Natalie added a touch of yellow paint to her canvas. She’d painted other portraits, but this one was by far her best. She smiled as she stood back and admired the scene.

A few days after she’d arrived, she’d taken a photo of Gabe and Sherlock by the lake. That photo had become the basis for the painting.

Over the last few weeks, she’d learned more about Gabe than he probably realized. Those impressions allowed her to add layers of emotion to the canvas, to celebrate the man and dog who’d spent most of their lives protecting people. She hoped she’d captured Gabe’s creativity, his grief at losing the woman he loved and the joy that Sherlock brought to his life. His family, his friends, and his work as a writer all added another dimension to the man she loved.

Her painting wasn’t as technically complicated as the landscape she’d finished, but it was still difficult. Painting a portrait was like looking into someone’s soul. As an artist, you balanced what you saw with what you found. Sometimes what you were looking for was hidden beneath a lifetime of experiences that needed to be unraveled. And sometimes, it was there, right in front of you, waiting to be discovered.

She picked up an old rag and wiped her brush. It was time for a break. She needed to stretch, grab a drink, and see if she had any of Brooke’s cookies left.

As she walked into the living room, Natalie glanced at the clock. If the meeting with Detective Jameson had lasted as long as Gabe intended, he should be getting ready to leave Polson.

She checked her cell phone, then headed toward the kitchen. After their walk, Gabe still wasn’t happy about leaving her alone. She understood why he felt that way, but he needed to realize she could look after herself. Reluctantly, he’d driven to Polson, calling her as soon as he arrived at the police station.

A knock on her back door made her jump. Her gaze shot to the deadbolt. No one would be able to get inside unless she opened the door.

“Ms. Armstrong? It’s Special Agent Gareth McDonald from the FBI. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about Leith Chapman.”

Natalie frowned. “No one told me the FBI was involved in the case.”

“Until two days ago, we had a minor role to play. But there has been a significant development in the case.”

She raced to the living room and grabbed her cell phone. On the way back to the kitchen she tapped out a message to Gabe.

“Ms. Armstrong? Are you still there?”

She bit her bottom lip, hoping Gabe saw the message and replied. “You need to show me some identification.”

“I’ll hold my badge against the window.”

Natalie looked at her cell phone again. Still no reply. She sent a quick message to Caleb, then peered at the badge pressed against the glass. It seemed real but, for all she knew, it could be a fake.

“I understand your reluctance to unlock the door. Would it help if I gave you the phone number of the special agent in charge of our field office? He could verify my identity.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Special Agent McDonald rattled off a number. The man she spoke to confirmed that the special agent at her door worked for the FBI. After she ended the call, she checked her messages. Still nothing from Gabe or Caleb.

“Are you able to come back later when Gabe Lanigan is here?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. If you’re worried about Mr. Lanigan not knowing what’s happening, Detective Jameson is showing him the new evidence.”

That made sense. Gabe wouldn’t deliberately leave her text unanswered, especially when she was on her own. “Just a minute.”

Natalie made sure the special agent had moved away from the window before slipping a small knife into her pocket. She didn’t care if he was with the FBI or the King of Siam. She needed to protect herself and, without a gun, a knife was the next best thing.

She opened the door and held out her hand. “I’m Natalie Armstrong.”

The FBI agent’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

She had no idea what difference that made. “What do you mean?”

“When I read you were a world-renowned artist, I thought you’d be older.”

“I had some lucky breaks.” Natalie moved toward the kitchen counter, keeping as much distance between the two of them as she could. Special Agent McDonald was about ten years older than her. Time hadn’t been kind to his five-foot-eight, overweight body.

She pointed to one of the chairs pushed against the kitchen table. “Have a seat. I don’t have a lot of time, so if you could ask your questions, that would be great.”

“I appreciate you talking to me.” Special Agent McDonald opened a notebook. “Mr. Lanigan told us you arrived in Sapphire Bay on July 20th. Is that correct?”

Natalie nodded.

“And did you know Mr. Lanigan before you arrived?”

“No. I’d never seen him or read any of his books. What has that got to do with Leith Chapman?”

“Mr. Chapman has been implicated in the deaths of two people. The bodies were found in New Haven and Stamford.”

Natalie gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. “He killed two people?”

“We’re currently investigating their deaths and speaking to the victims’ next of kin.”

“How do you know it was Chapman who killed them?”

Special Agent McDonald’s mouth tilted into a smile.

Natalie’s heart pounded. She hadn’t said anything even remotely funny.

A buzzing noise came from her phone. She looked at the kitchen table. Her phone was on the opposite end to where the FBI agent was sitting.

“That will be Gabe. I’ll ask him how long he’s going to be.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

The sinister tone of the special agent’s voice sent goose bumps along her skin. She had to leave the cottage. “Gabe might have some questions for you.” She edged closer to the back door.

“I’m sure he will when he realizes you’re missing.”

Natalie lunged for the door.

The man threw back his chair and slammed her against the wooden door.

Pain exploded in her head and shoulders.

“You thought you’d get away that easily?” he ground out between his teeth. “Think again, sweetheart.”

Natalie tried to twist out of his hold, but he shoved his body against hers, pinning her to the door. “You won’t get away with this.”

He laughed against the side of her face. “Is that so? My stepbrother didn’t have the guts to follow through on the plans we made. I don’t have the same problem.”

Tears fell down her face. She couldn’t die—wouldn’t die like this.

Remember what Gabe taught you.

Keep talking. Buy yourself some time. Think.

“Leith Chapman is your brother?”

With a grip that almost broke her wrists, he yanked her hands behind her back. “Stepbrother. At least my mother had the sense to leave his no-good father. Stop fighting. This will be a whole lot easier if you do what I say.”

She took a deep breath, relaxed her shoulders. Readied herself for what would come next. “Just like the people you murdered?”

“They were cowards, trolls who should have known better. No one bad-mouths my family and gets away with it.”

Natalie wasn’t waiting to be his next victim. She twisted sideways, threw her heel backward, and connected with the side of the man’s knee.

His howl of pain raged through the cottage.

The grip on her wrists loosened. She grabbed the knife, ramming it into his thigh. She ignored his scream, the feel of the blade plunging into his flesh.

Run.

She flew out of the cottage, across the front yard, and straight into the trees.

Her neighbors wouldn’t be home. Caleb wouldn’t be here for at least fifteen minutes.

Run.

Pine needles dug into her bare feet, leaves slapped against her face. She ran faster, dodging fallen trees and branches hanging in midair.

Run.

There was nowhere to go, nothing to keep her safe. Gulping back air, she tried to think, tried to plan what to do next. But nothing made sense—until she saw a log of wood shaped like a bird.

Veering left, she followed the trees around the edge of the lake, found the trail she’d discovered a few weeks ago.

Lowering her head, she kept moving, kept plowing through the undergrowth. She knew where she was going.

Gabe looked up when the meeting room door opened.

“I’ve got bad news,” Russell said as he spread the contents of a folder on the desk. “Two bodies have been found. It looks as though Chapman isn’t working on his own.”

The carnage in the photos made Gabe’s stomach turn. Whoever had killed the two women had gone berserk, decapitating one of them and cutting the other’s arms from her torso.

“Do you know who did this?”

Russell pulled two more photos from the pile. “Security cameras caught one of the women being kidnapped. It’s the same guy who was in the Internet café. The FBI is involved. They’re using facial recognition software to identify him, but it could take a few days to find a match.”

“We might not have a few days if he kills again. When were these women murdered?”

“Between two and four days ago. Their bodies were found in New Haven and Stamford.”

Gabe picked up the crime scene photos. “Why do you think Chapman was involved?”

“He told us where to find the bodies. Chapman can’t be in two places at once, and we know for a fact that he was in Polson when at least one of the women was murdered. CSI is doing DNA and fingerprints analysis of each crime scene.”

The meeting room door opened again.

A detective who Gabe had met on his way into the station stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’ll want to know this. The man in the security footage has been identified. It’s Jaydon Chapman, Leith’s stepbrother.”

Gabe scowled. “The NYPD has already spoken to him. He wasn’t a person of interest.”

Russell opened the folder the detective handed him. “Why wasn’t he identified sooner?”

“The detectives who spoke to him have been in training for the last week. As soon as they opened the file, they recognized him.”

“Where is he now?”

“He flew into Polson yesterday.”

Gabe’s cell phone beeped. He checked the message, frowning when he saw who it was from. “Natalie has a visitor. Who is Special Agent Gareth McDonald?”

Russell and the detective looked at each other.

“I’m onto it,” the detective said as he raced out of the room.

Gabe followed him into the open-plan office area.

The detective typed something on his keyboard and waited for a reply. “No one by that name works for the FBI.”

“We need to get to the cottage,” Russell said to the detective. “Send all available police and highway patrol units to Gabe’s address in Sapphire Bay. Possible kidnapping and murder suspect on the loose.”

Gabe’s hand shook as he emailed Russell a picture. “I’ve sent you a recent photo of Natalie.”

“Got it. Taylor, send this photo to all responding units along with a picture of Jaydon Chapman.” Russell quickly tapped something into his phone, grabbed his jacket, and headed toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Gabe followed him outside. They were at least thirty minutes away from Sapphire Bay. He prayed to God that someone in their law enforcement team was closer.

Natalie bent over, gasping for breath. She listened for footsteps, anything that would tell her if Leith’s stepbrother was behind her.

He must be hurt, must be moving slower than he usually would.

Don’t underestimate your attacker. How many times had Gabe repeated those words? Just thinking about Gabe made tears fill her eyes. She wiped her face, shocked to see blood smeared across her hands.

Keep moving.

Don’t stop.

She stumbled forward. Her granddad’s hideout wasn’t far away. Concealed in the trees, it would keep her safe until Gabe or Caleb arrived.

She prayed they’d read her texts. Leith’s stepbrother had killed before. He would be angry, wanting revenge. If he found her, she’d die.

Her feet flew across the uneven forest floor. Soft, mossy ground gave way to dry leaves, decaying pine trees became spruce and oak. She needed to move closer to the lake, but not too close. If Leith’s stepbrother was anywhere near the shore, he could—

“You’re going to die!”

She tripped, falling to the ground with a sickening thud. Pain ripped through her leg.

Oh, God. He sounded close, but sound traveled differently over the water. Biting her lip, she sat upright, holding back the moan that tore through her throat.

Blood oozed down her leg. The branch of a tree had sliced her skin, left her shin raw and weeping. It was just a flesh wound. It would heal.

Yanking the hem of her dress higher, she used her teeth to tear the thin fabric. With shaking hands, she bandaged her leg, knotting it tightly across the wound.

Keep moving.

Don’t stop.

“Did you hear me, Miss High and Mighty? I’ll carve you into little pieces and feed you to the wild animals. No one will ever find your body.”

Natalie gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t listen to his cruel taunts. He was scaring her, hoping she’d give up and make his job easier. She rolled onto her feet.

Ignore the pain.

Blinking back tears, she hobbled forward. Her heart pounded as she moved toward the hideout.

The trees were thinning, giving way to the undergrowth that grew against the stony shore of the lake. Crouching low, she crawled between the plants. Her body shook with fear as she peered around the lake, searching for any sign of Leith’s stepbrother. His white T-shirt would stand out, make him as obvious as the water gently lapping to shore.

Nothing looked out of place. She focused on the edge of the forest, the undergrowth that could easily hide him. Still nothing.

Natalie crept back into the forest, making her way toward the hideout.

“I’m getting closer.” His voice boomed across the lake. “It’s the perfect place to die. And you will. Slowly and painfully.”

There. Her granddad’s treehouse was less than twenty feet away. Hidden between the trunks of four tall pine trees, it melded into the landscape. She had no idea if anyone else had found it but, for now, it was better than stumbling through the forest.

The old rope ladder was covered in moss and fallen branches. Carefully, she pulled on the rungs, hoping it wouldn’t drop out of the trees. It stayed firm. She climbed about two feet into the air. So far, so good.

The rope swayed as she rose higher. For years, her grandfather had climbed the tree, squeezing between the knotted trunks that were older than all of their combined ages. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but that was granddad. He had the stamina and strength of a man half his age. It had taken a drunk driver to show her how fragile life could be.

Natalie looked at the ground and swallowed. If the rope gave way, she wouldn’t need to worry about Leith’s stepbrother. She’d be a splattered mess across the forest floor.

Taking a deep breath, she hauled herself onto the bough of the tree. At some point, the trunk of the four trees had become so intertwined that they formed a single tree. The melding of wood had created a tiny platform—her granddad’s dream space.

Her hands trembled as she pulled the rope ladder toward her. When she was finished, she curled her legs into her chest and leaned backward. With her spine pressed against the trunk and the branches providing shelter, she was as small and unnoticeable as she could make herself.

All she needed was a miracle to keep her safe.

Gabe arrived at the cottage before Russell. Caleb’s truck was parked in front of the crime scene tape stretching across the front yard. He looked for his friend, hoping he knew what was going on.

“Gabe!” Caleb ran toward him. “The police won’t let me into the cottage or around the lake.”

Beside Gabe, Sherlock tensed. He stroked his dog’s head, trying to reassure both of them that everything would be all right. Caleb had called him on his way to the cottage, repeating the message that Natalie had sent him.

Gabe attached Sherlock’s leash to his harness. The last thing any of them needed was an excited German Shepherd contaminating evidence.

He studied the grim expressions on the faces of the police. He’d seen the same look so often that it made his heart clench. Something had happened to Natalie.

“Russell will know what’s going on.” Gabe strode toward the black SUV that had stopped beside his truck. He met the detective halfway across the yard. “Where’s Natalie?”

Russell nodded at Caleb. “Good to see you again. You both need to come with me. We’ve set up a command center in Gabe’s side of the cottage.”

Cold sweat broke out on Gabe’s forehead. He breathed deeply as his blood pressure plummeted.

Caleb grabbed his arm. “You need to sit down.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Caleb muttered. With Russell’s help, he half-walked, half-dragged Gabe to the cottage.

“Sit here,” Russell said as he pulled out a chair.

Caleb poured a glass of water and set it in front of Gabe. “Drink this.”

He couldn’t have drunk anything, even if he wanted to. “What’s happened to Natalie?”

Russell sat in the chair beside him. “We don’t know. The officers who were first on the scene have searched the house and the land immediately around the cottage. Natalie and Jaydon aren’t here.”

All Gabe could focus on was that Natalie wasn’t dead. If they wanted to find her alive, they needed to act fast.

Russell placed his hand on Gabe’s arm. “What we do know is that there was some kind of incident in her kitchen. There’s blood on the back door and on the kitchen floor. It’s not enough to have killed someone, but it is a significant amount. A team of officers is searching the area between the cottage and the lake.”

“Why do you think she headed toward the water?” Caleb asked.

“An officer found fresh blood on the trail leading to the lake. If it isn’t Natalie’s, it will be Jaydon’s.” Russell focused on Gabe. “We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

Gabe looked down at Sherlock. “Can we try?”

The detective shook his head. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. The K-9 unit is on its way. They’ll do their best to find her.”

“We’re racing against the clock. We’ve got even less time if she’s injured.”

“That doesn’t mean we cut corners.”

“Sherlock spent five years in the K-9 unit. I worked with Michelle and the other handlers. I know enough about tracking to do a sweep of the area.” When Russell still didn’t look convinced, Gabe added, “I know this area. Let me help.”

“You’re too involved.”

“Damn it, Russell. Let me help. Natalie could be bleeding to death and we’re splitting hairs about who can search for her.”

Russell pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But as soon as the K-9 unit arrives, you and Sherlock leave the scene.”

Gabe pushed back the chair. “I’ll need access to Natalie’s side of the cottage. We need a piece of clothing so Sherlock has her scent.”

“Remember to take an earpiece,” Russell warned. “I want to know where you are at all times.”

Gabe didn’t care what he had to do. There was no way he would leave Natalie on her own with a serial killer.