The silence that followed carried weight beyond tactical planning.Sullivan cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost its professional edge.
"Isla, if your instincts are telling you this is wrong, we can find another way.There's no shame in—"
"My instincts have been wrong before," she interrupted, though the words tasted bitter.Alicia Mendez's face flashed through her mind—the victim she'd failed to save because she'd trusted the wrong profile, followed the wrong suspect."That's why we follow evidence and procedure instead of just gut feelings."
"Your instincts weren't wrong in Miami.Your timing was."Sullivan paused, choosing his words carefully."There's a difference."
The distinction should have been comforting, but it felt more like absolution she hadn't earned.She clipped her service weapon to her belt, checking the magazine and safety with movements that had become ritual during her years with the FBI.The familiar weight should have been reassuring, but Lake Superior's winter conditions would make drawing and firing accurately nearly impossible if circumstances turned violent.Her best protection would be Sullivan's surveillance from shore and the radio communication they'd established for the patrol.
"I have to go," she said, lacing her boots with fingers that had finally steadied."Kucharski's expecting me at six.If I'm late, he might get suspicious."
"Radio check every five minutes," Sullivan said, his voice returning to professional mode."Any gap longer than seven minutes and we're coming in, whether you've signaled distress or not."
"Understood."Isla grabbed her winter coat from the chair beside her bed, the heavy parka that never seemed quite adequate for Duluth's brutal cold."James?If this goes sideways—"
"It won't."
"But if it does, make sure Kate knows that the Lake Superior Killer is still out there.Kucharski's not responsible for Alex Novak or the historical pattern.Someone else is, and they're still operating."
The line was quiet for a long moment."I will.But you're going to tell her yourself when this is over."
Isla ended the call and stood, studying her reflection one final time.The woman looking back at her was older than the agent who'd transferred from Miami, marked by the kind of experiences that aged you from the inside out.But she was also stronger.More careful.Better at reading the signs that separated genuine dedication from calculated performance.
If Kucharski was their killer—and every piece of evidence suggested he was—then this morning would either expose him or get her killed.There was no middle ground when dealing with someone who'd successfully hidden behind heroic actions for thirty years.
The drive to their meeting point took her through Duluth's pre-dawn emptiness, street lights creating pools of yellow illumination that barely penetrated the darkness blanketing the city.Harbor district buildings rose like prehistoric monoliths against the lightening sky, their bulk suggesting the industrial power that had built Duluth but now seemed alien and potentially threatening in the context of her investigation.
Her phone's GPS guided her through streets she'd memorized over the past year, but the familiar route felt different this morning.Every intersection seemed to hold potential ambush points.Every parked car could contain surveillance or support for whatever trap Kucharski might have prepared.The paranoia was probably excessive, but it kept her alert, kept her scanning for threats that might not manifest until it was too late to avoid them.
The lakefront access point came into view just as her dashboard clock clicked over to 5:47 AM.Thirteen minutes early—enough time to assess the scene before Kucharski arrived, to identify potential escape routes and areas of vulnerability.But as her headlights swept across the small parking area, she saw that she wasn't the first to arrive.
Kucharski's rescue vehicle sat in the corner of the lot, its distinctive markings visible even in the pre-dawn darkness.The truck's cab was dark, but she could see a figure moving near the back, organizing equipment in the pale beam of what appeared to be a flashlight or headlamp.
He'd arrived early, too.The realization sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.Either he was genuinely eager to begin their patrol, or he'd wanted time to prepare the scene before she arrived—to ensure that whatever trap he'd set was ready to spring the moment they ventured onto the ice.
Isla parked her sedan three spaces away from Kucharski's truck, angling her vehicle so that her driver's side door offered the quickest path back to safety if she needed to retreat in a hurry.Her hand moved automatically to her service weapon, checking one final time that it was secure and accessible despite the layers of winter clothing that could slow her draw time.
"Agent Rivers," Kucharski called as she approached, his voice carrying enthusiasm that felt discordant given the circumstances."Beautiful morning for a patrol."
The observation was technically accurate—the storm had passed overnight, leaving behind crystal-clear air and the kind of bitter cold that made every breath visible.Lake Superior stretched before them like an endless white plain, its frozen surface unmarked except for occasional pressure ridges where ice had buckled under stress from currents flowing beneath.
But beautiful wasn't the word Isla would have chosen.Treacherous, maybe.Deceptive.The kind of landscape where death could hide beneath surfaces that appeared solid and safe.
Kucharski looked remarkably recovered for someone who'd nearly died of hypothermia less than twelve hours earlier.His movements were fluid and confident as he arranged equipment on the truck's tailgate—ice augers, testing probes, emergency rope, and other specialized gear that spoke to decades of experience with winter rescue operations.His face showed no signs of the frostbite that should have marked his hands and cheeks after entering Lake Superior's killing waters to pull Jennifer Hayes from beneath the ice.
Either his recovery was genuinely exceptional, or he'd never been as compromised as he'd appeared at yesterday's scene.
"How are you feeling after last night?"Isla asked, studying his face for signs of the exhaustion and trauma that should have followed his rescue attempt and subsequent hypothermic exposure.
Kucharski's expression brightened at her apparent concern for his welfare."Some residual cold sensitivity in my hands and feet, but nothing that interferes with operational capacity.Winter rescue work teaches you to function despite environmental stress."He flexed his fingers, demonstrating a range of motion that should have been compromised by severe cold exposure."The human body is remarkably resilient when properly trained."
His response was professionally appropriate, but Isla noticed the way his eyes lingered on her face, as if he was cataloguing her reactions for some purpose she couldn't identify.The attention wasn't overtly threatening, but it carried an intensity that went beyond normal collegial interest.It reminded her of the way profilers studied subjects—assessing, analyzing, looking for vulnerabilities to exploit.
"What's our route?"she asked, consulting the watch that had belonged to her father during his Coast Guard service.The familiar weight on her wrist provided comfort, a connection to someone who'd understood the lake's dangers and respected them without fear.
Kucharski gestured toward a section of the lake that stretched northeast from their position, an area that appeared identical to every other portion of the frozen expanse but apparently held significance for someone with his experience."There's a region about half a mile out where the currents create weak spots that aren't always obvious from surface observation.If someone's been deliberately compromising ice integrity, that's where they'd be most likely to succeed."
The explanation was logical enough to seem credible, demonstrating the kind of technical knowledge that had made Kucharski valuable to the search and rescue community.But it also confirmed that he possessed exactly the expertise necessary to identify—or create—artificially weakened ice conditions.
