Denver’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “Road might be closed.”
Yeah. Mountain passes were rarely kept open during storm season. They’d have to risk it anyway. Heath wiped snow off his forehead and then planted a hand on the dash to balance himself. “Ry? See if you can trace my cell phone. The killer took it, my wallet with the fake ID but real picture—and my gun.”
“Are you okay?” Ryker asked even as he started typing loud enough to be heard through the speaker.
“Fine. Little headache.” Heath gingerly touched the lump above his right ear. Why hadn’t the killer taken him out completely? Was the guy only into killing redheads? “Find it?”
“Yeah. It’s back at the farm somewhere.” Ryker fell silent. “Are your prints on it?”
Heath shook his head. “I’m not sure. They’re on my gun for sure.” He winced. Would the Copper Killer somehow use those? Probably. “I’m sorry, guys.” He rubbed his aching eyes. What had he done? He’d rushed in and now had put his entire family at risk of exposure. The hollowness in his chest actually hurt.
He was the smooth and calm brother, and yet he was acting like an emotional jackass. His issues with female victims had to be kept under control or he’d hurt the few people in life who were his. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Ryker said. “Don’t worry. Chances are the killer took the gun and left the burner phone somewhere to be found by the FBI. I know you. You regularly wipe down everything, and if you’re wearing gloves, you’re okay. We’re okay.”
Yet were they? Heath had been in such a rush to find Jackson, he wasn’t sure. A sour taste filled his mouth, and he slowed his speech to regain control. “I don’t know, Ry.”
Denver increased the speed of the windshield wipers. “Worry about now.”
“Agreed,” Ryker said. “One catastrophe at a time. For now, you guys have to get through the mountain pass in this storm before the FBI is able to get birds in the air and conduct surveillance.”
“Before they block the roads,” Denver muttered quietly.
Heath stiffened. “You’re right.” Once the FBI found the agent’s body, they’d put up roadblocks in every direction. “Hurry, Denver. We have to get out of here.”
CHAPTER
6
Anya stood in the snow, her black skirt covering her boots, her gaze on the casket slowly being lowered into the ground. She’d cried for five days straight, and she felt empty. Her sister, the strong and vibrant FBI agent, was dead. Tears filled Anya’s eyes, but she couldn’t look away from the smooth, polished wood.
Dead and gone—found on a barn floor.
Why had Anya called Loretta for help? She could’ve just called the closest FBI office, which happened to be in Snowville and had been already working on the case. She pressed a hand to her chest; it felt like somebody had punched her.
The FBI had found Loretta dead on the floor of the barn in Idaho.
The killer had left her there in the cold.
Loretta was gone.
The sister she’d only just begun to really know. The woman who’d dropped everything, relocated to Snowville, and put herself on a dangerous serial killer case just to protect a sister she talked to only a few times a year. The big sister Anya had needed and had already admired so much. The only family she’d had left in the world.
Dead.
The priest’s voice droned on, and several people cried silently, so silently around her. The agents were quiet in their pain.
She drifted, her mind numb and sliding back three months to when she’d opened her door to a sharp knock right after dawn.
“Loretta,” she said, stepping back and trying to wake up. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Took a night flight from DC.” Loretta shoved curly brown hair away from her face and pushed inside, a small bag over her shoulder. Her chocolate brown eyes took in the entire apartment in seconds.
Anya looked into the hallway and nodded at the uniformed police officer who had shown up right after she’d called her sister. He nodded back.
“Where’s your luggage?” Anya asked.
“Here.” Loretta dumped the small bag. “I travel light.”
