Stranded

shelters, and a parking lot with slots for cars and trucks. A kidney-shaped road swirled around it, connecting it to the interstate exits. Squiggle shapes—what Agent Alonzo determined were woods—separated the rest area from the river. More squiggles—supposedly more woods—stretched on the other side of the river, fading out to a series of X’s, one after another, perhaps shorthand for more terrain.
    That was Agent Alonzo’s theory. Maggie suspected that the X’s marked the spaces where he had dumped dead bodies.
    Using aerial photos from truckers’ websites and Google Earth,Agent Alonzo had narrowed down the rest areas to three in Iowa, one in Kansas, and two in South Dakota. Maggie and Tully had been on the road for only a couple of hours when Agent Alonzo called. Human bones had been discovered the day before on a farmstead. The property backed to an interstate rest area. One of the rest areas on their list.
    Now Maggie was anxious to see just how close the rest area was to this farmstead. Maybe this was just another detour on their wild goose chase. The skull and femurs could be an odd and unfortunate coincidence, depending on how old they were. She knew this was Indian territory once upon a time. The farm’s buildings were almost a century old. It was possible they could have been built over an Indian burial ground.
    Still, she wanted to see for herself. She excused herself from the sheriff and his deputies, gave a knowing look to Tully, and left them. The long driveway had been blocked off by a single black-and-white sheriff’s SUV. One deputy sat bored in the driver’s seat. Maggie could hear the talk radio station. She nodded at him and noticed he shifted expectantly but she didn’t stop. She continued walking past a hedge of lilac bushes. Their flowers were only starting to open, but Maggie could already smell them.
    Geese honked overhead. A grove thick with river maples, elms, and cottonwoods surrounded the farm on three sides, cradling it from any view of the road as well as muffling all outside noises. In fact, if she and Tully hadn’t taken the interstate to get here, Maggie would never have guessed that an ongoing flow of traffic passed so close to the property.
    She found an overgrown footpath behind the barn that took her into the woods. Buds had only started to appear, an eruption of bright green spots on otherwise bare and stark black branches. Last fall’s pine needles and old leaves, now soggy and clumpedtogether, covered the ground. Maggie took careful steps to keep from slipping and sliding.
    The path quickly narrowed and started a gradual incline. Twigs whipped into her face even as she grabbed at the branches in front of her. Thorny vines snagged her pant legs. Sunlight filtered down in streaks. Birds provided flashes of color and song—bright yellow finches, red-winged blackbirds, a cardinal. That they were singing—continuing their spring mating calls—calmed Maggie. The last time she and Tully made their way through a thick forest like this they had been following birds that had been circling, leading them to Zach Lester’s body.
    Maggie climbed to a clearing at the top of the incline. Below her a shallow stream zigzagged through the brush. On the other side, the woods continued. But from above Maggie could see in the distance the ribbon of interstate traffic. And she could now hear its faint but steady hum. What attracted her attention was the rest area nestled down in the woods.
    She reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out the folded map she had been carrying around with her. This was a copy. The original remained in a protective evidence bag back at Quantico’s crime lab.
    She had memorized the geometric shapes, the parallel and intersecting lines. She held up the eight-by-eleven sheet in front of her to one side. Then she glanced back and forth from the map to the scenery below, eyes darting, searching, and not quite believing. She felt a chill as the realization came over her. The roads around the rest area looked like the kidney-shaped sketch on the map. The inked geometric patterns matched those below: building, picnic shelters, even the parking slots had been precisely drawn.
    This was it. The scavenger hunt was over. This was exactly where the killer had led them.
    “Maggie.”
    She startled despite R. J. Tully’s attempt to whisper. He was breathing hard and she knew it was from anxiety, not exertion. He was in good physical shape. She waited for him to