Page 254 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“Kody.” She whisper-scolds through a laugh, only encouraging me to linger longer.

Inhaling deeply, I scent her through the fabric. It’s not enough to hold me over, but my time is up. As she starts to stand, I sink my teeth into her muscled backside, biting hard enough to bruise.

She yelps, spinning toward me.

I rise to my full height and pull her close. The cherry aroma of her hair, the warmth of her body, everything about her is my oxygen, my nutrients, my lifeblood. “Come back to us.”

“I will.” She kisses me, a lingering, tender kiss that ends too soon.

She boards her boat with her bodyguards and blows me a kiss before steering it away and fading into the gloom.

I ache with loss. It feels wrong to let her go, but I have to trust her, trust she’ll return to us.

An hour later, I sit with my brothers in the den, surrounded by maps, sticky notes, and diagrams. After Frankie’s last session with Doyle, Monty turned this space into a war room. Clues, evidence, suspects, timelines—all the information we have is displayed on the wall in a complex diagram to help us focus and problem-solve.

“We don’t have enough clues.” Monty scans the wall of sticky notes. “The stalker has been too quiet.”

I lower onto the couch beside him. “Every message and morbid gift to Frankie puts this nutjob at risk of getting caught.”

“Why send anything at all?” Leo rubs his head.

“Desire for control and power,” Monty says. “By making us afraid of him, he can savor the perceived power he holds over us.”

“He?” I raise my brows.

“Most serial killers are male,” Monty argues.

“Okay, well, maybe these gifts are also a need for recognition.” My throat works around painful memories. “Denver craved acknowledgment for all the good work he did. He believed he committed all those crimes for us and wanted recognition for it.”

“Good point.” Monty scowls. “It can also be a psychological thrill for this guy. The risk of getting caught is an adrenaline rush.” He turns back to his notes on the wall. “I don’t want more communication from him, but we need it. We need something. The investigation is going stagnant.”

“What are we missing?” I lift the book of Pushkin poems. “Someone put this and the flight logs in Rurik’s house, and the stalker knows about them. There’s a connection we’re not seeing.”

“I agree.” Monty rolls his lips. “I gave Wilson a list of everyone who’s familiar with the estate on Kodiak Island and their connection to it. We need to retrace those threads, no matter how thin.”

“Feels like we’re always a step behind and looking in the wrong direction.” Leo paces the room, chewing on his thumbnail. “It’s like the bastard is dangling red herrings to distract us.”

“He’s toying with us.” Monty looks up, his gaze steady. “We need to be thorough. Every detail matters.”

“I want to hunt.” My fingers flex and release.

“We tried that,” Leo says. “We can’t hunt until we know who we’re hunting.”

“I hate feeling useless.” I let out a grunt of frustration. “Frankie’s out there, risking her life, and we’re stuck here chasing shadows.”

“We’re doing everything we can. We’ll find him. Then we’ll deal with him.” Monty holds my gaze. “The Strakh way.”

The conviction in his tone sets my shoulders. I can’t fucking wait.

I just hope we’re not too late.

We spend the rest of the day picking through clues, making phone calls, and touching base with Wilson. Monty is relentless, driven by the need to protect us all and find the answers.

“Someone out there has a motive.” Monty slumps into the couch, exhaustion edging his voice. “A motive that set this into motion a long time ago.”

Wilson has been painstakingly crosschecking the handwriting on Wolf’s photo against the handwriting of those on our suspect list. So far, there have been no matches. But our suspect list is incomplete.

He’s still pulling names from Rurik’s incriminating ledger. Monty knew it would take an unreasonable amount of man-hours to scrub hundreds of pages of accounting entries, but it’s been three months. It’s taking too damn long.

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