“Any service out here?”

“Should be.”

She eyed him. “What are you, some kind of spook? Secret Service?”

But he didn’t answer, just handed her back her cell phone. She crawled out of the cave onto the narrow ledge, managing to sit with her legs dangling over the side. She stared at the readout screen but couldn’t make out the dial numbers. “My eyes aren’t working right. That bastard Fontaine-” She licked her lips again. “He smacked me on the back of the head before he left me in the cave. I think he knocked my eyeballs loose or something.”

Brooker moved in next to her. “What number you calling?”

Her head was throbbing. She struggled to remember the number Joe Collins had given her in the E.R., then recited it to Brooker. He dialed without a word and handed the phone back to her. “Winter talked to some FBI type on our way over here. He’s sending in the cavalry.”

Juliet had expected as much. One of the FBI agent’s flunkies answered. She told him to put on the big guy. She’d been smacked around one too many times today for anything approaching niceties.

Collins came on. “Where are you?”

“In a cave with snakes and some kind of spook who’s been playing the Dunnemore gardener. Listen to me. This Conroy Fontaine character had someone snatch the Dunnemores in Amsterdam. He says they’re his hostages.”

“We’re on it. We’ve got a team on the way to your location. Sit tight, will you?”

“I don’t have much choice. Nate and Sarah Dunnemore-”

Collins cut in again. “Winter says you found the guys who ambushed you this morning-dead.”

Juliet paused. “Don’t start with me, okay? I didn’t kill those men. Look, get word to the SWAT guys that Fontaine thinks he’s the president’s brother.”

“Jesus Christ,” Collins breathed.

“And he’s been bit by a cottonmouth. It’s bad. Sarah Dunnemore wants to find him before he dies.”

“Winter’s with her?”

“Yes.”

“All right. You know what to do.”

“Yeah. I’m getting out of this goddamn cave. Tell your guys I’ll meet them at the Poe house. That’s where the bodies are.”

She hung up and glanced at Ethan. “You’re armed?”

“Nine-millimeter Browning.”

“Not going to share, are you?”

He grinned. “Not a chance.”

She’d figured as much. “Well, are you game for getting out of here?”

“I had my fill of caves in Afghanistan. Let’s go.”

She grimaced at the river below her. “Fontaine told me the water’s forty feet deep here. Strong current. I’m not the best swimmer.”

“Relax.” Brooker grasped the rock at the top of the cave and pulled himself to his feet, glancing down at her with a wink. “It doesn’t matter if it’s forty feet deep. You can drown in six feet of water.”

Thirty-Two

Nate appreciated Sarah’s spirit and determination and understood her fear for her parents, but he wasn’t going to drag her through the woods to look for a killer. They were almost to the Poe house. When they got there, they’d wait for the SWAT guys. FBI, USMS Special Operations, Secret Service, local guys-whoever Joe Collins managed to get in there could go find Conroy Fontaine. For all Nate knew, they could be there now.

In the meantime, it was his job to keep Sarah Dunnemore alive.

She didn’t see it that way. She walked just ahead of him, her energy not flagging even slightly. “You’re not responsible for me. It’s my decision to go after Conroy.”

“You have your own way of looking at things.”

“That’s right, I do.”

The trail had descended toward the river-they were only fifteen feet above the water now-and cut steeply back up toward the Poe house. Conroy Fontaine had the skills to hide in Central Park in the middle of a rainy early May day and pick off two marshals. He’d killed two presumably highly trained bodyguards. He’d wormed his way into the Dunnemores’ lives. Nate had believed the guy was just another reporter looking for a story.

“Conroy wants the pardon so he can get his money and his recognition,” Sarah said. “He doesn’t want to kill me. That’s not what this is about.”

“Let the SWAT negotiators talk to him. They’re the experts. What if you find Fontaine and end up screwing it up?”

That caught her up short. She broke her stride. She was in the shade of a cedar tree growing precariously up out of the limestone, between the path and the river. For a split second, Nate thought she was going to back off. He heard the rustling noise above them.

A huge black snake dropped from the cedar and landed on Sarah, latching its fangs onto the right side of her neck, its thick body writhing and wriggling. It had to be five feet long.

Simultaneously Conroy Fontaine leaped from the tree, its branches halfway out over the river, and made a sprawling dive into the water. Sarah screamed in shock and tried to pry the snake off. “Don’t shoot it!”

The snake wrapped itself around her arms and was going for another bite. Fontaine had used it as a distraction. “I’ve got it,” she said. “Trust me. Please.”

Nate jumped to the edge of the path and pointed his gun at the water, saw Conroy swimming toward a boat anchored in a small, shallow cove just downriver from the bluff below the Poe house.

Making his escape.

“Stop him,” Sarah said. “Don’t worry about me.”

She staggered backward over the roots of the cedar tree and went feetfirst over the edge, wrestling with the damn snake all the way into the river.

Nate ran past the cedar and tore his way down an eroded section of riverbank, slipping on the wet rocks and dirt. He could see the snake scurrying away from Sarah in the water. She came up for air and waved Nate on as she swam toward shore. Her strokes were strong, determined.

She’d be all right.

Conroy was twenty yards downriver, climbing into his boat.

Nate had a shot. A difficult one, but he’d take it if he had to. He raised his weapon, feeling a jolt of pain from his injured arm. “Freeze, Fontaine.”

Fontaine flopped onto the pilot’s seat. “You won’t shoot me.” His voice was raspy, breathless, as he shouted across the water at Nate. “I know where the Dunnemores are.”

The guy was in bad shape. But he was right. Nate didn’t want to shoot. Keeping his gun pointed in the general direction of the boat, ignoring the pain in his arm, he ran up the short stretch of embankment to the shallow cove, positioning himself above Fontaine.

He had one chance.

Without hesitation, Nate jumped, landing on Conroy, knocking him down and sticking the HK in his face. “Don’t move.”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

His words were slurred, his body fiery hot even after being in the cold river water. “Where are the Dunnemores?” Nate asked quietly.

“Fuck you.”

“Was it a bluff? Do you have them?”

Sarah was on shore, scrambling along the eroded bank, blood from her snakebite dripping down her neck. “My parents-”

“Get the pardon,” Conroy screamed at her, trying to jerk his head up against Nate’s hold. “It’s not too late. Call President Poe. I’m his brother. He’s never known his true family. I’ll tell him everything about us. I’ll share the money with you.”

Nate had heard enough. The guy’s condition was worsening from the snakebite. “You need a doctor.”

Conroy vomited, what looked like mostly river water spewing out over the boat. He was shivering violently, panting, sweating. Nate got him to his feet. “The parents,” he said. “Come on. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier for you if you tell us where they are.”

But he was unconscious, slumped against Nate.

Sarah splashed out into the river, water up to her waist. “John Wesley, don’t die.”

Juliet was behind her, looking as if the current would sweep her away. But her voice was steady, firm. “Ouch. God, you’re a mess. Look at that neck. What happened to the snake?”