Piedmont House was not a traditional Alaskan dwelling. It was built of gray stone that perfectly matched the cliff face, with tall arched windows reflecting the sunlight back at them, like eyes that hid their expression from the world. It was nothing like the brightly painted wooden structures they had left behind in Seward. Maria was reminded of the horror movies she had watched through her fingers during her teenage years.

You didn’t come here prepared to fall in love with it, she reminded herself.

She hadn’t seen the house from this angle. When the Cage Killer brought her here, she had a hood over her head. Stumbling over the threshold as he thrust her in front of him, she had only gained an impression of the place. Cold, dusty, and unused. Those had been her first impressions. But there was something deeper. Something rotten. It reminded her of the pond in the backyard at her parents’ home. Most of the time, Maria’s favorite place to take a rug and sit and read was right next to the picturesque little pool. But in hot weather, it would get a rank, putrid smell to it that made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. On those days, she would avoid it and take her book to the other side of the yard. That was what Piedmont House smelled like. Noxious, like something was festering beneath the surface.

Then her abductor had taken her down into the caves, and she had been too busy to take in the ambiance. Her whole time had been about surviving the pain.

When the police had rescued her from the caves beneath the house, she had caught a brief glimpse of it from the boat they had used to take her away. Madden had carried her down the steps that led to the water and she had clung to her rescuer, determined never to let go. Her view of the house had been distorted by the angle. It had loomed over the water, dark and menacing. Scared, she had quickly looked away.

Now, from this new angle, she couldn’t look away. Because, although she hadn’t seen the house before, it wasn’t new to her. Not only the house, but the whole area, the haunting view, the sweeping bay, the snow-tipped mountains. I know this place. The thought caused her to feel suddenly lightheaded. The edges of her vision darkened and she swayed. A strong arm went around her waist just as she felt her legs give way.

“Maria, are you okay?” Jenny held on to her, keeping her upright.

“It’s this place.” She turned eyes that felt too wide open to Jenny’s face. “I hadn’t seen it properly until now, but I have paintings of it in my gallery. Dozens of them.”

“Who painted them?” Jenny beckoned the others over.

“He told me his name was Joseph.” Maria battled with her memory. Her mind was stubbornly refusing to work properly. What was his other name? It eluded her, dancing in the recesses of her memory, just out of her grasp. “I try to showcase the work of Alaskan artists. He paints landscapes and he emailed me photographs of some of his work. He was very persistent. The pictures of this house and the view from the cliff were among them and I suggested he should send me one or two and I’d see what I could do. Instead of one or two, he sent me fifteen.” She cast a glance back at the house. “They didn’t sell, but he kept sending more.”

“Did you ever meet him?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes. He came to the gallery once or twice to ask how the paintings were doing.” The shock was receding now. Her legs had stopped shaking and her breathing returned to normal. “He was really insistent about how they should be displayed and he got quite angry when I explained that I had to keep most of them in storage. There were other artists who also needed space in the gallery. He said I wasn’t trying hard enough to sell his work.” She thought back to the times she had met with the man in question. “He talked about how he’d been let down before. I can’t remember exactly what he said. Something about people not being what they appeared.”

“But you never thought he might be the Cage Killer?” Samson asked.

“It didn’t occur to me that it could be him. I never felt physically threatened by him,” Maria said. “If anything, I felt sorry for him. He seemed genuinely distressed when he talked about being duped in the past.”

“Okay.” In Madden’s absence, it seemed Samson was taking charge. “Let’s go inside and get this search over with. Madden said he’d meet us here if he could. If he hasn’t arrived by the time we’ve checked this place out, I’ll call him and let him know what Maria has just remembered. Then we’ll need to go to the gallery so we can get this guy’s full name and address.”

They moved in a group toward the house and Maria nodded at Jenny who sent her a probing glance. Was it wrong to feel relieved? It was because some of the tight feeling that had gripped her heart since she had first started to suspect Caspar had lifted.

But Wilkes had described the killer as someone close. The man who had come to her gallery—the man called Joseph—could hardly be called close. By “close” Wilkes must have meant I knew him, she told herself. She had interpreted it to suggest a deeper relationship. What else could it mean?

* * *

Once they stepped over the doorstep of the house, that smell transported Maria back to her captivity. That stale, disused scent with its noxious undercurrent set her nerves jangling. There were curving hallways and dimly lit rooms, with remnants of once-beautiful furniture peeking out from beneath dust sheets and chandeliers hanging unused from the high ceilings.

Maria reminded herself over and over that she had never walked through these rooms. The Cage Killer had taken her straight to the concealed basement. As the chill seeped into her bones, she felt it again. That awful, unmistakable feeling of being watched. That coldness on the back of her neck, that tingling down her spine. She told herself firmly that she had six of the finest bodyguards in the world and forced her feet to keep moving. They checked both floors in silence.

“Nothing. It doesn’t look like anyone has been near this place for some time.” Samson’s voice took on an echoing quality in the empty rooms. “I guess we need to check out the basement.”

He threw a glance in Maria’s direction, checking she was okay, before moving toward the concealed stairs that led down into the caves over which the house had been built. These were so well hidden that the police had missed them on their first search of the building when they were looking for Maria.

As soon as she stepped onto the top stair, Maria’s mind flashed back to the day of her abduction. Instantly, she was there again, a hood over her head, terrified out of her wits, being thrust ahead of her captor and into the unknown. The smell coming up from the gloom below was different. It was fouler, there was that rotten-egg tinge to it. It was the scent she associated with him. The scent of her nightmares.

She froze. Fear wrapped its arms tight around her chest. Why had she thought she could do this? “I don’t know . . .”

A strong arm slid around her waist and she recognized it immediately as Madden’s. “You don’t have to do anything. Not unless you want to.”

“You got here in time.” She leaned back against him gratefully.

“Forensics are at Rainer’s place now and my team are on their way. I needed to be here with you.”

His touch acted like an injection of pure courage straight into her veins. Straightening her spine, she turned her head to look at him. The tight grip on her chest loosened as she looked into his eyes. “I can do it now you are here.”

His smile spurred her feet the rest of the way down the stairs. Even though Vigo and Sebastian carried powerful flashlights, there was an inherent change in the mood of the group once they were underground. There was an instant awareness of the tons of rocks above their heads and the sense that, even though they had been there for billions of years, they might just come tumbling down.

“When we searched these caves after Maria was found, we discovered a series of corridors, cave rooms, and dead ends.” Madden produced a sheet of paper. “One of the forensic guys sketched this so we weren’t constantly doubling back on ourselves. Be careful, because one passage leads to a deep hole that my team nicknamed, the ‘bottomless pit.’” He gripped Maria’s hand. “That’s where he hung the cage you were held in.”

Maria led the way, keeping hold of Madden’s hand, as they progressed in a group through the caves. The passageways were mostly high enough for them to walk through with their heads bent, but there were times when they had to bend double and once or twice they had to crawl on their hands and knees. Maria remembered making her way through each part of this maze in complete darkness aware that the Cage Killer was following her movements, feasting on her terror.

They heard occasional sounds, slight slithering noises, as if there were distant disembodied footsteps. “What is that?” Lowell’s voice came from the back of the group. “Is there someone else down here?”

“I remember it from when I was imprisoned down here,” Maria said. “I think it’s our own movements echoing back at us, and maybe water trickling somewhere in the distance. Possibly there are bats down here, as well.”

She didn’t add that when she had been down here in a blackness so complete it had hurt her eyes, her overactive mind had filled in the blanks. She had started to believe she could see shapes on the edges of her vision, imagined she could hear voices whispering in her ear, shivered as she felt a touch along her naked flesh.

This time, she experienced none of those things and her relief was huge. It was just a series of caves, the place where an eccentric artist had chosen to make his home. The place the twisted mind of a murderer had seized upon as the ideal prison for his victim. It would always haunt Maria, but it couldn’t damage her any more than it already had. It had no supernatural hold over her.

It was also obvious, as they made their way through the labyrinth, that there was no one here. This was not where the Cage Killer was holding Hendrik. Slowly, they made their way back through the convoluted twists and turns.

“Did you say a commune once tried to take over this place?” Jenny asked.

“That’s what the records show,” Madden said. “After Edward Rainer, Anton’s grandfather, died, it was bought by the leader of a cult. They planned to live out here, but it seems they only stayed a matter of months. It’s not clear why they didn’t last.”

“You mean they planned to use these caves as living accommodations?” They had reached the stairs again now, and Jenny’s expression was incredulous as she looked back at the darkness behind them.

Madden followed her gaze. “I never thought of it that way, although I did think the house was kind of small for a commune.”

As they walked toward the cars, brushing the dust of the caves off their clothing, Maria explained about the paintings in her gallery of Piedmont House. “I didn’t recognize the name of the house because the artist didn’t label his paintings.”

Madden took a last look back at the house. “Let’s get moving. Finding this guy’s name might be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.”

* * *

Called simply Delgardo Art, Maria’s gallery was set at the end of a row of shops in an upmarket Anchorage street. The building was painted white and the sign was understated, with flowing letters in shades of blue and yellow. There was a modern art sculpture on the lawn out front that made Madden think of reindeer antlers. Once they stepped inside, everything was pure Maria. Tasteful and understated, the gallery was all about style and subtlety. It was a classy, comforting place to be and the sights and colors of Alaska were reflected in every piece she had tastefully displayed on the white walls and the shelves that ranged at different heights about the space.

She explained that her parents had left her some money when they died. She had used it to purchase what had, at that time, been a derelict building. After a year or two of hard work, she has been able to open the gallery. It had run at a loss for several years, and she had come close to giving up on her dream venture, but with hard work and perseverance, she had built up a strong customer base and had gradually begun to turn a profit. Now she managed to make a living from the gallery and from online sales.

Maria’s own paintings were tasteful landscapes. Paintings of haunting beauty that showed her keen eye for drama and unique views. She had taken these and woven tiny elements of fabric, bead, and ribbon into them, giving the flat surface a new and different texture. Madden was enchanted by her talent and wished he had time to explore it further.

Instead, he followed Maria to a section of the gallery that had been set aside for larger canvasses. In this area, he found three or four paintings of Piedmont House. Although the pictures lacked the genuine talent of Maria’s paintings, something about them drew his attention. There was an emotion in the pictures that was tangible. Madden, no art critic, could sense it coming off the canvas in waves. It was pain, raw, and unmistakable.

“It makes me feel uncomfortable.” Jenny, standing at his side, gave a shiver.

“I think that’s why no one bought these pictures,” Maria said. “Although they are quite good, I can’t see anyone wanting to hang them in their home and look at them every day, can you?”

Before anyone could answer, Madden’s cell phone buzzed and, checking the caller ID, he saw it was Callie Monroe. He had left the forensic team finishing up at Rainer’s house and informed the members of the Alaskan Frontier force of Rainer’s suicide. It was frustrating that he couldn’t tell his human team of his suspicions about Chastel. He was conscious, once again, that his responsibilities straddled two worlds. He was leading two teams: the human police squad, which had to operate within a rigid mortal code and the brotherhood that thankfully was not similarly constrained.

“Boss?” Callie and the rest of the team were still in Fairbanks and, at this moment, Madden couldn’t see any reason to bring them to Anchorage. That might change when Maria found the address of the artist who had painted Piedmont House. “I’ve found some information on the guy you asked me to check out. The one called Caspar Delgardo.”

Madden flicked a glance in Maria’s direction. He didn’t want this information, whatever it was, to unsettle her. She had coped so well with going back into Piedmont House, far better than he could ever have believed she would. And now there was this business of the guy called Joseph and his misery-filled paintings of Piedmont House and the possible connection to the Cage Killer. Madden had seen how much the memory of Caspar had upset Maria. He didn’t want to do anything to make this day even worse. Moving slightly to one side, he listened to what Callie had to say. When he ended the call, he took a few moments to consider the information he had been given. Maria would need to know what he had just been told, but he decided now was not the right time for her to hear it.

As the brotherhood continued to look at the paintings, their mood subdued and uncomfortable, Maria moved behind the counter at the back of the gallery and began to go through her paperwork. Madden followed her, examining some of the exhibits and artwork on the way. As Maria withdrew a file from a drawer and extracted a sheaf of papers from it, one landscape caught Madden’s eye. Although this picture was smaller, the artist was obviously the same person who had painted the pictures of Piedmont House. The same quality of hurt and sadness had communicated itself through the brushstrokes and onto the canvas. Madden moved closer, his heart beginning to pound uncomfortably as he recognized the scene.

“This is it.” Maria held up a piece of paper. “His name is Joseph—”

“I know his name.” Madden’s voice sounded strange, even to his own ears. “It’s Ivan Joseph.” He pointed to the picture. “He is the man who saved my life when I was cast out as a cub by my pack. That’s the place he found me near Bear Paw Butte. It’s the place where I was raised.”