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  Fond of her. Unable to stand it any longer, Nat sank to her knees in the snow beside the skier’s body. Taking off one of her gloves, she touched Lana’s bare fist. It was cold and hard, like rock. Already frozen. The Olympian had been here a while.

  “What are you doing?” Steven lifted her under the arms, pulling her to her feet, a lot more gently than she deserved, in light of the fact she’d just accused him of murder—again. “You can’t touch her. There’ll be evidence on her hands: skin, hair, clothing fibers, DNA. Like it or not, this is a crime scene now. The more we touch it, the more we contaminate it. We should find some plastic bags and put them on her hands, preserve the evidence as best we can.”

  “I’m s-sorry. You’re right. She just looks so sad, so alone. I…needed to do something to comfort her.”

  “She’s dead, Nat. The best thing we can do for her now is help the police find her killer.”

  “I will go find the bags,” Igor said, the first words he’d spoken since Steven and Vasily had led them to the body. He’d gotten along well with Lana too. Nat remembered them laughing and joking together, the easy camaraderie they’d had. Then again, Lana had been like that with everyone. The campsite already seemed colder and more dismal without her.

  “In the front pocket of my pack there are some sterile ones. We can use those,” Steven said.

  The Russian nodded, looking relieved to have a reason to leave, if only for a few minutes. If this continued, these woods would soon be an abattoir. Some podcaster of the future would cover the killings, talking about the great mystery of their deaths. The McPherson Pass incident. It would have been amusing if it weren’t so fucking depressing.

  Nat raised an eyebrow. “You brought sterile bags?” Had he been expecting a crime scene?

  “Food storage. You should go with him.”

  “Why? I’m sure he’s more than capable of finding the bags on his own.”

  “There’s no reason for you to hang around here. You too, Vasily. Get back to the fire where it’s warm. Once Igor comes back, it’ll only take me a few minutes to bag her hands, and then I’ll join you. We can discuss our options then.”

  Discuss our options. It sounded so formal, as if they were project managers at a job site instead of three dazed and deluded fools standing over the corpse of their dead friend. Nat averted her eyes. She felt guilty for not looking at Lana, but the sight of her battered body made Nat’s heart twist in despair. She would forever see the woman’s bruised face in her nightmares.

  “Do you have experience with this sort of thing?”

  Steven was too cool, too controlled. Perhaps it was an act, but it wasn’t normal. Then again, nothing about this situation was normal. Any minute, Nat expected someone to lose their mind and run around the campsite yelling gibberish. Most of the time, she expected it to be her.

  The corners of his mouth rose in a faint imitation of a smirk. “Only what I’ve learned on CSI. Go on, Vasily. You take her back.”

  “I can go by myself,” she protested, but the truth was, it did feel comforting when the Mansi slipped his arm through hers. The gesture was unexpected. This must have been difficult for him too. She was sure he didn’t ordinarily lose three members of his group to murder.

  The walk back to the campsite and their fire went much faster than their journey into the woods. Once the terrible scene was at their backs, Nat felt a desperate need to escape. She quickened her step, and Vasily, perhaps feeling the same, did as well.

  She’d expected to bump into Igor on the way, and as they drew nearer and nearer to camp, an awful realization dawned on her. Once again, they’d separated. What if something had happened to the Russian? What if he were dead too? She nearly wept with relief when they made it to the clearing and she spotted him, crouched at the entrance of Steven’s tent, the mountaineer’s backpack in his hands.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t you find the bags?”

  Bright bursts of color flared on Igor’s cheeks, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were glassy.

  “What is it, Igor?”

  “I found them. But I also found this.” He pulled out a knife, its blade winking cruelly in the gray light. Nat was no expert on knives, but she was pretty sure it had belonged to Joe, the same blade the trapper had threatened Steven with.

  Its edge was darkened with dried blood.

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  Nat clutched her head with both hands, attempting to distract herself from the pounding in her brain. It felt like they’d been fighting, hollering at each other for hours, though it had probably only been about thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of hell.

  “Sue me because I thought it was smart to have some kind of weapon.” Steven’s voice cut through the campsite, creating an echo. It was eerie to hear his words float back to them. “Call me crazy, but as two of us were dead at that point, I thought it might be a good fucking idea to be able to defend myself.”

  “What is wrong with you people? Steven is not a murderer. He was right to take the knife.” Vasily positioned himself between Igor and the mountaineer, as though he thought Steven were in danger of attack. Since when had he developed such a loyalty to that wretched man? Nat guessed it must have been when they were skiing so far ahead of the others.

  “You have to admit it looks bad. Whose blood is on it, Steven? You still haven’t answered that question,” Igor said, his voice dangerously calm.

  Steven threw his hands in the air. “I don’t fucking know, okay? It’s not like I was thinking straight. I saw it in Joe’s hand and I took it. It could be yeti blood, for all I know.”

  “Would you stop it with the fucking yetis?” It was the third time Igor had made the same request, but the first time he’d added an f-bomb. “There’s no such thing.”

  “Yes, there is!” Vasily’s voice bordered on an indignant shriek. “I have seen them. I told you. I told you what happened to my village.”

  “You saw some big men in snowsuits. You don’t know what they were. They could have been a rival tribe.”

  Yes. Go, Igor. At least Steven hadn’t blamed the presence of the knife in his pack on a snowman. And where was Anubha’s crossbow? Did he have that as well? It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  “They were not men,” Vasily said, all but stomping in the snow; he was so infuriated, and Nat wondered how she ever could have thought he was a cold fish. “They are too strong! Too big.”

  “I do not like him having a knife. Too much death has happened when you two were here. We will not feel safe if Steven has the weapon.” Igor held out his hand while Nat held her breath. What if the mountaineer snapped and stabbed him with it?

  “His name is Cliff,” she said, trying not to moan at the pain in her head.

  “Actually, it’s Steven. Cliff was a name I used for the show. Obviously, I couldn’t use my real one.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What are you two talking about? I thought we were talking about the knife.” Igor scowled. Since no one was currently questioning the existence of yetis, Vasily had fallen silent again. It appeared to be the only dog he had in this fight.

  “I’m not sure if Steven is a murderer, but he’s the reason we’re in this mess.” Nat sighed. “About a year ago, someone named Cliff started trolling my show.”

  “Trolling?” the Russian asked.

  “Sorry. It’s a Western expression. Basically, making our lives miserable. Calling me out for being a coward, saying I hadn’t done anything noteworthy in far too long. He wanted me to investigate the Dyatlov Pass incident, and he wouldn’t let up. Somehow, the bastard got under my skin. He hit me where it hurt—my overdeveloped ego. And so here we are.” She stared Steven down, daring him to argue with her, but the man kept his mouth shut for a change. Hallelujah.

  “That was you?” Igor gawked at the mountaineer. “But why?”

  Steven sighed. “Because my great-aunt was Lyudmila Dubinina.”

  “Am I supposed to know who this is?” The Russian glanced at Na
t, but it was Steven who answered.

  “She was a member of the Dyatlov group. One of the youngest, and arguably the most injured. She might have also been the last to die. I learned about her death as a child, and it’s haunted me ever since. I was trying to get Nat’s help investigating what happened to her. Admittedly, I didn’t go about it the right way.”

  “Didn’t go about it the right way? You terrorized us.” Talk about turning understatement into an art form.

  “I’m sorry. That was never my intention. Riling you up seemed like it would be more effective than asking nicely, and you have to admit it was.”

  She would have loved to wipe that smug expression off his face. “Difficult to say, since you never asked nicely. You were a douche from day one.”

  “Granted. I’ll accept that. But I’m not a murderer. And I never tried to sabotage this trip. When you were at your angriest with me, I was actually trying to help.”

  “I still think it’s a good idea to give the knife to Igor. Or to me. If something else happens, you’ll be in the clear,” Nat said.

  The Russian lowered his voice to a growl. “Nothing else better happen. No more. Everyone leave, we get off this Dead Mountain alive, yah.”

  Everyone leave. Shit, how long had it been since she’d checked on Andrew? “I should see how Andy’s doing. I’ll be right back.” She paused for a moment, long enough to size up the man who had made her life a living hell for a year. Steven’s shoulders were slumped, and he stared at his boots, moving a small hill of snow back and forth with his feet. At least the fight seemed to have gone out of him. “Steven? Please do the right thing. Give the knife to Igor. And the crossbow as well, if you have it.”

  Trepidation weighed on her as she rushed to the tent she shared with Andrew. Fuck. What if something had happened to him? How could she have stayed away so long?

  It was a relief to find everything as she’d left it, with the flaps securely zippered and fastened. There’d been a small, evil part of her mind that had been scared she’d find a huge rip in the side, like the one the Dyatlov group had cut in their tent.

  Andrew was on his back, fast asleep. Thank God, thank God. If anything had happened to him, she’d never have forgiven herself. A tiny cry escaped her and Andrew shifted in his sleeping bag, his eyes flickering open. “Nat?”

  “Yeah.” She pressed her hand to his forehead like a mother searching for signs of fever. His skin was warm and damp, but she didn’t see any reason for alarm. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. Cold.”

  “You should come and sit by the fire. That’ll warm you up in a hurry.” Assuming everyone stopped arguing long enough to tend it. Worse came to worst, she’d do it herself. She wasn’t as good at it as Igor, but there was only one way to learn.

  Andrew yawned. “What time is it? It seemed like you were gone for a really long time.”

  “I probably was. I’m so sorry. I never should have left you alone for that long.” Nat’s hand went for her phone until she remembered she’d purchased a cheap watch for the trip to keep from draining her battery. She was shocked to see it was a few minutes shy of three p.m. The sun would set in a couple of hours, making it too dangerous to leave. Assuming they could leave. “How are your lungs feeling? Are you out of breath?”

  He took a few exaggerated breaths. The faint whistling she’d heard over the last forty-eight hours was gone. “See? I’m fine; let’s go.”

  “It’s not that easy. We’d have to pack up camp, and that takes time. Also, you haven’t eaten since last night. Don’t even think about attempting the descent without something in your stomach.”

  “Yes, mom.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Well, someone has to mother you, before you run out of here without your boots on.” Nat caught what she’d said and winced. A few members of the Dyatlov group had been found in their socks. “Sorry.”

  He patted her leg. “It’s okay. I knew what you meant. Can you ask Lana to come here and take a look at me? She seems to be an expert about this altitude stuff.”

  At the sound of Lana’s name, Nat’s throat closed. How on earth would she break the news? The amiable blonde hadn’t just been his friend, but also the closest thing he had to a doctor out here. Not that it had kept her from abandoning him, Nat thought with a twist of bitterness, immediately followed by guilt. Lana had been terrified of her own death. She’d done what she’d felt was the right thing to ensure her survival. Too bad it had gone so horribly wrong.

  Hell, for all Nat knew, Lana might not have written the note in her tent. Steven could have written it to cover his tracks.

  She’d never been able to keep anything from Andrew. “What is it?” Eyes widening, he propped himself up on his elbows. “Please don’t tell me she’s…”

  Not trusting herself to speak, Nat nodded. Safe in the security of their friendship, the tears she’d been holding back since the gruesome discovery began to fall.

  “Fuck. Oh, fuck. No! What happened to her?”

  Craving comfort, she lowered herself beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know. She was pretty bruised, and her hands were frozen into fists, like she died fighting. Her body was posed, just like Anubha and Joe’s.”

  “To recreate another Dyatlov victim?”

  “Yeah. Zinaida. And whoever killed her did a much better job this time.” She bit back a sob. “Oh, Andrew, it’s been awful. I don’t know who to trust, who to believe. Is it one of us who’s doing this? I can’t imagine why, but if not us, who else? And Igor found Joe’s knife in Steven’s bag, and it’s covered in blood. I don’t know if I can deal with this anymore.”

  “Hey. Hey.” He lifted his shoulder so her head rolled slightly. “You can and you will. You have no choice. You have to get us out of here. You’re the only one who can.”

  “What are you talking about? Vasily is the guide. I can barely keep up.”

  “Vasily’s the guide, but you’re the leader. You can’t give up. These people are counting on you to see them safely home. I’m counting on you. You can break down when we’re off this godforsaken mountain, but not before. All right?”

  “But how am I supposed to keep everyone safe when someone in our group is a serial killer?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Igor was with us at the other camp when Joe and Anubha died, so that lets him off the hook. The two of us are obviously above suspicion…”

  “Clearly.”

  “That leaves Steven and Vasily.”

  “Vasily is a suspect now?”

  “I don’t know, Andrew. Like I said, I can’t trust anyone.”

  “I honestly can’t see either of them doing it. Plus, if they’d taken on Lana, they’d be marked up.”

  “That’s what Steven said. But I’m not comfortable placing my trust in him.”

  “Do you really think he did it? He’s a bit of a douchebag, but that doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”

  She ran the possibility over in her mind. The Ted Bundy School of False First Impressions aside, she thought it unlikely. And the mountaineer was right—he had no motive. That she knew of. But since she hadn’t known he was Cliff until Andrew had told her, anything was possible. Perhaps there had been more conflict bubbling underneath the surface, conflict she wasn’t aware of. Nat pictured Joe’s ferocity the evening he’d lunged at Steven with his filleting knife. It had been so out of character for the soft-spoken trapper. And bizarre that he would have blamed the mountaineer instead of the most likely culprit, a wild animal.

  But what if there were a history, something hidden that had passed between them? Then Joe’s seemingly over-the-top reaction might be more understandable. Nat wished she had thought to ask him while she’d still had the chance.

  “No, but if he didn’t do it, then who else? Vasily? I can’t see it.”

  “Maybe Vasily wants to scare the tourists away from Dead Mountain.”

  “Maybe.” Nat remembered the gaunt face of the guide when she’d first met him, the t
ears in his eyes as he’d thanked her for the work, saying that now he’d be able to provide for his family. Before today, it was the last time she’d seen him emote more than your average turnip. Why would he destroy his sole source of income? The remainder of the winter promised to be long and brutal.

  Unless again, there was something she didn’t know, some crucial bit of information being withheld from her.

  “Steven could be so obsessed with what happened to his aunt that he’s recreating those crime scenes, whether consciously or subconsciously,” she said.

  “We’re not living in a Hollywood production, Nat. Don’t you think that’s a tad far fetched?”

  “Hey, everything okay in there?”

  It was Steven. Why the hell couldn’t he leave them alone?

  “Yes, we’re fine,” Andrew called, and before they could move, Steven poked his head inside the tent. Nat pushed herself away from Andrew and sat up. She wasn’t ashamed of cuddling with him, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with anyone else seeing it. But she was too late. She saw the look of shock that flitted over the mountaineer’s face before he regained composure.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not interrupting anything.” She hated the snarl in her voice. If anything, it made her appear guiltier. “We were just talking.”

  He glanced at Andrew and back to her, his uncertainty clear. “Can I come in and talk to you both for a sec?”

  Andrew said sure before she could say the few choice words that were on her mind. Probably for the best. Steven ducked to slip inside, while Nat shuffled as far away from him as she could, until she was sitting behind Andrew’s head. The mountaineer’s face fell.

  “Nat, I swear I didn’t hurt anyone. I won’t hurt you, either. I kept the knife and crossbow with me for protection, but I’ve done what you asked and given them both to Igor.”

  “Okay.”

  Steven turned to Andrew. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

  “A little. Still pretty weak.”