"I'll get you the best lawyer in the country."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters, Sachs. It matters. We'll get something worked out."

She shook her head. "There's nothing to work out, Rhyme. It's felony murder. Open-and-shut case." Then she was looking up, past him. Frowning. She stood. "What's -?"

Suddenly a woman's voice called, "Hold it right there! Amelia, you're under arrest."

Rhyme tried to turn but couldn't rotate his head far enough. He puffed into the controller and backed up in a semicircle. He saw Lucy and two other deputies, crouching as they ran from the woods. Their weapons were in their hands and they kept their eyes on the windows of the cabin. The two men used trees for cover. But Lucy walked boldly toward Rhyme, Thom and Sachs, her pistol leveled at Sachs' chest.

How had the search party found the cabin? Had they heard the van? Had Lucy picked up Garrett's trail again?

Or had Bell reneged on his deal and told them?

Lucy walked right up to Sachs and without a moment's pause hit her hard in the face, her fist connecting with the policewoman's chin. Sachs gave a faint wheeze at the pain and stepped back. She said nothing.

"No!" Rhyme cried. Thom stepped forward but Lucy grabbed Sachs by the arm. "Is Mary Beth in there?"

"Yes." Blood trickled from her chin.

"Is she all right?"

A nod.

Eyes on the cabin window, Lucy asked, "Does he have your weapon?"

"Yes."

"Jesus." Lucy called to the other deputies, "Ned, Trey, he's inside. And he's armed." Then she snapped at Rhyme, "I'd suggest you get under cover." And she pulled Sachs roughly back behind the van on the side opposite the cabin.

Rhyme followed the women, Thom holding the chair for stability as it crossed the uneven ground.

Lucy turned to Sachs, grabbed her by the arms. "He did it, didn't he? Mary Beth told you, right? Garrett killed Billy."

Sachs looked down at the ground. Finally she said, "Yes… I'm sorry. I -"

"Sorry doesn't mean a damn thing to me or anybody else. Least of all to Jesse Corn… Does Garrett have any other weapons in there?"

"I don't know. I didn't see any."

Lucy turned back to the cabin, shouted, "Garrett, can you hear me? It's Lucy Kerr. I want you to put that gun down and walk outside with your hands on your head. You do that now, okay?"

The only response was the door slamming shut. A faint pounding filled the clearing as Garrett hammered or wedged the door shut. Lucy pulled out her cell phone and started to make a call.

"Hey, Deputy," a man's voice interrupted, "you need some help?"

Lucy turned. "Oh, no," she muttered.

Rhyme too glanced toward the voice. A tall, pony-tailed man, carrying a hunting rifle, was trooping through the grass toward them.

"Culbeau," she snapped, "I got a situation here and I can't deal with you too. Just go on, get out of here." Her eyes noticed something in the field. There was another man walking slowly toward the cabin. He carried a black army rifle and squinted thoughtfully as he surveyed the field and cabin. "Is that Sean?" Lucy asked.

Culbeau said, "Yeah, and Harris Tomel's over there."

Tomel was walking up to the tall African-American deputy. They were chatting casually, as if they knew each other.

Culbeau persisted, "If the boy's in the cabin you might need some help getting him out. What can we do?"

"This is police business, Rich. The three of you, clear on outa here. Now. Trey!" she called to the black deputy. "Get 'em out."

The third deputy, Ned, walked toward Lucy and Culbeau. "Rich," he called, "there's no reward anymore. Forget about it and -"

The shot from Culbeau's powerful rifle poked a hole in the front of Ned's chest and the impact flung him several feet onto his back. Trey stared at Harris Tomel, only ten feet away. Each man looked about as shocked as the other and neither moved for a moment.

Then there was a whoop like a hyena's cry from Sean O'Sarian, who lifted his soldier gun and shot Trey three times in the back. Cackling with laughter, he vanished into the field.

"No!" Lucy screamed and lifted her pistol toward Culbeau, but by the time she fired, the men had gone for cover in the tall grass surrounding the cabin.

Rhyme felt the instinctive urge to drop to the ground but, of course, remained upright in the Storm Arrow wheelchair. More bullets slammed into the van where Sachs and Lucy, now facedown on the grass, had been standing a moment before. Thom was on his knees, trying to work the heavy wheelchair out of the depression of soft earth where it was lodged.

" Lincoln!" Sachs cried.

"I'm okay. Move! Get to the other side of the van. Under cover."

Lucy said, "But Garrett can target us from there."

Sachs snapped back, "But he's not the one who's goddamn shooting!"

Another shotgun blast missed them by a foot and the pellets rattled along the porch. Thom put the wheelchair in neutral and muscled it toward the cabin side of the van. "Stay low," Rhyme said to the aide, who ignored a shot that zipped past them and shattered a side window of the vehicle.

Lucy and Sachs followed the two men to the shadowy area between the cabin and the van.

"Why the hell're they doing this?" Lucy cried. She fired several shots, sending O'Sarian and Tomel scrabbling for cover. Rhyme couldn't see Culbeau but knew that the big man was directly in front of them somewhere. The rifle that he'd been carrying was high-powered and fitted with a large telescopic sight.

"Take the cuffs off and give me the gun," Sachs shouted.

"Give it to her," Rhyme said. "She's a better shot than you."

"No goddamn way!" The deputy shook her head, her expression one of astonishment at this suggestion. More bullets slapped the metal of the van, dug out chunks of wood from the porch.

"They've got fucking rifles!" Sachs raged. "You're no match for them. Give me the gun!"

Lucy rested her head against the side of the van and stared in shock at the slain deputies lying in the grass. "What's going on?" she muttered, crying. "What's happening?"

Their cover – the van – wasn't going to last much longer. It protected them from Culbeau and his rifle but the other two were flanking them. In a few minutes they'd set up a crossfire.

Lucy fired twice more – into the grass where a shotgun blast had erupted a moment before.

"Don't waste your ammunition," Sachs ordered. "Wait till you have a clear shot. Otherwise – "

"Shut the hell up," Lucy raged. She patted her pockets. "Lost the goddamn phone."

" Lincoln," Thom said, "I'm taking you out of the chair. You're too much of a target."

Rhyme nodded. The aide undid the harness, got his arms around Rhyme's chest and pulled him out, laid him on the ground. Rhyme tried to lift his head to see what was going on but a contracture – a merciless cramp – gripped his neck muscles and he had to lower his head to the grass until the pain passed. He'd never felt as stabbed by his helplessness as at this moment.

More shots. Closer. And more insane laughter from O'Sarian. "Hey, knife lady, where are you?"

Lucy muttered, "They're almost in position."

"Ammo?" Sachs asked.

"I've got three left in the chamber, one Speedloader."

"Loaded six?"

"Yeah."

A shot slammed into the back of the Storm Arrow and knocked it on its side. A cloud of dust rose up around it.

Lucy fired at O'Sarian but his giggling and the staccato response from the Colt told them that she'd missed.

The rifle fire also told them that in only a minute or two they'd be completely flanked.

They'd die here, shot to death, trapped in this dim valley between the shattered van and the cabin. Rhyme wondered what he would feel when the bullets tore into his body. No pain, of course, not even any pressure in his numb flesh. He glanced at Sachs, who was looking at him with a hopeless expression on her face.