Carine stood next to Ty, could almost feel his concentration. She realized she was an unnecessary distraction for him, and that was why he was sending her off with her uncle. "We can check the trail up by the Rancourt house," she told him. "The Rancourts used it when they got into trouble last year and you and Manny rescued them-Eric'll know that."

"And Hank." Ty said, climbing in the behind wheel. "He was here that weekend. Now he's missing in action, too. So's Val Carrera."

"Everyone in the whole goddamn state'll be on it before too long," Gus said, taking Stump back up the walk to the house. But he sighed, giving North an encouraging look. "We'll find them."

Carine glanced up at the blue, cloudless sky and could almost feel the high winds and cold of past hikes. "We don't have a lot of time."

Twenty-Seven

Sterling stood in the doorway of the warming hut and let his eyes adjust to the poor light inside, in case he was wrong. The tension and stress of the past few days could have affected his vision-or his mind, making him see what wasn't there. A fire in the potbellied stove. A boy tied up in the far corner by the back door. Gary Turner standing in the middle of the hut, his white hair stark against the dark wood walls.

"The local police were just here," Sterling said, his voice sounding almost disembodied. "I told them you'd left."

Turner shrugged, matter-of-fact. "I parked my car out of sight."

Sterling squinted at the back of the hut. The boy wasn't gagged, but he was pale, his breathing labored- the Carrera boy? Dear God. "What's going on here? Turner? Who are you?"

"Have you ever wanted something so much you'd do anything?" He withdrew his nine-millimeter pistol from his belt holster, without any obvious change in his calm manner. "Kidnap an innocent boy? Kill your best friend? Risk everything?"

The bite off ear Sterling felt was unlike anything he'd everexperienced. It made him cold. It made him pretend he couldn't see the boy suffering, terrified, in the corner. "Jodie and I are leaving as soon as we get the car packed. I told the police we were on our way. They-" He hesitated, but didn't stop himself from finishing his thought. "They have no reason to come back up here."

But Turner didn't seem to hear him. He fingered the tip of his gun, but his attention was squarely on Sterling. "You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.What would you know? You've had money and good health all your life. A beautiful wife, even if she does fuck around."

"I should get back to the house-"

"You've never wanted or needed anything, except to prove yourself to a few air force guys who don't think twice about you."

Sterling backed up a step. "I'm sorry things didn't work out."

Turner lifted his colorless eyes. "You pretend it's your wife who doesn't connect with other people, but it's you, Rancourt. It's all about you. Always. What if someone killed her? What would you do?" He continued to speak in that rational, detached manner. "Would you hunt whoever did it to the ends of the earth? Would you make them pay?"

"Revenge-" Sterling coughed, his throat was so tight that his voice sounded strangled. "Revenge is a complicated thing."

"No, it's not. It's simple. You put it all on the table. You go against the odds. You accept that you'll probably have to die. You accept that you might even have to sacrifice your own moral code."

"I'm not-Gary, I'm not a part of this."

Turner jumped forward, his nine-millimeter pistol at Sterling's throat before he could draw his next breath. "One word and the kid dies for sure. Do you understand? One fucking word to anyone."

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

"Right now it's not my intention to hurt him. He's just a kid. But I will if you talk. Just so you'll have to live with what you caused."

"Nothing. Not a word. Promise."

"Go back to the house. Get your slut wife. It wasn't just the one time in the library with Louis. Ask her. Ask her on the way out of here who he really was." He tucked the gun back into his holster and smiled cockily. "She knows."

Sterling wasn't breathing. Through the dim light, he could see the boy, obviously weak and in pain, staggering to his feet. He was stooped over, but he managed to run for the back door. If he could just incapacitate Turner, Sterling thought-but how? The man had a pistol.

He did nothing, and Turner swooped across the small hut and grabbed the boy around the middle, dumping him onto the blanket on the floor. "You little fuck. I told you to stay put."

The boy erupted into a spasm of coughing, a wet, sloppy sound that turned Sterling's stomach. He'd watched the scene unfold in horror. But there was nothing he could do to help the boy-he had to keep his mouth shut and get himself and Jodie out of there.

Sterling ran down the dirt track to the house, the wind swooping up the hills and blowing hard. Jodie had the back of the SUV open, loading in one of her endless bags. Sterling pushed her aside and shut the tailgate. "Whatever you have packed will have to do. We're leaving. Now."

"What's going on? Who were you talking to up-"

"Don't speak to me. Not now."

He grabbed her by one shoulder and opened the passenger door, pushing her. She stumbled, then quickly got the message and climbed up into the seat. Her lower lip trembled in fear.

Sterling got into the driver's seat, surprising himself that he wasn't shaking. "Be glad I'm even taking you with me," he said. "Just keep your lying mouth shut and come with me."

A car-not Turner's car but an old Audi they kept in New Hampshire-lurched down from the hut. Sterling didn't look to see if the boy was in there with him. How would he know, anyway? Turner could have him stuffed in the trunk.

It was so clear and perfect, it was as if they were in the middle of a postcard, the mountains cascading all around them, a darker blue against the sky.

The Audi quickly disappeared.

"Gary," Jodie said hoarsely. "He's apart of it, isn't he?"

Sterling glared at her. "A part of what, Jodie? Hmm? What?"

"Nothing." She was ashen, her voice small. "I don't know what I'm saying. You're right-let's get out of here."

Twenty-Eight

It wasn't much of a picnic area. Val edged forward in her seat, peering out at the rocks, the birch trees and evergreens, the two unpainted picnic tables in a small clearing. A sign said there were no facilities, meaning, she assumed, no rest rooms. No trash cans, either. She didn't know why she noticed such details, except it gave her something to do, something to focus on. She didn't want to think.

The mountains, every inch of them visible on such a clear day, rose up on both sides of the road-a notch, Hank had told her, was basically a pass in the mountains. Yet even with the perfect visibility, she felt claustrophobic, enveloped by the mountains, hemmed in. Probably, she thought, she wouldn't have made a good astronaut, after all.

She was done. Spent. I'm in over my head…Eric…

She handed Hank the phone. "Call the police." Even to herself, she sounded exhausted, past the point of coherency, never mind logic. "I'm just playing into this bastard's hands."

He glanced at the readout. "There's no service here. I remember last fall we had trouble getting through- Carine and Ty stopped at a lake down the road."

"That's why the bastard picked this spot. In case I changed my mind, I wouldn't be able to call for help." She shoved the Glock at him. "Here, take it. You make the decisions. It's not loaded, but I think there's a clip in the glove compartment."

He shook his head. "You hang on to it." He pushed her hand back with the gun, then thrust the phone at her. "I'll wait here. You get to a house or a place where you can call."