You and me, Sachs…

Then he glanced at the front of the cabin.

"Look," he called.

Lucy and Sachs followed his eyes.

Garrett had opened the front door.

Sachs said, "Let's get inside."

"Are you crazy?" Lucy called. "Garrett's with them. They're all together."

"No," Rhyme said. "He's had a chance to shoot from the window. He didn't."

Two more shots, very close. The bushes rustled nearby. Lucy lifted the pistol.

"Don't waste it!" Sachs called. But Lucy rose and fired two fast shots at the sound. The rock one of the men had thrown to shake the bushes and trick her into presenting a target rolled into view. Lucy jumped aside just as Tomel's shotgun blast, meant for her back, streaked past, puncturing the side of the van.

"Shit," the deputy cried. Ejecting the empty cartridges and reloading with the Speedloader.

"Inside," Rhyme said. "Now."

Lucy nodded. "Okay."

Rhyme said, "Fireman's carry." This was a bad position to carry a quad in – it put stress on parts of the body that weren't used to stress, but it was faster and would expose Thom to the gunshots for the least amount of time. Rhyme was also thinking that his own body would protect Thom's.

"No," Thom said.

"Do it, Thom. No argument."

Lucy said, "I'll cover you. The three of you go together. Ready?"

Sachs nodded. Thom lifted Rhyme, cradling him like a child in his strong arms.

"Thom -" Rhyme protested.

"Quiet, Lincoln," the aide snapped. "We're doing this my way."

"Go," Lucy called.

Rhyme's hearing was stunned by several loud gunshots. Everything blurred as they ran up the few stairs into the cabin.

Another several bullets cracked into the wood of the cabin as they pushed inside. A moment later Lucy rolled into the room after them and slammed the door shut. Thom set Rhyme gently on a couch.

Rhyme had a glimpse of a terrified young woman sitting in a chair, staring at him. Mary Beth McConnell.

Garrett Hanlon, with his red, blotched face, eyes wide with fear, sat manically clicking the fingernails of one hand and holding a pistol awkwardly in the other, as Lucy aimed the gun right in his face.

"Give me the weapon!" she cried. "Now, now!"

He blinked and immediately handed the gun to her. She put it in her belt and called out something. Rhyme didn't hear what; he was staring at the boy's bewildered and frightened eyes, a child's eyes. And he thought: I understand why you had to do it, Sachs. Why you believed him. Why you had to save him.

I understand…

He said, "Everybody okay?"

"Fine," Sachs said.

Lucy nodded.

"Actually," Thom said, almost apologetically. "Not really."

He lifted his hand away from his trim belly, revealing the bloody exit wound. Then the aide went down on his knees, hard, ripping the slacks that he'd ironed with such care just that morning.

Search the wound for severe hemorrhage, stop the bleeding. If possible, check the patient for shock.

Amelia Sachs, trained in the basic NYPD first-aid course for patrol officers, bent over Thom, examining the wound.

The aide lay on his back, conscious but pale, sweating fiercely. She clamped one hand over the wound.

"Get these cuffs off me!" she cried. "I can't take care of him this way."

"No," Lucy said.

"Jesus," Sachs muttered and examined Thom's stomach as best she could with the restraints on.

"How are you, Thom?" Rhyme blurted. "Talk to us."

"It feels numb… It's feeling… It's funny…" His eyes rolled back under the lids and he passed out.

A crash above their heads. A bullet tore through the wall. Followed by a thud of a shotgun blast hitting the door. Garrett handed Sachs a wad of napkins. She pressed them against the rip in Thom's belly. She slapped him gently on the face. He gave no response.

"Is he alive?" Rhyme asked hopelessly.

"He's breathing. Shallow. But he's breathing. Exit wound isn't too bad but I don't know what kind of damage there is inside."

Lucy looked out the window fast, ducked. "Why're they doing this?"

Rhyme said, "Jim said they were into moonshine. Maybe they had their eye on this place and didn't want it found. Or maybe there's a drug lab nearby."

"There were two men earlier – they tried to break in," Mary Beth told them. "They said they were killing marijuana fields but I guess they were growing it. They might all be working together."

"Where's Bell?" Lucy asked. "And Mason?"

"He'll be here in a half hour," Rhyme said.

Lucy shook her head in dismay at this information. Then looked again out the window. She stiffened as, it seemed, she sighted a target. She lifted the pistol, aimed quickly.

Too quickly.

"No, let me!" Sachs cried.

But Lucy fired twice. Her grimace told them she had missed. She squinted. "Sean's just found a can. A red can. What is that, Garrett? Gas?" The boy huddled on the floor, frozen in panic. "Garrett! Talk to me!"

He turned toward her.

"The red can? What's in it?"

"It's, like, kerosene. For the boat."

Lucy muttered, "Hell, they're going to burn us out."

"Shit," Garrett cried. He rolled to his knees, staring at Lucy, eyes frantic.

Sachs, alone among them, it seemed, knew what was coming. "No, Garrett, don't -"

The boy ignored her and flung the door open and, half running, half crawling, skittered along the porch. Bullets cracked into the wood, following him. Sachs had no idea if he'd been hit.

Then there was silence. The men moved closer to the cabin with the kerosene.

Sachs looked around the room, filled with dust from the impact of the bullets. She saw Mary Beth, hugging herself, crying.

Lucy, her eyes filled with the devil's own hatred, checking her pistol.

Thom, slowly bleeding to death.

Lincoln Rhyme, on his back, breathing hard.

You and me…

In a steady voice Sachs said to Lucy, "We've got to go out there. We've got to stop them. The two of us."

"There're three of them, they've got rifles."

"They're going to set fire to the place. And either burn us alive or shoot us when we run outside. We don't have any choice. Take the cuffs off." Sachs held out her wrists. "You have to."

"How can I trust you?" Lucy whispered. "You ambushed us at the river."

Sachs asked, "Ambushed? What're you talking about?"

Lucy scowled. "What am I talking about? You used that boat as a lure and shot at Ned when he went out to get it."

"Bullshit! You thought we were under the boat and shot at us."

"Only after you…" Then Lucy's voice faded, and she nodded knowingly.

Sachs said to the deputy, "It was them. Culbeau and the others. One of them shot first. To scare you and slow you up probably."

"And we thought it was you."

Sachs held her wrists out. "We don't have any choice."

The deputy looked at Sachs carefully then slowly reached into her pocket and found her cuff key. She undid the chrome bracelets. Sachs rubbed her wrists. "What's the ammunition situation?"

"I've got four left."

"I've got five in mine," Sachs said, taking her long-barreled Smith & Wesson from Lucy and checking the cylinder.

Sachs looked down at Thom. Mary Beth stepped forward. "I'll take care of him."

"One thing," Sachs said. "He's gay. He's been tested but…"

"Doesn't matter," the girl responded. "I'll be careful. Go on."

"Sachs," Rhyme said. "I…"

"Later, Rhyme. No time for that now." Sachs eased to the door, looked out quickly, eyes taking in the topography of the field, what would make good cover and shooting positions. Her hands free again, gripping a hefty gun in her palm, she felt confident once more. This was her world: guns and speed. She couldn't think about Lincoln Rhyme and his operation, about Jesse Corn's death, about Garrett Hanlon's betrayal, about what awaited her if they got out of this terrible situation.