Page 82 of Knox

“Don’t worry about that. Keep talking,” Knox instructed.

“Uh.” Sam wet his lips, scanning the building, shaking. “Look. I’ve got nothing to do with this. No affiliation with him. I just come here to sleep when I don’t have anywhere else. You’ve got to believe me.”

“Three women have probably died at his hands.” Maggie’s voice was sharp. “He’s hunting our friend. You’re our only link, and we need your help.”

“Fuck. Dammit.” The squatter’s composure cracked. “This guy kills people? I mean, he’s creepy, but I just thought, I don’t know. He might blow up at me, and I didn’t want the hassle. I just hike and surf. You know?”

Knox radioed the sheriff. “Need an ETA? We have a witness.”

“Copy that. Moving in with a forensics team. ETA five minutes. Good work. Feds will be here in an hour. We’ll have something to give them.”

The kid leaned against the doorjamb for support, ice-cold fear in his eyes and features. “FBI,” he whispered. “Shit.”

Knox glanced my way, then radioed once more. “We also have a potential victim in need of protective custody and a hot meal. Early twenties, male, living on site. Can you arrange⁠—”

Engine noise cut through Knox’s words. Distant but growing closer. A vehicle on the access road, approaching fast.

Archer’s voice burst through the radio. “Incoming! Blue-and-white VW bus, heading straight for your position.”

“Everyone out. Now.” Knox grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the back exit. “Colton, get Maggie to the tree line. Sam, you’re coming with us. Move!”

We burst out the back door and into the forest beyond, Knox practically dragging me through underbrush and over fallen logs. Behind us, the engine noise grew louder, closer. Tires crunching on gravel.

“Down,” Knox hissed, pushing me behind a massive fallen pine. Colton and Maggie dove into nearby scrub brush. Sam followed, pressing himself flat against the ground.

Through gaps in the vegetation, I watched the VW bus roll into the clearing. Faded blue-and-white paint, exactly as I remembered from the trailhead. Exactly as I’d seen parked outside Mrs. Lake’s house.

The engine settled, and my breath caught.

No one got out.

From our vantage, we had a clear view of the rear bumper, a limited view through the rear window. The silhouette of the driver passed over the rearview mirror, too far for me to identify the face. The license plate was from Oregon.

He knows, I thought. Somehow he knows we were inside.

Minutes stretched like hours. Even the birds went silent around us, likely sensing a predator nearby. Only our quiet breathing and the distant sound of water echoed moving through the marsh.

Then, the engine started and his reverse lights came on as he backed out of the clearing.

Knox raised his phone, camera focused on the license plate. Shutter clicking silently as he captured image after image. Partial plate, full plate, side view showing identifying marks and damage to the VW.

The van disappeared down the access road, engine noise fading into the distance.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

“Archer,” Knox said into the radio, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you got eyes on that van.”

“Negative. He took a side route before reaching my position. Visual lost. But I got the plate number on his way in. Sending it to the sheriff now.”

Knox released a long burst of swearing, then tried the radio again. “Nash?”

“Forensics team is two minutes out. We’ll process the scene, put out a BOLO on the vehicle. Good work, people. You just gave us everything we need to hand this guy to the feds.”

Relief flooded through my system, making my limbs feel weak and shaky. I was sure we’d just lost every chance at capturing this guy, but I was wrong. That had been the panic talking. We’d done everything right, exactly as we’d planned. And we’d all survived the encounter.

Knox pulled me close, pressing his face into my hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Terrified, but good.” I let myself lean into him, and allowed the adrenaline to course freely, rattling my teeth and shaking my core. “That was him.”