Page 2 of Danger in the Wilderness (National Park Protectors #1)

Blaire Tremblay squatted in front of the campfire where the latest PCK victim had been abducted and adjusted the zipper on her personal protective suit.

She examined every inch of the scene, walked where the footprints revealed the killer may have stepped, and entered the ripped tent.

Retracing the unknown suspect’s movements was how she attempted to get inside their head.

See what made them tick. Determine why they were abducting campers and eventually killing their victims.

Why?

Such a small word for one of the biggest questions in her role as a criminal investigative analyst. Blaire loved her job—much to her mother’s dismay—and with her recent move to the Yukon, Blaire was determined to prove her worth as team leader.

And this high-profile case would help. She just had to get the profile correct. To the letter.

More importantly, she was committed to helping law enforcement catch the Park Campfire Killer before they abducted one more person, but she knew time was running out for the latest victim. PCK kidnapped and killed the campers within seventy-two hours.

First, she wanted to get inside the killer’s head, and the only way for her to do that was to survey the crime scene—even though visiting the site technically wasn’t part of her role.

But it was how she did her best work.

She snapped another picture of the scene.

“So, why are you here again?” Constable Quinton Chase circled the site.

“The crime scene unit has already processed the area. All evidence has been sent to the lab earlier this morning. You have the photos and information.” The older consta ble stopped in front of her, placing his hands on his hips.

“My sergeant ordered me to be here while you investigate, so I was just curious.”

Blaire wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand before standing. “I’m trying to get a feel for the details around the campsite. It helps with my profiles. In my opinion, pictures just don’t cut it. I know, being here isn’t normal, but it’s my unusual way of doing my job.”

“Well, you must have friends in high places, as the rest of your unit doesn’t leave their building.”

Blaire pictured her team working in their Whitehorse office—thirty minutes away. “Not really. My father was a good acquaintance of Sergeant Mullins. They trained together in college.”

Quinton adjusted his uniform cap. “Gotcha. You said was . Your dad is deceased?”

“Yes. Murdered.”

By his own brother.

Uncle Ford’s betrayal still hit Blaire’s family hard, and if it hadn’t been for her sister, Izzy, Blaire could have been dead.

She saved Blaire’s life when she was almost kidnapped by a man sent to the ranch by her uncle and his criminal boss.

The man’s rough handling of her that day flashed before Blaire.

The assailant had taken his time as he traced the tip of his fingers down Blaire’s face and neck, plunging her back to the horror of being touched by the men who had abducted her to sell into a trafficking ring when she was eighteen.

Thankfully, her father and his team had found them in time.

So she identified with what it was like to have a fear instilled in her brain. It enabled her to relate to PCK’s victims.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What can I help you with here?”

Seemed the news of her father’s death changed the constable’s irritated demeanor. Good, she could use his cooperation.

Blaire blinked away the vision of her terrifying experiences and moved to the back of the ripped tent.

She pointed at the long tear in the fabric.

“Okay, the rip in this tent reveals the kidnapper entered from the rear and abducted the female.” She eyed the other one-man pop-up.

“And the male who’d been sleeping in the other tent didn’t discover she was gone until the morning?

How did he not hear the abductor?” She thought back to her own attempted kidnapping.

“I would have screamed, so why didn’t she? ”

Quinton withdrew his notebook, flipping through the pages. “The male told me he’s a sound sleeper, but claims his girlfriend didn’t scream. But something in his body language told me he was lying.”

Liars. Something Blaire hated. Her ex-boyfriend, Luca, had lied to her about being married—now she struggled with trusting males.

But she had to move on because she was the only female on her profiler team. The fact that she was awarded the leader position had already created a wedge between her coworkers—Kolby Howard and Reed Pratt. They obviously resented that Sergeant Mullins had given an outsider the role over them.

Not that she blamed them. Over the past five months since she’d relocated to the Yukon, she’d worked hard to gain their trust. Kolby’s walls were falling—brick by brick. Reed was another story.

“Why do you think that?” Blaire drew out her tablet from her crossbody bag. She wanted to draw the scene and add her notes to upload into their system back at the office.

“During questioning, he was antsy. Now, I understand why he’d be jittery, but he kept averting his gaze, tapping his thumb, excessive blinking. Classic signs of deceit.”

Yes, she knew, but she also realized some individuals were supreme deceivers—like Luca.

Blaire, get him out of your head. Move on. “Got it. Perhaps it is just nerves. Or he’s involved somehow.”

“Maybe.” Quinton stuffed his notebook into his uniform vest pocket. “I’m wondering if the suspect somehow subdued the female—”

“Clara. Her name is Clara.” Blaire realized referring to the victim by name made the case personal, but humanizing them only pushed her to find justice for them more quickly.

“Right, Clara. Maybe she was drugged.”

“Yes, some serial killers use meds to quell their victims. Their way of showing authority over them.” Blaire swiped her tablet and brought up the coroner’s report on the past victims. “Tox screen revealed benzodiazepine.”

“Make sense. Benzos are popular.”

Blaire’s grip on her tablet tightened. She hated how easily criminals could get drugs to use for sinister reasons. “We’ve now had four murders with the same MO in the past few months. If we don’t find Clara, she will become the fifth.”

“Didn’t you already release the profile?”

When the police discovered they had a serial killer on their hands, they brought in Blaire’s unit.

After studying all the information, the team gave a profile to the police, but Blaire still felt something was missing.

She had to get it perfect. The victims deserved that much.

“We did, but right now the only thing linking the victims is their abductions from campfires within parks and the fact they were found deceased three days later. Each by brutal means.”

A tremor snaked down Blaire’s spine as she pictured the crime photos. Each victim had multiple knife wounds and bruises, but the coroner stated asphyxiation as the manner of death. Strangled before stabbing. Why?

The knife wounds had her stumped.

That was why Blaire wasn’t happy with the profile. She hadn’t come up with a theory for PCK’s modus operandi.

The only clue to the killer’s signature was a single photo left in the victim’s hand. Why PCK chose the campers he did still baffled Blaire.

“I’ve never seen a case like this in my years of profiling. Has your department found any link to the victims yet?”

“None other than the abduction taking place in parks. He—” Quinton’s radio crackled, interrupting their conversation.

“Possible PCK abduction. Clovercross National Park.” Dispatch revealed the location.

Blaire froze. That’s Dekker’s park.

Quinton pressed his radio button. “Constable Chase responding. I’m the closest. Heading to the campsite. Send backup.”

“Copy that,” Dispatch said.

Quinton gestured to the scene. “You done here? I gotta go. I’ll escort you to your vehicle.”

“I’m coming too. That’s my friend’s park, and we’re close to that location. I need to make sure he’s okay.” Lord, please protect Dekker.

“I can’t possibly take you. You’re only an analyst.”

Blaire stuffed her tablet away. “Please. A fresh crime scene may be what I need to finalize the profile.” Plus, she had to check on Dekker.

Quinton pursed his lips. “Fine, but you don’t enter the scene until I give you the go-ahead. Understood?”

“Absolutely.”

Thirty minutes later, Blaire followed Quinton down a dirt path that would take them to the campsite.

They had traveled on an ATV until the path became too rugged.

She stayed behind the officer, her senses on high alert.

Her father had taught her what to watch for when danger may be present.

He’d also trained her in defensive tactics, and she’d been to the gun range plenty of times to practice shooting.

Being a cop’s daughter had its advantages.

Even though Blaire hadn’t gone into policing like her sister, Izzy, she was totally immersed in the criminal world.

Just from a different angle.

The constable turned from the campsite’s edge. “Blaire, stay here. I need to check everything out and cordon it off. You won’t be able to get too close to the crime scene, though.”

“I know the drill.” She pulled down her protective hood and leaned against a nearby tree, following the constable’s movements into the campsite.

When he disappeared from her line of sight, she fished out her cell phone, tapping an explanation to her team as to why she’d been delayed in returning to Whitehorse.

A rustle in the trees to her right escalated her heartbeat, sending angst throughout her body and locking her muscles. “Who’s there?”

She knew from experience some serial killers remained behind to watch the police in action. But there were no crowds here in the park for them to hide among. Blaire slowly reached into her bag for the only weapon she possessed. A flashlight. She pivoted and held it high to strike if need be.

Dekker Hoyt stepped out from behind a tree, raising his hands. “Just me.” His eyes widened. “Blaire, what are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“I was with Constable Chase when he got the call. Are you okay? Why are you hiding in the bushes?”

“Studying the path I think PCK took. He—”

Shots boomed, echoing throughout the forest.

“Get down!” Dekker hauled her to the ground.

Terror froze Blaire’s muscles and revved up her pulse tenfold. Had PCK returned to the scene of the crime and now wanted to take them all out?