When I reached the junction between the main path to the range and the lake route, there was Jack leaning on his crutch, blocking my way.

"Where were you?" he said.

I was tempted to say "the boathouse," but knew that wasn't what he meant, and he wouldn't appreciate having to expend more words to get the proper response.

"Following a lead," I said as I brushed past him.

"What lead?"

I considered speeding up. With his injury, I could easily outrun him. But speed wasn't Jack's style at the best of times. I could escape him all day, and I'd wake up tomorrow morning, sit down to breakfast, and have him plant himself across from me, asking the same question.

I eased back. "Whatever you're hiding out from, it's bigger than you're letting on, isn't it?"

His face screwed up in an unspoken "Huh?"

"I won't press for details. The point is that if you need me here, I'll stick around as much as possible. Yes, I am a little preoccupied, but I've got your back."

He stared at me, dark brows creasing over a deep furrow. "You think…?" His lips worked, as if he hadn't yet figured out how to finish the sentence. "No one's coming after me, Nadia. It's not…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not like that. You want to know? I'll explain later. But watching my back?" He shook his head. "I'm trying to watch yours. Only this – " He knocked his crutch against the cast. "Slows me down."

"I don't need your help, Jack. Let's – " I pulled my hands from my pockets and leaned against a maple tree, the bark cold under my fingers. "Let's cut through the bullshit, okay?"

"Bullshit?"

"The only reason you're here is because you needed a place to go, and I was the only one offering. So now you're stuck, and you feel obligated to at least pretend everything's the way it used to be. Maybe you think that'll make the situation more comfortable, but it doesn't. You're a paying guest; you don't need to make nice, okay?"

"Make nice?" The words rolled out awkwardly, as if he didn't recognize them. A soft sigh as he repositioned his crutch. "Been a while since I called. But – "

"You were going to. When, Jack? This week? Next?"

He rubbed his mouth. In the silence that followed, I inhaled through my mouth, the air suddenly too thin.

You stupid twit. You were still hoping, weren't you? Still praying it was all a big misunderstanding.

"I would've called," he said finally. "Wouldn't just… leave."

"You don't owe me anything, Jack, especially explanations. But don't insult me by pretending, okay? There was never any obligation, and I always knew that someday you'd stop coming around."

"Didn't – " He shifted his stance, moving the crutch in front again. "Didn't stop coming around. Just… Stuff came up. My stuff. Nothing to do with you. Didn't think you'd – " A roll of his shoulders. "Didn't think."

My face heated and I raked my hair back, trying to cover my blush without turning away. I sounded like a spurned lover.

In the first year, months had often passed without word from Jack. But after that, he'd called or stopped by at least once a month.

Jack lived a solitary life. Always had, as far as I could tell. If a job came up that demanded all his attention, he'd give it all his attention, never stopping to say, "Oh, I should check in with Nadia." Whatever hang-ups I had about rejection and abandonment, I'd better learn to keep them to myself, or I would scare him away.

"I should – " I straightened and brushed bark bits from my hands. "I was going to check the range before my guests arrive. I have a lot of sign-ups this weekend. You can go on back to the house or down to the lake, enjoy the peace and quiet while you can."

I made it three steps.

"What happened?" he asked.

I stopped.

"Today. Something went wrong."

I didn't turn, just gave a tight squeak of a laugh. "I screwed up. Big surprise, huh? I stayed up all night, thinking about Sammi, and about…"

"Amy"

I kept my voice even. "I decided I knew who'd taken Destiny, flew off half-cocked, and screwed up. Just like you expected."

A sharp intake of breath, cut off at the midpoint. "What'd you do?"

"It was like Wilkes in that alley. I saw my target and that was all that mattered."

His hand closed around my arm. "We'll fix it, Nadia. Just tell me – "

I shook my head as I turned. "There's nothing to fix. I broke into Destiny's dad's house, certain his parents had killed Sammi to get their granddaughter. I didn't take proper precautions. Their younger son was home from school. A stupid, amateur's mistake."

His fingers trembled against my arm as he exhaled and released me. "That's it, then?"

"What did you think -?" I stopped, pretty sure I didn't want an answer. "Yes, that's it."

"So this kid saw you – "

"I'm not that careless. I got out before he knew I was there."

"Before you could case the place."

"No, I did that. No sign of a baby in residence."

One brow lifted. "So your big mistake? Going into an occupied house? That's it?" A short laugh as he shook his head.

"Hey, that's embarrassing enough."

"Kinda like this." He waved at his foot. "Didn't fuck up the job. Still feel like an idiot."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"Rather you didn't."

"Ah…"

"I'm kidding. Tell you later. Right now? Got a range to get ready."

Jack helped me check the guns and put away the "non-civilian" equipment – the human-form targets, exotic guns, and gadgets I reserved for my military and law-enforcement guests. As we worked, I told him my theory about Destiny's grandparents. He didn't think I should be so quick to dismiss it, nor did I need to be so quick to pursue it. If the Draytons had Destiny, she wasn't in any danger, and the longer I waited, the more likely they were to appear in public with their new granddaughter, saving me the work of proving they had her.

I considered contacting the Peterborough police and notifying them about Sammi's disappearance, maybe suggest the Draytons had Destiny. But I knew how the department would treat an anonymous, proof-free tip like that, particularly an accusation against one of the most powerful families in the region. They might not ignore it, but I'd get a much better response if I had some proof, so that's what I was going to get.

I couldn't chase down that lead – or any others – for a while, though. With a full house, I was bound to the lodge for a few days, which would give me time to clear my head and come up with other ideas.

Our lunch guests were a quartet of widows who would look to Owen for most of their recreational needs, wanting nothing more strenuous than bird-watching. I'd taught many a seventy-year-old to shoot – both guns and rapids – but these four made it clear they were here to relax and commune with nature.

After lunch, Jack suggested we retire to the range. A good idea, one that would help me relax. Marksmanship requires concentration, and I couldn't do it while thinking about dead teenage girls and kidnapped babies.

I'd taken up the sport after Amy's death. It was my father's idea – maybe because he realized how badly I needed to feel in control.

In distance shooting, I found my talent and my salvation. It took hard work – memorizing ballistics tables, learning to accommodate changes in climate and environment – but if I put in the effort, I could guarantee success. Life isn't like that.

We took rifles to the outside range, a thousand-foot strip of meadow with targets.

I usually practice in the offhand – standing – position, because that's the one I'm most likely to encounter on the job. But Jack's ankle gave me an excuse to lie down in the more stable prone position.