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“Maybe,” Wilson says. “It doesn’t show up on any flight logs in Alaska or Canada, so that alone makes it suspicious.”
“Fingerprints?” I ask.
“None. Everything you sent was clean. Too clean.”
“Whoever it is, they’re fucking with us.” Leo’s unique eyes flash with anger. “And they have Wolf’s body.”
“The photograph was analyzed.” Wilson sighs. “I’m sorry, but it’s not a fake. The image is Wolfson, based on your identification. But it doesn’t confirm whether he was dead or alive at the time of the photo.” He explains the technical details about the camera that was used, the time of day, and the angle of the shot. “Wolfson could’ve set the camera on a timer, propped it against a boulder, and taken the picture. But that’s inconclusive. Would a camera survive that fall? Would a human survive it? Right now, the only evidence we have is the heart belongs to Denver and Wolfson’s body made it out of that river.”
Wilson ends the call with the promise to continue digging through the long list of potential suspects. The writing on the back of the photo may help us identify the culprit once we have a shorter list of perpetrators.
“I killed Denver,” Frankie whispers. “We received his heart. How is that possible?”
Kody scoots toward her, snaking an arm around her back.
“Wolf is still out there.” Her eyes water. “He could still be alive.”
The uncertainty gnaws at us, an ever-present agony made worse by a false sense of hope.
We all know Wolf didn’t survive that jump.
“We need to find that cabin,” I say, determination in my voice. “I’m calling Sirena.”
35
Leonid
—
Sirena arrives on the island two days later, her presence immediately noticeable. She strides through the front door with an air of confidence that turns heads and an elegance that makes the air around her crackle.
With her long, dark hair in a single braid over her shoulder, she sweeps those cunning blue eyes over our little group as if already figuring out how to use each of us to her advantage.
Professionalism may be her armor, but flirtation is her weapon, and she wields both with deadly precision.
I watch as she engages with Monty first, her demeanor respectful and her body language all business. She holds out maps and documentation, detailing her two months of searching for Wolf’s body.
She’s good, really good, answering questions before they’re asked and backing up her points with documentation and evidence. She’s done her research and seems to know the hills better than Kody and me.
But it’s the way she looks at us that stirs tension. There’s a playful glint in her eyes, a subtle curve of her lips that suggests she’s enjoying this a little too much.
Frankie stands off to the side, her narrowed gaze pinging from Sirena to me and back again.
My girl is wound tight, and who can blame her? The photo of Wolf’s body has devastated us, but Frankie has taken it the hardest.
Her fire-red hair falls over her face as she looks down, lost in her thoughts, in her grief.
I want to hug her, kiss her, and make her come. But she’s been standoffish and unreachable since the night Kody and I got arrested. Every attempt we’ve made to touch her has been shut down.
We’re giving her space. For now.
“We’ll fly over the Brooks Range here.” Sirena taps a circled grid on the map. “We’ll look for landmarks familiar to Leo and Kody and try to narrow down this two-hundred-thousand square mile haystack.”
Monty nods, his stoic expression betraying nothing. He’s a master of control, both in business and personal affairs. But even he can’t hide the worry in his icy blue eyes when he looks at Frankie.
He wants to go with us, but someone needs to stay on the island with her. It’s not just her panic about flying. The mere mention of returning to Hoss causes her to break out in a cold sweat.
As long as I live, I’ll ensure that she never returns to that place.
