Page 64 of Craving Sin (Touch of Evil 13)

Splinting his own leg had been an exercise in torture.

He had bitten through his bottom lip to keep from screaming as he had manipulated the broken bone back into approximate alignment. The taste of blood had filled his mouth, metallic and warm, as he had secured the splint with shaking hands. He had wrapped his ribs as best he could with an elastic bandage, the simple act of raising his arms nearly causing him to black out. The cuts and abrasions that covered his body had seemed trivial by comparison.

It had taken him hours to gather the strength to move again. He had eventually left Houser behind, not caring about the man’s fate. The search team would eventually discover the agent, but by that time, Jacob would be far enough away to evade capture.

He had finally managed to crawl out of the cave.

“—local residents remain unsettled despite federal authorities' assurances that…”

Jacob blinked, returning to the present as the radio announcer's voice rose slightly. The fact that he had been forced to crawl made his gut churn. He tugged the worn jacket he had stolen tighter around his body.

The weeks following his escape had been a haze of pain and careful planning. He had managed to reach an emergency cache he had established years before in a small outbuilding on the edge of the conservation where Nanuq Kalluk had previously been employed. Most of the structure had rotted away in that time, but it still provided a roof over his head and was serviceable enough for him to heal and lie low until the authorities became lax in their duties.

“—S&E Investigations, the private firm founded by Brooklyn Sloane, Walsh's sister, has reportedly taken on several new cases in recent months. Sources close to Sloane indicate that she will continue to search for…”

Jacob came to a stop at the shed’s entrance. The sound of hammering interrupted the radio’s announcement, and Mekhi’s distraction gave Jacob time to recover from such a long walk. The mention of his sister brought back the moment the ice had shattered from beneath his weight.

He had experienced a peculiar sense of acceptance.

He didn't believe in God or divine intervention. Such notions were for people who needed comfort against the void. Yet something about that precise moment had felt like an intervention of Fate, if such a thing existed. He had spent his life creating perfect plans, controlling every variable—and then the earth itself had opened beneath him, a reminder that some things remained beyond his control.

Funny how that thought brought him comfort now.

Jacob wasn't big on spiritual stuff, either. Never had been, but there was something almost elegant about the collapse of his surroundings. Although the so-called experts were making rounds and assuring the people of his demise, his sister would never believe he was dead, not without a body. The thought of Brook constantly looking over her shoulder should have pleased him, should have warmed the cold places inside him, yet he was strangely hollow.

During their final confrontation, something had changed in Brook's eyes. The torment that had always lingered there—that delectable question of whether she might be like him—had diminished. She had stared at him with clarity instead of confusion, with determination instead of doubt.

Her little speeches during their time together had wormed their way into his mind like parasites.

"You’re no different from any other killer out there.”

The words shouldn't have mattered—she had always been so predictably self-righteous—but they echoed in the silence of his hideout, competing with the constant throb of his injuries.

“Every single time you witness a woman believing her world is perfect and full of good, you think of me.”

His fingers itched to hold a knife and slice the blade through the flesh on her face. And what had truly sustained him through the physical pain, what had really driven him to force his broken body to heal, wasn't the thought of Brook's fear.

It was rage, pure and clarifying, that his sister no longer seemed to focus solely on him. Her life had expanded. She had that investigation firm, that team of hers, that boyfriend.

The twisted bond between brother and sister, hunter and hunted, of matching darkness…had been diluted.

Selfish on his part?

Perhaps.

But that was their dynamic.

She was his opposite and his reflection, and no one was going to take that away from him. Not her new friends, not that FBI agent who had fallen with him, not even the mountain that had tried to claim him.

Jacob's lips twitched into a small smile.

For now, he would allow Brook and those currently in her life to become comfortable in their bubbles of safety and normalcy. He needed time, anyway—time to finish recuperating, time to plan.

His leg still wasn't right. The break had been complex, and his amateur medical skills had been insufficient for a perfect repair. He still couldn't put full weight on it without feeling like the bone might snap again.

Alaska had served its purpose, but now it had become a trap.

The authorities might believe him dead, but their presence remained, a lingering reminder of the massive manhunt that had scoured these mountains for months. He needed to disappear completely, and for that, he needed help.

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