "I'm afraid not. He's elusive that way. Doesn't have a phone, doesn't own a home. Claims he sleeps under the stars." He paused and then added in a low voice, "But between you and me, I think he's got a hidden camp somewhere on the island. There are plenty of hidden coves and thickets where a man could make himself scarce."

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn. "Any idea where this camp might be?"

Jones shrugged again, his gaze still fixed on the vast expanse of the lake. "This island’s got more than twenty-eight thousand acres, Officer Stone. I could make a guess, but it would be like finding a needle in a haystack."

"But if you had to make an educated guess..." Finn pressed.

Jones sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "Well," he said after a moment,

"There's a bay on the north side of the island, split from the mainland by a narrow strait. It's remote, hardly visited. If Markus is looking for solitude, that would be my first guess."

"Could you show us on a map?" Finn asked.

Jones nodded and led them to a small wooden cabin, the ranger station, which stood just off the main path that wound around the lake. Inside, he spread a large topographic map across a table and circled an area with his blunt fingertip.

"It's about an hour hike from here," he said, "but I must warn you, it's rough terrain. You'll need good hiking boots and plenty of water."

Sheila and Finn glanced at each other. Sheila could see the same thing in Finn’s eyes that she herself felt: an excitement to put in some legwork and track down their first suspect.

"We appreciate the help," she said. "We'll take our chances."

Jones gave them a nod, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and concern. He stepped away from the map table and moved toward a wall lined with various gear: archaic preserving tools, signaling devices, binoculars, and first-aid kits. He pulled off two canteens and handed them to Sheila and Finn.

"Just in case," he said.

"Thanks," Finn said, accepting the canteen. His gaze lingered on the map a few seconds longer before he turned to leave. Sheila gave Jones a nod and followed Finn.

Outside, the summer heat of Utah hit them like a furnace. The lake was vast and glistening under the high sun, and stony mountains loomed in the distance, their ridges extending upwards into a clear azure sky. Finn pulled out his compass necklace, tilting it slightly to catch the sunlight.

"Nature never ceases to amaze me," Sheila said, sweeping her gaze around the panoramic view. “So wild and beautiful, even in the twenty-first century.”

Finn nodded, looking out over the lake. "It might be beautiful, but it's also full of dangers."

Sheila turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "You sound like my father."

"Maybe because we both understand that nature is stronger than we are," he said, locking his gaze with hers. "It deserves our respect and caution—as does the man we’re looking for."

Sheila nodded, sobering. She understood the implication. They were venturing into enemy territory, searching for the home of someone who may have murdered two women in the past two months. Guilty or not, he didn’t want to be found, and he certainly wouldn’t welcome them with open arms.

Together they set off down the path that led around the lake, their boots crunching on the dry gravel beneath their feet. The path was well-worn but branched out in several places, disappearing into the undergrowth or winding along rocky outcrops. Sheila found herself grateful for her kickboxing training, the years of discipline and physical conditioning that kept her ready for anything. Finn matched her pace with an easy gait, his eyes taking in their surroundings as they moved deeper into the wilderness.

The sun was fierce over their heads, and soon sweat started trickling down Sheila’s back. She welcomed it, the exertion reminding her of long training hours back in her father's gym. She focused on each step, on the sound of Finn’s footsteps beside her, the chirping of cicadas in the underbrush, the rustle of wind through tall grass.

As they hiked, she couldn’t help but feel a prickling of anticipation. Somewhere out there, Markus might be lying in wait for them—or perhaps even stalking his next victim, if he was indeed their killer.

What would he do when he saw them? Fight? Run? Try to talk his way out of the situation.

Just as Jones had warned them, the path started to get rougher as they neared the bay. The ground under their feet was rocky and uneven, forcing them to slow down and watch their steps. The path narrowed to a track barely wide enough for them to walk single file, hugging the side of a steep slope. The water in their canteens dwindled as they took sips to combat the relentless heat.

All at once, the cliff fell away and they found themselves standing on the edge of a narrow valley that spread out below them, covered in scrub and rock. In the distance lay the secluded bay, the water reflecting the sunlight so brightly it almost hurt Sheila’s eyes.

"There." Finn pointed. "See that?"

Sheila followed his gaze. Nestled among the rocks on the opposite side of the valley, hidden by overhanging trees and shrubs, was a cabin. It was small and looked dilapidated, a perfect hideout for someone who didn't want to be found.

"Markus," she whispered. “You’ve got good eyes, Finn.”

Finn gave her a lopsided smile, his eyes tightening at the corners. "Years of spotting targets from the cockpit," he said. "Comes in handy sometimes."

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