If he hadn’t been, Peyton would have silently ordered him to thrash around on the multiple pieces of iron now impaling him until he finished the job.
Peyton hadn’t enjoyed doing it, derived no satisfaction from it, especially given the circumstances, but at least the mother’s grimly satisfied acknowledgment helped ease Peyton’s conscience in the matter. And the girl, now twenty-two, had been in therapy for years to deal with the trauma and just graduated from college with a degree in communications.
Peyton would have let him off with a simpler, cleaner death if it hadn’t been for the fact that the man had committed over twenty-five rapes of young girls in his life, most of them ones no one else knew about, a confession Peyton obtained from him before deciding to go that route. And the man had admitted he would have kept raping girls as long as he could get away with it.
As far as Peyton was concerned, he saved the state of Washington the price of a trial and life-long incarceration. Plus, the victims wouldn’t have to endure the additional trauma of testifying.
They were an hour north of Trondheim when one of Trevor’s men returned to the car where Peyton and Trevor were seated and gave the all-clear. The two of them stood and made their way to another car, where they’d booked a private compartment.
It was close quarters with all nine of them crammed inside, but they made it work. There were even more of them scattered throughout the entire length of the train, Trevor’s men and men of some of the people now gathered, but they were keeping watch for any sign of interference or unwarranted interest from people that shouldn’t be taking notice of them.
One of Trevor’s men, Wilford, a Brit who worked for an oil company and lived in Oslo, pulled up detailed satellite images of the target region on his tablet. “I spoke to my contact this morning, Fredrik Haugen. He pinpointed the location where the man is staying. Right here.” He zoomed in. “It’s not on a main hiking trail, but it’s in a sheltered spot with water close by. He’s under a rock overhang. Even if we send up drones, I’m not sure we can spot him without thermal imaging capabilities.”
“When was the last time Fredrik saw him?” Peyton asked.
Wilford calculated the time. “Forty-eight hours ago.”
“But we aren’t sure it’s Faegan?” Peyton asked.
“The description he gave matches,” Wilford said. “And although he didn’t see him up close, or for long, I texted him a picture and he said it certainly looked like him.”
“No shifters we could send in there sooner?” Peyton asked. “How do we know he’ll even be there?”
“The only shifter in that family is Geir, the father. He’s an officer in the Forsvaret and currently away, stationed on deployment,” Wilford said. “Navy, I believe. The rest of the household are all humans or non-shifters—the mate, Vera, is human. The children are non-shifters—Fredrik, the son, who’s twenty, and Katarina, the fourteen-year-old daughter. Fredrik said he was out looking for mushrooms with their dog. He didn’t realize the man might be Faegan at first. He saw him from a distance, but the man didn’t seem to notice him. Then he realized it was a shifter from a scent he picked up. Something about the situation didn’t feel right to him, and he was unarmed, so he scarpered. On his way home, he remembered the alerts about Faegan and called me. He added that it appeared the man had settled in and been there for several days, at least. He hasn’t told his mother or sister about it because he doesn’t want them worrying.”
“What about his father?” Trevor asked.
“He’s currently on deployment and out of phone contact.”
“Guns?” Peyton asked.
“For us, or do you mean is Faegan armed?” Wilford asked.
“Yes,” Peyton grimly said, making everyone smile.
“Presuming our quarry is Faegan, we have no idea if he’s armed,” Wilford continued. “Typically, in Norway, it’s required that people store firearms in locked gun safes separate from ammunition. But in rural homes, that might not be adhered to quite as strictly. Especially if they’re raising livestock and out in the woods frequently. So it’s conceivable Faegan has acquired a firearm. I would be shocked if he didn’t at least have a knife or a hatchet. Fredrik said he can get us ten guns…”
Peyton tried not to zone out during the discussion, but he’d slept like crap the night before—now two nights in a row with little sleep—and he felt exhausted. Once the man finished, they all turned to Peyton, who had apparently become the de facto leader in everyone’s mind, even to the shifters who weren’t officially part of the Targhee pack, extended or otherwise.
“Okay. Non-Primes and non-shifters should have guns,” Peyton said. “Spread them out as best we can if all we can get is ten. I’ll forego taking one since I’m a Prime…”
When they took a break a few hours later to head to the dining car, Peyton and Trevor hung back for a moment while the others went on ahead.
“Well?” Trevor asked.
“I sensed no deception in any of them, if that’s your question. And I shook all of their hands.”
Trevor looked relieved. “That was my question. I mean, I know we can trust them, but…” The man looked devastatingly haunted and didn’t finish his comment.
He didn’t have to. “I know,” Peyton said. “Trust is a rare commodity these days. I know my loss was years ago, but among all of us gathered here today, I’m one of the few who can truly say I have a sense of what you’re going through. It sucks losing loved ones to violence and feeling helpless to bring the person to justice.”
Another grim nod from Trevor. “I was just thinking that a short while ago. Certainly, all of them have lost a loved one at some point. But you and I both lost them suddenly, violently, with a feeling of security shattered and desperately needing to protect others in the long term. Dewi, in your case, and Tamsin and her baby in mine.”
While Trevor and Elizabeth talked to Tamsin nearly daily via video calls, Peyton had shown the man a bunch of pictures of her and the baby the night before, while at the hotel.
Trevor sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if, once we’re through all of this, I shouldn’t relinquish local control of our pack to someone younger and move myself and Elizabeth to the States.”
That surprised Peyton. “You know you’re welcome to visit anytime, right? Don’t make a rash decision.”
