Page 92 of High Density

“Looks like the tracks of an ATV, and up ahead it looks like something was parked partially on the grass shoulder.”

I follow the ATV tracks to the edge of the road. Where they disappear there is a sharp, deep indentation about four or five feet wide.

“The ATV was loaded onto a trailer,” I tell Ewing as I walk up the road a little ways. “The tire tracks go farther up the mountain. What’s up there?”

“Not much. Up ahead the road curves back on the other side of Flower Lake where it ends. Not much up there other than a handful of hunting cabins.”

I pull out my phone and call Jackson.

“Got her?” he asks right away.

“No. Her truck is in a ditch, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t in there at the time. I need the Matrice here at the Nordic Ski Club up on Flower Lake Road. We’re looking for a truck and trailer, possibly a horse trailer,” I add.

It’s only a guess, but that’s what Janey would’ve been looking for, since the emergency call that came in was for a pair of horses injured in a vehicle crash. I don’t think she’d have gotten out of her truck otherwise.

“Give me fifteen minutes. I need to slap in a fresh battery pack, I’ll fly her out from here and we’ll follow in the truck.”

“We?”

“Yeah. We’ll be packing up shortly.”

Just then Ewing’s radio crackles to life.

“Why?”

I ask the question, but don’t really want to know the answer.

“Jillian and Emo found her.”

Fuck.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Janey

“Logan?”

He climbs into the trailer and smiles his familiar charming boy smile; innocent and eager to please. Except, he’s not so innocent, is he?

My mind is still sluggish, trying to process all the puzzle pieces that suddenly tumble into place. Flashes of moments in time. Mental screenshots of events, interactions, encounters, all clearer from this new perspective.

I feel ill, suddenly recognizing the friendly smile he shows me as something infinitely darker. More sinister.

“It was time, Janey,” he says benevolently.

The fact he’s using my first name instead of the customary, “Doc,” sends shivers down my spine. It suggests an intimacy that exists only in his mind, and that in itself is terrifying.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

If I’ve learned anything from watching crime shows on TV, it’s to keep your assailant talking. Keep reminding them you’re a living, breathing human being.Christ, I hope they’re right.

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he says in a gentle voice that fills me with dread. “You don’t understand, which is why you’ve forced me to take extreme measures.”

He reaches out and I can’t stop myself from flinching as he strokes the raw skin on my wrist with his fingertips.

“Look at what you made me do,” he mumbles, almost like he’s in a trance.

Then suddenly he grabs for my hair and yanks my head back, his face so close to mine, I can feel his erratic breath on my skin. He looks angry, his eyes almost black with rage as he bores them into mine.

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