They made love in the dark tent in the wilderness, affirming life with a raw sexual ferocity as if to defy the death that slumbered in the shallow grave nearby.
But as they lay there sated, their down sleeping bags zipped together, limbs entangled, Angie’s hair soft against his cheek, Maddocks heard the wolves again. Hunting something, calling, mating. A sense filled him that something was still not on the right track with Angie and him. A subtext lingered beneath her acceptance. Quietly, he extricated himself from his lover’s sleeping embrace. He unzipped his bag and pulled on his gear.
“Where are you going?” she murmured, turning over, reaching for him.
“To feed the fire.”
He crawled out of the tent and zipped up the flap. He sat alone under the tarp, staring into the flames for a long, long while as the earth turned under the heavens. He sensed that Angie, too, was lying awake in the tent.
His thoughts turned to his previous failed marriage. Nothing in life was a guarantee. An “I do” might be a promise of forever, until death do us part, but it didn’t mean things would be so. Hell, he’d tried the whole shebang with Brie, his ex, Ginny’s mom. He’d thought he was getting it right the first time around—providing for his family, being a dad, trying to advance his career as a Mountie. So what made him want to do it again? Why on earth did he think itwouldwork out this time?
Especially with a woman like Angie.
Live in the moment. One step at a time. That’s all we can do.The skeleton decaying in the shallow grave nearby underscored the temporary nature of it all. He reached for a log and shoved it onto the fire. Flames flared and crackled, warming his face. He wondered about the body in the moss, who it was, where the person had come from. How he or she had died and why no one had found the remains. Until now.
A lone wolf’s wail rose higher and higher in pitch, echoing through the endless cold wilderness. A sense of winter approached.
CHAPTER 5
MONDAY, OCTOBER29
Angie woke to a strange, pale luminescent dome over her head. She realized almost instantly she was in the tent, a silvery-gray dawn illuminating the fabric. She turned in her sleeping bag. Maddocks was not there. She listened for a moment to the ambient sounds of the forest. Birds, lots and lots of tiny chirps. The sharp staccato call of a squirrel or chipmunk. The soft roar from the falls upriver. She pulled her woolen hat down low over her ears—she’d slept in both her hat and her down jacket. She unzipped the tent, opened the flap, and peered out.
Mist swirled thick. Smoke tendrils snaked from coals. Maddocks lay asleep in front of the dying fire beneath the tarp.
Angie ducked back inside the tent, wriggled her jeans over her thermal leggings, and belted her sheathed knife to her hip. It was a habit, carrying the knife. She pulled on her boots and crawled out of the tent.
Her footfalls were silent on the springy underfloor as she approached Maddocks. Judging by the last two smoldering logs, he’d stayed up most of the night feeding the fire to keep animals at bay while she’d slumbered like a baby. Unusual for her. He’d drawn the hood of his sleeping bag over his head. She studied his profile—strong brow, defined jaw. He was a beautiful man, this top homicide cop. Driven. Just. He commanded authority. Was patient against her impatience. Cool against her volatility. A pang of poignancy cut through her heart followed by that disquieting and oft-felt sensation that she wasn’t good enough for him, didn’t deserve his love. How could she even begin to entertain the idea of bearing his children? She’d make the world’s most terrible mother.
Or was that her buried shame speaking?
Shame for who her father was, for having been conceived in violence by a teenage sex slave. For the fact she’d been abandoned—the so-called “lucky one” who’d survived where her twin had perished. Angie’s therapist had raised the possibility of buried shame. Until that point she’d never entertained the notion that she suffered from some kind of subterranean humiliation or sense of degradation. She’dneveridentified with being a victim, but then he’d said it: “buried shame.”
You need to forgive yourself, not blame yourself. Let it go. Give it time.
Time.
It was only ten months ago she’d first learned her entire life had been a lie. But Maddocks wanted a commitment now. A vise of anxiety clamped her chest. She sucked air in deep and left him to sleep while she made her way toward the grave site.
From behind their makeshift crime scene cordon, Angie studied the skull and the partial rib cage poking out of the soil. In proper daylight she could see that a much larger area would likely need to be secured. Buried remains discovered this close to the surface could be either totally localized or scattered over a vast distance due to scavenger activity or environmental forces.
Imagining it was her own crime scene, Angie ran through the steps that would come next. The exact dimensions of the perimeter would need to be established in a systematic fashion, using trained K9s or soil probes if necessary, working carefully outward from the discovery. A forensic anthropologist would need to be brought in to look for surface irregularities, inconsistencies in vegetation patterns, changes in the moss and fungi, signs of soil compaction, and additional indication of animal activity until no more remains or related evidence was found.
Once the extent of that area was established, it would have to be mapped. Each bit of evidence would need to be bagged, labeled, and correlated with a GPS position on a map. Next would come the meticulous excavation. Additional evidence collected would again be documented and then transported to a facility where it could all be fully described, photographed, and labeled under secure and confidential conditions. An autopsy would be done, and the process of identification would begin. An attempt would be made to determine cause and manner of death.
She rubbed her brow.
She did miss it. Like a physical hole gnawing her stomach from the inside out. She reached into the neck of her jacket and pulled out the chain with the diamond ring. The stone glinted in the silvery dawn light, flawless to her naked eye, set into a simple band of platinum. Nothing frilly or fancy. He knew her well. Too well. She clasped her hand around the ring and returned her attention to the disturbed grave.Your life is different now. Accept it. This is not your case.
“Hey.”
Angie jumped and spun round.
Maddocks emerged through the mist and tree trunks, boots silent on moss. He wore his big down jacket, and his hair was ruffled and stood up in a way that endeared him to her.
She smiled. “Jesus, you startled me.”
“Me big bear.” He raised his hands like paws above his head and swayed from foot to foot, making like a grizzly up on its hind legs. He growled.
