“Get down!” Megan ordered. “Lie down right next to her! On your front. Do it!”

“I’d just as soon not, thank you.” His voice was every bit as calm as Megan’s was aflame.

Megan could make out his outline better now. Her eyes were adjusting. Directly in front of her, the narrow boat wobbled in the water. The faint lapping of water sounded like tiny slaps. Megan’s finger tightened cautiously on the trigger. He killed them. He killed them all. This is him. This is the one. She could taste salt on her lips. Her face was blazing hot.

“Lie down on your front. Let’s just do this calmly. Hands out in front.”

“You’re trespassing,” the man said. “You shouldn’t be here. This has nothing to do with you.”

Megan rose slowly from her crouch, tracking her aim as she did, keeping it trained on the area of the man’s chest. “Do what I say.”

Ross scoffed, “And if I don’t? What then? What exactly are you going to do, Detective? Are you going to shoot me? Is that it? In cold blood?”

Megan took a sharp breath, held it and squeezed the trigger. The Glock bucked in her hand and the barrel flashed. In the confined space, the noise was a thunderous roar. The shot sailed well to Ross’s right. As intended. He ducked seconds late.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

She’d gotten his attention.

“I’m fine,” Megan replied. “Now let’s just end this thing quietly. And for your sake, I hope that woman is still alive.”

Megan’s vision was sufficiently adjusted that she could now make out the contours of the boathouse. There were two boat slips, the one between her and Ross with the Boston Whaler in it, and a second one behind Ross, where a larger boat rocked gently in the black water. Ross was essentially trapped. The only escapes were the door behind Megan or the water at the end of the dock. Assuming Ross wasn’t foolish enough to take the icy leap, he’d have to go through her first if he wanted to get out.

“There’s no point in this,” Megan said, beginning to edge to her right. “You’re a smart man, Ross. I don’t know why you did all this, but it’s finished. Okay? Just do what I’m saying and let’s get on with it. If that woman’s still alive, we’ve got to get her to a hospital.”

Megan edged farther, keeping the pistol trained on the man. She didn’t want to glance down at the bloodied body at Ross’s feet, but she couldn’t help herself. It had to be Tracy Jacobs, though there was no way she could identify the pulpy face of the woman lying on the dock. It dawned on Megan that there was no way Ross could have delivered such damage with his bare hands. Not the handsaw. It wasn’t nearly heavy enough.

The bastard has a weapon.

“I want your hands, Ross! Right now!”

“I don’t think-”

She jerked the gun and fired again, this time toward the larger boat. Its triangular windshield exploded. The gun muzzle swung immediately back to Ross. “Now!”

Ross brought both of his hands up slowly in front of him. Something long and skinny and black was in his right hand. A crowbar. Megan took another step. I can shoot him. The bastard has a weapon. He came at me with it. I had no choice. Rule number one: defend yourself at all costs. I can blow this bastard into the water.

But Megan didn’t want to fire from here. She wanted her pistol barrel jammed up right against the bastard’s tonsils.

“Drop the crowbar, Mr. Ross.”

He did. With a flick of his wrist, the crowbar dropped into the water, next to the boat. In the same movement, Ross snatched up the flashlight and flicked the beam directly into Megan’s eyes. She could see nothing but white spears.

Shoot! Now! He’s going to come at you. Shoot!

Ross flicked the light away from Megan’s face and trained it on Tracy Jacobs. Megan was still somewhat blinded. The prone body shimmered blue and out of focus. Ross lifted a foot and placed it on the woman’s back. He nudged slightly, rocking the prone body. She let out a soft groan.

“You hear that? She’s still alive.”

“Step away!”

Ross trained the light on Megan for a few seconds, then again on the body lying at his feet. “She’s alive, Detective. I’m sure she’d be very grateful to you if you’d help her out.”

He reset his foot on the woman’s back and grunted as he shoved. The body rotated easily. Three quarters of a turn and she dropped cleanly off the dock, landing with minimal splash in the black water. Ross trained the flashlight on her. The bound legs swung down and out of sight. Her hair fanned out on the surface. In the flashlight glare, the top of her head resembled a softball. It followed swiftly after the legs.

Ross flicked off the flashlight. “Your call, lady.”

52

MEGAN’S CLOTHES TOOK her down. Even without her coat and her shoes, which she had frantically pulled off, her saturated clothes took her down like an anchor. She hadn’t expected it. She groped for the sinking body but found nothing. She didn’t even know if her eyes were open. There was nothing to see. Total blackness. Megan thrashed at the water.

She was flying.

She was floating.

She was swimming.

She was sinking.

Dark as the grave, Megan thought, sweeping her arms in front of her. Dark as the womb. She was already lost. Up. Down. Her lungs were holding, but the shock of the water’s temperature-delayed at first-arrived. It attacked her like cold knives slashing at her skin.

Her limbs were already losing feeling. Was she flexing her fingers? She thought maybe. All the switches were being flipped off. Megan could not have imagined anything this cold.

She kicked her feet. She groped. She gathered the blackness into her chest. Her lungs were beginning to ache. And she knew what was happening.

Josh.

Her brother’s face appeared to Megan as if it were right there in front of her, as if it were inside an illuminated bubble. For weeks and weeks he had pulled her out of herself, dragged her back into the light and sat there with her, coaxing her back. Patient. Loving. Loyal. Oh, Lord. Josh. Please don’t look at me now. All your efforts. Your sweet efforts.

She felt ashamed.

Failure is cold and black.

Megan’s arms crossed back and forth over each other. There was no seeing them at all. There would be no more seeing. She was kicking her freezing feet. Going where? Out to sea? And for what? She imagined herself grabbing an armful of slick weeds at the bottom and holding tight, curling up to them.

Her lungs were hurting badly now, as if a corkscrew were working its way into her chest. This was a fool’s end. She scissored her legs one last time, kicking with all her remaining strength. Arms outstretched, fingers splayed, Megan kicked and opened her mouth as wide as it would go.

53

ALAN ROSS DASHED across the snow. The poor woman. She had looked pathetic, struggling to strip off her overcoat, as if the sleeves were suddenly three times too long. She was so small, he doubted she’d have the strength to pull Tracy out of the water even if she got the chance.

Ross went around to the front of the house and let himself in the front door. His fingers went automatically to the house alarm, but halfway through the code, he realized that the alarm was not activated. He frowned. He couldn’t remember if it was he or Gloria who had been the last one out the door on their most recent trip. It wasn’t like either of them to forget the alarm.

Ross was dying of thirst. He started for the kitchen then veered into the dining room, where he fetched a bottle of Dewar’s from the liquor cabinet. He took the bottle into the kitchen and dropped a few ice cubes into a tumbler and poured the glass three quarters full. Swiftly he took it down to a quarter in one gulp.

There were a million questions but no time to find answers. If the police detective didn’t freeze to death or drown, she’d be back on the scene any second. With or without Tracy. Frankly, he hoped it was with. He couldn’t afford to have Tracy Jacobs’s body washing ashore somewhere. He had to return to the original plan. If need be, he would deal with the detective in the same manner. It was getting so complicated. Ross stared hard into his glass. The one piece of information he’d like to know was whether the detective was the only person who had pieced the murders together, or if there were others. The good news was that she had apparently come out here alone. This suggested she was on a cowboy mission, rushing out by herself, like a fool. Ross prayed he could be so lucky. If Lamb was the only one wise to him, it was still possible he could manage events to keep himself safe. If not…He wasn’t ready to think about it. He’d have to disappear. How the hell he was going to do that, he didn’t know. If it came to it, he’d figure it out. Problem. Plan. Execute. It’s what he was all about.