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“The only reason he suspected Milo is Milo drove off that fucking bridge. Which started people thinking. Chris died of cancer. Nobody’s thinkinganythingabout my brother.”
“It started them thinking about Milo and Chris working at the resort. Everyone knows they always drove together. Theyalwaysdrove back and forth together. There isn’t any hiding that. The rumors have been flying around for years anyway. But like you said, Milo is dead, Chris is dead, and no one knew you drove up with them to go skiing that day. If you don’t do anything dumb, no one can prove you were ever there.”
“I know it was an accident,” I said. “But this isn’t, and no one’s going to believe it was.”
“Itwasan accident,” George insisted.
Until he spoke, I’d figured it probably was. But the way George said it—the empty look in his eyes, the angry flush on his face—no. They hadn’t planned on killing her, but somewhere along the way, the decision had been made.
“What happened?” My hand was in my pocket, resting on my phone. There was no signal, no way to call for help, but maybe I could record our conversation. George might be too far away for his voice to be picked up clearly, but Simon and I would be. And like Rory said, the FBI had technological resources no one else did.
Better not to think of Rory now. Better not to think I might never see him again.
“It’s as much her fault as anyone’s.” George’s tone was aggrieved. “Nobody made her get in the car. We didn’t kidnap her.”
“No, of course not.”
“She was more than willing. My brother told her he had to stop by his house, and she was fine with that too.”
Simon groaned softly. “George.”
“We stopped by Chris’s cabin, and everything was cool. We had a few drinks. She was carrying a goddamned bar in that black backpack of hers! We were having fun.Shewas having fun. We smoked a little dope. No big deal. We were just relaxing. We wereallrelaxing. But she started to get impatient, started saying she had to call her dad, call her boyfriend. She said she’d walk to the Blue Bear, being bitchy about it, you know? So Chris said,Go ahead! And she did. She walked out. And Chris got mad. What the hell, right? We were doinghera favor. So Chris went after her, and she started running. Through the woods. Like she thought we were going to rape her or something.”
He stopped.
I felt sick.
“What happened?”
He shrugged, steadied the rifle at low ready. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I stayed with Milo.”
Like hell.
George stared at me, seemed to remember Simon, and said to him, “She hit her head on a rock. That’s my guess.”
“What did you do with her body?”
Silence.
George’s sudden laugh echoed through the trees. “Woodchipper.”
Simon’s knees seem to give out and he sank to the ground.
I was staring at George, but I was seeing a girl running through the night, running blind, running for her life…
My knees felt weak, as though all the blood was draining out of me before I’d ever been shot. But that was coming. I turned to run, and out of the corner of my eye, saw George bring the rifle up.
“Don’t fucking move.”
I froze. But that wasn’t George. The words weren’t directed at me. That unfamiliar roar came from a familiar figure in a navy-blue Patagonia jacket I knew practically as well as my own.
Rory.
Smiling, easygoing Rory, now stone-faced and holding a pistol leveled unwaveringly at George.
George swung the rifle toward Rory, and Rory fired.
Boom. The sound seemed to roll off the mountains and ricochet back to us. One shot.
