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She got up every morning, visited Buttercup, always grooming her, and if there was time, they’d go riding. Then she’d race home, clean up, and head back to the ranch to take Peter to school. After school, she brought Peter home then charged to her house to do her homework.

Claire had lost her parents, too, but she never complained. Never let it define who she was.

And even though Claire pushed herself to the point most would crash, she would never run away.

Not without Adam, and not without Buttercup.

* * *

Adam could only think of one other place she might be.

Several times Claire had mentioned his family’s cabin… how one day they would fix it up, build a barn, and a deck next to the creek.

He drove slowly up the long dirt road, remembering the night he and Peter had fled.

All the snow was gone, so there was nothing that revealed his skid off the road.

No tire tracks remained of the assassin-carrying black crew-cab trucks.

He swallowed hard as the cabin came into view through the thicket of evergreens, new-spring green trees, and thick brush.

Adam drove the truck at a slow crawl onto the path that led to their house.

No bullet-riddled trucks. No bodies. No fresh graves.

Jeff must have somehow hauled everyone off. Eight bodies — nine, he realized, counting Thomas.

What had he done with Thomas’s body?

He thought maybe she came to check out the cabin, since he told her he couldn’t handle seeing the place. Possibly her grandmother’s Cherokee had broken down.

As soon as he pulled up, he knew Claire wasn’t there — as he’d prayed the entire two hours.

If Claire were there, the moment she heard the truck, she would have peeked around the doorway like she had in Buttercup’s stall.

His heart thrashed on the memory. Her sweet smile when she bent around Buttercup, whispering, Hey .

He lowered his head to the steering wheel. “Please be here, Claire. Please be waiting for me. Show me what you decided for our future. I don’t want a future without you.”

Adam shifted the truck into park, then turned the key to the off position. The engine rattled to a stop.

He reached for his rifle and stepped out, making his slow way to the house he’d never been afraid to enter before now.

The door was open. Yeah, anyone could break in, but why would Jeff have left the door wide open where animals could enter? Every Alaskan knew you didn’t leave doors open. Unlocked, yeah, so people wouldn’t break in to an empty cabin, but never wide-open.

Adam shifted his gun forward.

The entire front room was trashed. Everything overturned, ripped open, shattered.

He stood in the doorway, heart pounding.

No tire tracks. No noise. Whoever had been here was long gone.

But it wasn’t Claire.

* * *

That night, Adam pulled into The Pitts, the closed quarry halfway between Falcon Run and Wasilla.

The only light was by way of headlights. Vehicles took turns, so no one ran down their batteries.

A truck on the other side was the only one running, its radio turned up, windows down.

Adam parked and walked around the outside of the ring of trucks.

He found Jeff leaning against his tailgate, Budweiser in hand.

Adam crawled into the truck bed. Squatting, he hobbled toward Jeff. The man was dangerous. He’d seen what he could do.

But Adam was desperate, and he’d keep the .38 in his possession this time.

He grabbed Jeff’s left shoulder, pulling him against the tailgate as he drilled the muzzle against the back of the man’s neck.

Jeff froze.

Adam growled in his ear. “Where’d you bury the bodies? Where’s Thomas?”

“Adam!” Jeff choked out in a whisper, but held steady. “I went back the next morning! Place was empty. Everything was gone.”

“Who were they? How did you know they were coming?”

“I don’t know who they were! Thomas never told me names. Said a friend hooked him up.”

He pushed the gun harder into his spine. “How’d you know they were coming, Jeff?”

“I was at the bar. Saw them walk in. Heard them ask for Thomas Belgarde.”

Adam pushed himself backward, breathing hard. “Someone took Claire.”

“Claire Harper?” Jeff turned slowly, rubbing his neck. “You think it’s connected?”

“Of course it is. Claire’s my girlfriend. We’ve been super careful, but obviously not careful enough.”

“Tell me what to do,” Jeff pleaded. “I’ll do anything. Claire’s great. So sweet. I hate this. I told Thomas not to mess with those men —”

“I know what you told Thomas. I wish you’d told me.”

Adam sat with his back against the cold metal frame. He was starting to wonder if he’d ever known Thomas. How could his brother have gotten them so tangled up in this deep, dark web?

Jeff closed his eyes, then rested a heavy hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Tell me what I can do.”

“Sorry doesn’t help me, Jeff. Find out who those men were.”

* * *

Days passed. Unlike most jobs, where he would have just walked away, you couldn’t walk away from a ranch. Like Clara Mae said, it was a 365-days-a-year life.

At least taking care of Buttercup and Bolt provided him with a purpose. But he could see Buttercup’s depression. Horse’s knew. Somehow, horses knew when something was wrong. They missed their people , which made Adam feel sorrow for what Bolt had gone through the past year without him.

Every day melted into the next. No word. No clues.

Both Lala and Claire had just vanished — and people didn’t just disappear.

Then again… in Alaska, sometimes they did.

Like those girls in Seattle.

What if that creep had come here?

Alaska was the end of the road for murderers like him.

Adam should have paid more attention. What if one of the new hands —

The barn door squealed open.

Adam lunged toward the stall gate.

No one came in this early. No one but him… and Claire.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Please be Claire .

Boyd staggered into the barn, reeking of whiskey and desperation. He stumbled into a stall door, nearly collapsing, but pushed himself into the center aisle.

“They’re gonna kill me,” he slurred. “I told them I didn’t have the money or the drugs.”

“Who’s gonna kill you?” Then it dawned on him. Adam rushed forward, grabbing the scum by his collar. “Where’s Claire?”

“I don’t know — they took her.”

Adam slammed him into the wall. “You lying coward!”

“They were supposed to come for you,” Boyd whimpered. “I didn’t touch her! I loved her, man. When I saw it was you here, not him , I remembered you liked her. I saw the way she watched you on the back of his truck. And then that stupid movie. That damn song —”

Adam screamed then slammed his fist within an inch of Boyd’s face.

“Stop!” screeched a high-pitched female voice.

Adam turned.

Lala stood at the barn doors, tears streaking her makeup. “He didn’t take her.”

Adam turned back to Boyd. “Who did?”

Boyd’s mouth turned into a sneer. “The snake, man.”

Adam’s voice dropped. “I swear to you, Boyd…” He turned the man, so that he could keep an eye on Lala, but held onto his neck, squeezing. “My life isn’t worth living without her.”

“She’s…” Boyd said, breathless.

Adam released just enough that he could catch a breath.

“A dry cabin,” Boyd spat.

Adam released his fingers, but held him pinned against the wall. “Where’s the cabin? In Wasilla?”

“Denali. One of those abandoned homesteads. That’s all I know. I wasn’t with them.”

Adam dropped Boyd, and Lala ran toward him.

Good. She’d finally taken the hint.

He didn’t stop to question why she was with Boyd — why everyone thought she was missing, too.

He didn’t care. He was already running.

* * *

Adam didn’t wait for permission. He threw open the tack room, grabbed the topo maps Clara Mae kept stashed in the filing cabinet, and spread them out over the feed bin.

His hands moved quickly, scanning terrain, tracing trails.

Denali was massive, nearly incomprehensible in its expanse, but he had to start somewhere.

Rusty stepped up beside him, propping a foot on the stepstool and lacing up his boots. “You’ll need more than guts out there, kid.”

“I’ve got guts,” Adam said, “and Bolt.”

Clara Mae leaned in the doorframe. “I’ve already called the authorities.”

Adam didn’t look up. “Walt Wheelan? Like Roger’s dad is going to believe his son’s involved with drugs and a kidnapping.”

“Walt’s a good man,” Clara Mae said. “Son’s friend or not, Walt’ll go by the letter of the law. He’s sending a team, but with budget cuts and red tape, he needs something to go on. I told him you were Samuel Belgarde’s son, so he just said not to let you go off half-cocked.”

Adam rolled up the maps. “Half-cocked is how I’ve gotten through the last two years of my life.”

“Wait!” Peter’s voice cracked as he burst in. He looked terrible, but there was a flicker of fire behind his bloodshot eyes. He knew Claire and his brother had always been close, but there was no time for crying. “I’m coming.”

Adam studied him a moment, then gave a single nod. “You keep up, or you stay behind. No exceptions.”

Rusty tossed Peter a pack. “You’ll need this.”

“Boyd said a cabin,” Adam muttered, mostly to himself. “Could be anywhere between Kantishna and Wonder Lake. Hell, even deeper.”

Clara Mae’s voice cut through. “Adam.”

He looked up.

“We all want Claire back, but don’t get yourself killed.”

He gave a tight smile. “Not planning to die, but I won’t come back without her.”

Clara Mae slid a map into his hands. “This should help.”

“I have the topo map.”

“This is better,” Clara Mae said. “A map of all the abandoned homestead cabins in Denali.”

He hugged her. “Thank you.”

Then they were off.

Three horses. Three riders.

And a trail that would stretch his strength… and break his heart once and for all if he didn’t find Claire.

Somewhere, in the still, cold silence of Denali, she waited.

And Adam would find her.

Whatever it took.