"This road is pretty much a straight shot northwest," Glen said, bewildered. "There isn't another, at least not for miles."

"North," Lucas said again.

Caitlin thought he looked almost hypnotized, not quite there with them but somewhere else. At the same time, his gaze was fixed on Samantha, and there was certainly awareness of her in his eyes.

"How far?" she asked him.

"A mile, maybe."

"Glen? How long will it take us to cover a mile in this terrain?" She never took her eyes off Lucas.

"Christ, I don't-experienced hikers in good shape and with the right equipment could do it in an hour or thereabouts. But I don't know about you guys. North from here is straight up the fucking mountain."

"We'll just have to do the best we can," Samantha said briefly. "Let's go."

Caitlin was more than a little surprised to find herself out of the vehicle and going along, climbing up a steep slope with the help of the deputy while Lucas and Samantha led the way. Nobody had told her specifically to go or stay, Caitlin just went, her fascinated gaze fixed whenever possible on the couple ahead.

No longer staring at each other, they were nonetheless connected, holding hands whenever possible but connected in a less tangible and possibly stronger way as Samantha determinedly kept him focused. From time to time Caitlin could hear her calm yet curiously relentless voice, asking the same question again and again.

"What does he feel, Luke?"

Caitlin heard the question asked over and over, but only once did she hear the response. His voice low, haunted, Lucas said, "Terror. He's afraid. He knows he's going to die."

Caitlin shivered and grasped a sapling with one hand, grimly pulling herself up the steep, rocky slope.

It was getting cold. Wyatt didn't know if that was because his surroundings were actually growing colder, or if it was sheer, icy terror.

There was certainly that. He was far, far beyond the point of being able to dampen or ignore it.

His wrists were raw, his body sore from his attempts to free himself from the guillotine, and he was just as securely fastened as he had been hours ago. Too many hours ago.

There was only half an hour left. Twenty-nine minutes and thirty-odd seconds to go. Jesus.

It wasn't enough time. Not enough time to reconcile himself to death. Not enough time to make peace with himself, to think about all the guilts and regrets of his life. Not enough time for what-might-have-beens or what-ifs. It was over.

Just… over.

And there wasn't a single goddamned thing he could do about it.

With that realization, that certainty, Wyatt accepted what was going to happen to him. For the first time, he relaxed, his body going boneless, and his mind was curiously quiet, almost at peace. He heard his own voice speaking aloud and was a little amused by the conversational tone of it.

"Always wondered how I'd face death. Now I know. Not with a bang or a whimper, but just… resignation." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Lindsay. You'd probably be disappointed in me, wouldn't you? I bet you were never resigned. I bet you fought with your last breath, didn't you, baby? I know you didn't want to die. I know you didn't want to leave me."

"They're coming."

Wyatt blinked and stared up at the blade suspended over him. He could have sworn he'd heard her voice, though whether in his head or out loud he couldn't have said. "I guess a dying man hears what he wants to hear."

"Idiot. They're coming. Just a few more minutes."

He frowned slightly, and said, "I don't think my own imagination would call me an idiot. Although-"

"Just hold on."

"Lindsay? Is that you?"

Silence.

"Didn't think so. I don't believe in ghosts. Don't think I even believe in heaven, though it would be nice to believe you were waiting for me somewhere beyond this life."

"Don't be maudlin."

Wyatt found himself grinning. "Now, that sounds like my Lindsay. Come to keep me company in my final moments, baby?"

"You aren't going to die. Not now."

Deciding he was probably just quietly hysterical rather than being as calm as he'd thought, Wyatt said, "Twenty minutes left on the clock, babe. And I don't hear the cavalry."

He didn't hear her voice again either, though he did try to listen for it. And hoped for it. Because there were, he thought, worse things to take into death than the voice of the woman he loved.

When Lucas stopped suddenly, it caught Caitlin off guard. She leaned against an oak tree, trying to get her ragged breathing under control, and stared at the two just a couple of yards ahead of her. Her legs felt like rubber, there was a stitch in her side, and she couldn't remember ever being this weary.

They had finally reached the top of the ridge they had spent more than two hours climbing and from this position could see across a fairly level clearing to where the mountain again began rising steeply upward.

Caitlin stared up at that vast, looming shape and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she couldn't go on. Not up that… thing. She was just about to gather the breath to tell the others, when she heard Samantha speak.

"Luke? What is it?" She sounded remarkably calm and not the least bit breathless.

"He's not afraid anymore."

Samantha frowned up at him. "But you can still feel him?"

"Yeah. But he's calm. Not afraid anymore."

Glen looked at his watch and said desperately, "We've got less than fifteen minutes. Where is he?"

Lucas turned his head and looked briefly at the deputy, frowning, then began moving forward again, faster. "Over there. The mine."

"There's a mine up here?" Glen sounded surprised, but then followed that question with a disgusted, "Oh, Christ, I forgot all about the old mine on Six Point Creek. It closed down when my grandfather was a kid."

Caitlin, somehow finding the strength to hurry along with the others, was about to ask where the creek was when she nearly fell into it. Swearing under her breath, she followed the others as they jumped from rock to rock to cross the twenty-foot-wide, fairly shallow stream.

The entrance to the mine lay nearly hidden behind what looked like a thicket of honeysuckle, and all Caitlin could think was that it had to be really, really dark in there.

Glen paused long enough to shrug out of the backpack he'd grabbed from the ATV, and quickly handed out big police flashlights. He started to draw his weapon, but Lucas spoke, his voice certain.

"Nobody's here except Wyatt. At least…"

Hesitating with a hand on his gun, Glen said, "At least what? Has he booby-trapped the place?"

Lucas seemed to be listening, and after a brief moment, he turned on his flashlight and shoved the tangle of vines aside to enter the mine. "No. No trap. Let's go."

The mine shaft was fairly clear of debris and angled slightly upward into the mountain, with plenty of room for them all to move freely. They traveled probably sixty or eighty feet in a straight line, and then the shaft turned sharply to the right-and widened considerably into a sort of cavern.

They saw the light then, bright and harsh and focused on the deadly, eerie guillotine and its captive.

Both Glen and Lucas, cops acting on instinct, rushed forward. Caitlin leaned a hand against the damp wall, feeling decidedly weak with relief-because that gleaming blade was still suspended above Wyatt. Still, she didn't think she breathed normally until she was certain that Glen held the cable so that the blade remained securely up while Lucas was unfastening the straps holding the sheriff prisoner.

She looked to the side then and saw that Samantha also had paused for a moment. There was just enough light for her to see the other woman lift a shaking hand briefly to her face, and then Samantha was moving forward and speaking calmly.