A flashlight. It bobbed to- ward her, and Alice got unsteadily to her feet. She snif- fled. “Destin?” She doubted whoever it was could hear her. Destin wasn’t the sort to be prepared with something as prac- tical as a flashlight—or to wait for her out in the cold. Maybe it was a winter camper, someone who’d heard her thrashing around. The Johnsons had mentioned that people camped in the Adirondacks year-round. Alice watched the light moving toward her, unable to make out the dark silhouette of the figure behind it. She could see the snow bright under the arc of light, tree trunks, a stretch of ice and jutting rock, and squinted as the light found her, settled on her. The figure stopped, raising the light to her face, shining it in her eyes. She shielded them, but made out the man’s face and imme- diately thought hypothermia must have set in. “Beau? Is that you?” “Hello, Alice.” His voice was cold, steady. “You’ve had a tough time out here.” “I sure have. I’m glad to see you—”
