Nineteen
It amused JP to no end that, for two days now, the men crawling all over the mine deposits—scavenging for minute clues about Carol Landers’ killer—had not thought to look up. If they had, someone might have spotted him watching from the ridge west of them. Less than two hundred yards away, as the crows flew. He had been hiding out in the mountains, too afraid to return to his cabin. Afraid was perhaps the wrong word because, if he were honest with himself, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything lately. Not fear, not anticipation, not even hate. Where there had once been a raging flood of wild emotion there was now a void. He knew there was no redemption for what he’d done, and he longed to feel remorse for his niece’s necessary death, but he felt nothing. Even his amusement was
