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He grabbed his phone. “I need to call Trooper Gibson.”
“Good luck getting a signal,” Simmy said. “It’s been going in and out all evening. What’s going on?”
As Duke dialed the number, Andi filled her in.
Simmy’s face went paler with each new detail.
Thankfully, Duke was able to reach Gibson, but the trooper still hadn’t heard from Bosch, the cop who’d discovered Duke’s SUV on the side of the road. Gibson promised to be on his way and to alert others of the situation.
A missing trooper would be first priority. He would have to leave Craig’s body locked up inside the cabin for the time being.
Andi looked up at Duke as the call ended, clearly anxious to do something instead of just stand around. “What now?”
His gaze hardened with determination. “I need to see if I can follow those footprints.”
“I’ll go with you.” Andi stepped forward as if the choice were a given.
Duke shook his head as he planted himself in front of her. “I need you to stay here with Simmy and everyone else.”
“But—”
He stepped closer, unwilling to let her finish that statement. He lowered his voice as he said, “I need you to stand watch with your gun. Just in case.”
Andi sucked in a breath as understanding rolled over her features. “Okay. I can do that.”
Good. At least she wasn’t going to fight him about it.
With one more glance at Simmy and Andi, Duke stepped toward the door.
And he braced himself for whatever he might find outside.
chaptertwenty-three
Duke shiveredas the cold hit him again.
The wind raced across the tundra, unstopped by any trees or mountains. Its sting on his face felt like winter demons desperate to stun him.
But nothing would stop him right now.
Because the person who’d stolen his SUV—who’d most likely killed Craig—might have done something to Trooper Bosch.
And this guy might have answers about Celeste.
That made this even more personal.
Duke tromped through the parking lot back toward the road, cutting through part of the field as he headed toward the footprints.
He wasn’t sure how deep the snow drifts were, so he’d need to be careful. He knew of a guy once who’d gotten himself stuck in one and had been unable to get himself out. He’d lost three toes from frostbite by the time he’d been rescued.
The Alaskan wilderness was no joke—whether it be the looming mountains, vast forests, secluded islands, or barren tundra.
Duke held his phone in one hand and his gun in the other as he shuffled through the snow.
Finally, he reached the footprints. They could barely be seen any more since the snow began to fill them in. As he knelt to examine them, he frowned.
He could still make out tiny specks of blood. Specks that were quickly being covered by falling snow. He took a picture to document them so he could send it to Gibson.
Then he rose.
