Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Beside her elbow sits the leather-bound copy of Pushkin’s poems that I unearthed from the wall in my father’s office. Months ago, I had the book analyzed for codes and cryptic messages. Another dead end.
“Alexander Pushkin.” I take a deep breath. “To understand the quotes, you must understand the man. He was a Russian poet and literary genius, who suffered from morbid, delusional jealousy and fucked anything that walked. Like a paranoid, pathological Don Juan of his time. Ironically, he loved his wife and constantly accused her of infidelity. He was also known for his rages and would fight a duel at the drop of a hat. As it turns out, it was a duel that took his life.”
“So he was unhinged?” Leo lifts the leather book, thumbing through the pages.
“Pretty much.” My forehead twitches. “Whoever sent those quotes to Frankie knows I found the book of poems.”
“Or they put the book in that wall, hoping you would find it.” Leo inspects the spine and inner book flaps. “Along with those flight logs.”
“Since the stalker enjoys referencing Pushkin…” She turns back to the notepad on the table. “It’s safe to assume this person is unhinged, too.”
“That’s a given,” Leo says.
Carl’s investigation into how a human heart arrived with the groceries is another dead end. Someone must’ve slipped the box onto the pallet of food before it was loaded onto the boat in Sitka harbor. There were no cameras or eyewitnesses in the loading area.
Leo returns the book and crouches beside a different box on the floor. This one contains all the things they brought from Hoss. The flight manual, survival gear, Wolf’s keepsakes and drawings, and the slippers Denver stole from me. Melanie also returned the journal, thumb drive, and bag of bones.
The kidnapping cases are still open and will probably remain so forever. But as expected, the detectives moved on to more pressing investigations.
Over the past two days, we’ve watched Denver’s video multiple times.
The solution isn’t here. I’m certain of it.
“We need sleep.” I rub my pounding head.
“We need answers.” Kody grabs his crossbow from the box, checking the strings.
“I just…” She bites her lower lip as if trying to hold back the words. “I don’t know if I can handle it if it’s him.”
She means Wolf. But I don’t know if she’s referring to him being the stalker or the owner of the heart.
The photo could’ve been staged. Leo confirmed that Wolf had access to a digital camera. But none of them know if it was missing after his disappearance. They never thought to look for it.
We need to find that goddamn cabin.
“We won’t jump to conclusions.” I move to her side, taking her chin in my hand. “We’ll wait for the analysis.”
Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, a reservoir of unwept tears. She looks physically drained, with a noticeable lack of energy in her movements.
I step back and find Leo’s gaze, giving him a silent demand to call it a day.
“We’ll find him, love. But right now…” He moves in and lifts her into his arms, ignoring her protests. “It’s time for bed.”
He carries her upstairs to the guest bedroom where they sleep now. They moved into the main house after the package was delivered. When I ordered that move, they didn’t argue.
Someone sent a human heart to my heavily guarded island. We’re not taking any risks.
Two days later, the call comes.
Sitting in the gazebo beside the pool, we pore over the map Sirena sent, discussing the sections of the Brooks Range that her team has already scoured.
Pulse racing, I answer the call on speaker.
“Monty,” Wilson says, “I received the results from the forensic investigator.” Papers rustle in the background. “The heart matches Denver Strakh’s DNA.”
Shock slices through me. Frankie’s mouth drops open, and Leo and Kody exchange puzzled glances.
“Denver’s?” Relief floods in as I shake off the surprise. “How is that possible?”
“You said Denver’s body was dumped in the tundra around the same time that Wolf jumped off the cliff.” Wilson coughs, his voice hoarse with age. “It’s plausible that your perpetrator was waiting nearby and collected both bodies.”
“The plane in the hills wasn’t trophy hunters.” Kody’s jaw tightens. “We saw it a week after Denver died. It’s connected.”
“Maybe,” Wilson says. “It doesn’t show up on any flight logs in Alaska or Canada, so that alone makes it suspicious.”
“Fingerprints?” I ask.
“None. Everything you sent was clean. Too clean.”
“Whoever it is, they’re fucking with us.” Leo’s unique eyes flash with anger. “And they have Wolf’s body.”
“The photograph was analyzed.” Wilson sighs. “I’m sorry, but it’s not a fake. The image is Wolfson, based on your identification. But it doesn’t confirm whether he was dead or alive at the time of the photo.” He explains the technical details about the camera that was used, the time of day, and the angle of the shot. “Wolfson could’ve set the camera on a timer, propped it against a boulder, and taken the picture. But that’s inconclusive. Would a camera survive that fall? Would a human survive it? Right now, the only evidence we have is the heart belongs to Denver and Wolfson’s body made it out of that river.”