People have a nasty habit of dying when he’s around. More often than not, women — though they certainly don’t hold a monopoly on pissing him off.

But trouble is looming, and it’s his own stupid fault. He got careless. Now there’s a nasty chunk of skin that should still be on his ass, under her fingernails — a major inconvenience, and pretty damn sore, too.

Resourceful and adaptable, he decides it might be time for a sabbatical. Somewhere remote. Somewhere sparsely populated. Somewhere he can keep himself out of trouble… and maybe even make a bit of money. Somewhere like Alaska.

Back home, Darla — the frustrated lead detective tasked with finding him — is baffled when the killings abruptly stop. Relieved, yes. But she knows the truth: one more body and they would have had him. He pulled out just in time. He’s always been good at practicing safe killing.

Fate, however, is a whimsical beast. Neither our intrepid, bear-framing psychopath nor the determined Darla could have predicted that a simple chain of coincidences — and one very pissed-off woman — would tie everything together with a neat little bow.

Or at least, a neat little roll of wire.

Things are not going to end well.

But for whom?