She shook her head and slowed her pace so his breathing could level out. “Not yet. I’m fine for now.” If the man had a heart attack, she wouldn’t be able to carry him back up the trail. Was there a polite way to recommend he try to breathe out of his nose, so his body received the message that he wasn’t being attacked? “Let me know if you need a break.”
“I don’t,” he said shortly, but a cough ruined his curt response. His cough was wet, indicating that his lungs were having problems with either the exertion or the cold air.
Perhaps bringing Walter had been a bad idea, although she’d had to follow protocol. Backup was a must in this type of situation, especially since she wasn’t knowledgeable of the area. She’d much rather be with Captain Rivers, as he no doubt knew the area better than anybody else. She would not wonder if he had accepted a first date with Abigail Caine. It was none of Laurel’s business. She shrugged off regret and kept descending, holding onto an ice-encrusted wooden railing as she maneuvered down some steps to another trail below. Snow clung to her gloves. Sound finally penetrated the heavy silence as she edged closer to the water.
The river crackled along its craggy banks, scraping ice across the protruding rocks. She took a break, bending over to catch her breath. With the frigid air and thick snow, it was difficult to continue, and she was in better physical shape than was Walter. She swallowed, and the freezing air burned her throat. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a lip balm? Her lips were already cracking.
Walter lumbered up next to her, panting louder than any animal. He coughed and the sound was wetter than before. He turned his head and spit into the snow. Hopefully it was just phlegm and not blood.
She looked up and over, seeking any hint of red in the snow. Nope. No red. Good. “Are you okay? This is tougher than I expected.” She’d hoped the snow would’ve melted a little. Her borrowed jeans were soaked, and even though she’d donned long underwear beneath them, her skin was cold and wet. Very uncomfortable. The boots weren’t waterproof, and her toes hurt. Actually, that was good. The second she couldn’t feel them, she was in trouble. “Walter?”
“I’m fine.” His cheeks were a damask color and sweat dripped down the side of his face. He’d paled beneath his eyes until dark circles stood out. His jowls shook around his jaw and his Adam’s apple moved rapidly.
She fought the inclination to measure his pulse. “If you want to guard this area, I’ll continue to the bridge we saw on the map.”
“I’m guarding you,” he retorted, his skin gray beneath the ruddiness.
She stood upright and stretched her neck. “I’m a good shot, Walter. I don’t need guarding, but I always take backup. You’re struggling, and if something goes wrong, I won’t be able to carry you up this trail before you freeze to death.” While she didn’t like being unkind, she’d like it less if he stroked out and died.
Snow began to fall. “Crap,” Walter muttered. “I’m going with you. Let’s do this now. If the next storm is as bad as it looked on the Weather Channel, this is going to be our only chance for a while.”
Well, he was an adult, and she wasn’t going to pull rank yet. She turned and found purchase with her boots before continuing along the trail by the icy cold river. If she stayed to the left of the trail, closer to the water, the snow wasn’t as deep. Her way became easier as the trees thickened, providing shelter above them. After another half hour of walking, they reached a whimsically arched bridge that spanned a narrow stretch of the river.
“There you go. We just cross that and we’ll be at the picnic area. The place should have a name, don’t you think? Instead it’s just listed as a picnic spot on the maps.” Walter grabbed his belly and coughed several times. “I’m fine. Guess I should start working out more.”
Laurel looked at her watch. She couldn’t let him rest any longer. “It’s after three. Let’s record the area and get out of here before we lose more daylight.” She turned and grabbed the wooden railing of the bridge to haul herself up and through the snow. The flashlight in her pocket felt leaden, but she trudged onward, reaching the center of the bridge and then descending. Her boots slipped several times, but she kept her balance by utilizing the thick railings and watching her foot placement carefully.
Finally, she reached the other side and waited for Walter. He rejoined her with a pained wheeze. Snow clung to his hat and parka, which bulged in the middle. He pointed. “That way, back up the river. The picnic spot is just a few hundred yards from here, and the outhouses are yards beyond that in the trees against the rocks and away from the river.”
“I see picnic tables.” Out of nowhere, the wind kicked into an angry gale, nearly tossing her backward. She spit out snow and then lowered her head, fighting both the wind and the thick snow to travel the short distance. Her ankle ached from being twisted the other night, her thighs protested, her toes tingled with pain, but she trudged onward. A picnic table came into view, buried to the seats. She turned to stare across the river and up to the north, spotting one side of Snowblood Peak. “There it is.”
Walter shoved through snow, his breathing labored. “Yeah.” He looked up. “See how the peak is visible but the other side, where the bodies were thrown, is not? There’s no way the guy could come here and see anything.”
“He could see the peak,” she murmured, shivering in the cold. “Imagine it. He’s here, surrounded by cheerful picnickers and people rafting the river, and only he knows about those bodies. They’re just barely hidden, but he’s in control. Oh, he came here, Walter.” It was unfortunate there weren’t any Fish and Wildlife cameras anywhere near them. She backed against the picnic table. How many times had the killer sat right there?
The snow began to fall faster, and the wind blew icy flakes sideways. “How do you think like a psychopath so easily?” Walter asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, stepping on the buried seat to plant her butt on the picnic table. That was a question she’d never wanted to delve into too deeply, and now certainly wasn’t the right time to even think about it. There was no question genius and madness almost overlapped on the clock of life, and her ability to dig into the criminal mind lived in the half-minute between those two. She let herself feel the moment and do her job without questioning herself. “Yeah. He sat right here and watched the peak. The face watched right back,” she whispered.
Walter took out his cell phone and started snapping pictures. “I’ll record the area for our case board,” he said, apparently ignoring her statement.
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes and let the cold batter her, imagining a summer day with the killer on the tabletop and tourists all around, having no idea who or what he was. He’d love that. Get off on it. Maybe look for his next victim? Or were all of his victims high-risk young women taken off the streets of Seattle? Hopefully the techs in DC would be on it. She’d sent several emails before leaving the office.
“I’m done with the pictures, and we need to go. This storm is coming in hard and fast. I can barely see. Do you have what you needed?” Walter asked.
“Yes.” She had a better feel for this guy than she had before. “Thank you for coming out here.” The wind blew her hat off, and she caught it, shoving it back into place. “Let’s get out—” A flash of color near the river caught her eye. “What is that?”
Walter squinted through the now-swirling snow. “I don’t see anything.”
“Look at the area closer to the bridge.” She jumped off the table, kicked snow out of her way, and created a trail down to the river’s edge at the side of the bridge. Her heart thumped and she tried to run faster but nearly fell on her face and had to slow down. Her ears rang and her heart dropped to her aching feet. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
A naked female body, gray and frozen in death, lay on the icy rocks, feet in the water and blond hair tangled in the snow.
Chapter Fifteen
“Holy shit.” Walter struggled by Laurel’s side. “Is that a body?” He grabbed her arm and stumbled along.
Laurel reached the body and crouched down, careful to restrain herself from disturbing the surrounding area. Her injured ankle protested with a spasm, and she rode out the pain. Sorrow attacked her on the heels of dizzying anger. She breathed deeply to keep herself under control. “She’s young. Maybe nineteen or twenty.” The woman had blond hair and ligature marks on her wrists and ankles as well as bruising on her neck and body. Her eyelids were closed and her skin a pale gray from being frozen. “She was placed here between the last storm and this one, so maybe in the last twelve hours?”
