“I guess someone dialed 911,” Jake said.

“Sounds like World War III out there,” Syd said. “Hope Maltz and his boys have extra ammo.”

Jake hoped so, too. He was a little nonplussed by how calm she was. The hairier the situation, the happier and more at home she appeared. Something about that scared the crap out of him. George sat in the backseat, purportedly to keep an eye on them.

“Yeah, stay on this guy,” he said into his radio. “And make sure your vests are on before you get out of the car.”

Syd gunned it, hot on the heels of the cop car.

“The sheriff knows we’re coming, right?” Jake asked.

George shrugged. “He should. But it might not be a bad idea to keep your hands in sight when you get out of the car.”

“Get him to shut those damn sirens off,” Syd said. “We gotta go in quiet.”

George glanced at Jake and raised an eyebrow. Jake shrugged. “What the lady said.”

“Okay, boss.” George conveyed the message to his team in the other car and the sheriff. The sirens abruptly stopped. Another cop car appeared behind them.

They crossed a bridge over the river, bouncing over a cattle grate on the opposite side. The sheriff’s car took a sharp right onto a narrow lane that turned out to be a driveway. He wrenched the car onto the shoulder a few hundred feet from the house. Syd pulled in next to him, and the other cars followed suit.

A lanky guy in a sheriff’s uniform and hat climbed out, tucking a rifle over his shoulder before approaching. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of them behind George. “Good to see you again, Agent Fong.” He shifted his gaze to Jake, then Syd. “You the folks kicked up this shitstorm?”

“That would be us,” Syd said. “We’ve got a family out there, mother and two teenage girls.”

“Alone?”

“Three of my men are with them.”

The other FBI agents, two men and a woman, joined them. Everyone was wearing their vests, faces tight. Jake recognized the air of expectation. There was a palpable rush of adrenaline before a fight, when you were dreading it and itching for it, all at the same time.

“So I’m guessing you’re in charge here?” the sheriff asked George.

George glanced sidelong at Syd, then stepped forward. “’Fraid so. Looks like a biker gang is after them.”

“Sure, the Rogues. Been trying to run them out of town since I got the job. You want to take them off my hands, you’ve got my blessing.”

“How many are there?” Syd interrupted.

The sheriff shrugged. “Eight, maybe nine now. Busted a few for a meth lab a while back, so they’re serving time.”

“Corcoran?” Jake asked.

“Hell if I know.” Sheriff shrugged. “And don’t much care.”

There was a break in the gunfire, and they all cocked their heads. “I’m guessing that’s our cue,” George said. “I’ll take the lead, the rest of you fan out. Remember,” he said, looking directly at Jake, “we only shoot if they pose an immediate threat.”

Jake wanted to point out that warning was more appropriate for Syd, but when he turned to see if it had sunk in, she was already gone. He could make out her blond hair ducking into the trees.

George shook his head. “Okay, head for the house. It sounds like the worst of it is up there.”

A sharp crack split the silence. Maltz instinctively dropped to a crouch, his right hand snatching the backup weapon from its holster. Another shot, and the scraggly guy’s gun went off as the side of his head exploded. He staggered a few feet before dropping. In response, a volley of shooting poured from the woods.

“Down! Get down!” Maltz waved frantically at the women, who had frozen in shock. The older girl reacted first, flattening herself to the ground, followed a second later by her mother and sister. Maltz watched as they covered their heads. Over the barrage he could hear them screaming.

A figure appeared by the farmhouse and Maltz leveled his gun, ready to pick him off. Something about the shape stopped him: the guy was wearing a baggy windbreaker. Feds, had to be. Syd had come through after all.

The sound of gunfire retreated. Reenergized, Maltz spun and pursued it through the trees. Shadowy figures dodged ahead of him in an all-out rout. Someone was coming up behind him, running hard. He spun and spotted Syd.

“About fucking time,” he said. She grinned in reply, dropping to one knee and squeezing a few rounds off at the heavy guy puffing away from them.

The guy dropped his gun, raised his hands in the air and waved them. “I surrender!” he yelped.

“Christ,” Syd said, shaking her head at Maltz. “Civilians, right?”

Madison sat beside Bree. Her mother stood at her shoulder, wringing her hands and emitting a long, unbroken moan. Bree was so pale, her breath coming in short rasps. Madison couldn’t remember ever feeling so scared, this was worse than the boat, worse than the house burning down around them. Her sister might die, and it was all her fault.

“It hurts,” Bree said, breathing hard, teeth clenched.

“Try to relax,” the man said soothingly.

Madison recognized him from the hospital, his name was John or Jay or something like that. He gently cradled Bree’s injured arm, carefully shifting it from side to side as he examined it. He eased up Bree’s shirtsleeve, pulling slowly where blood plastered it to the wound. She winced, hissing out through her teeth.

Madison had to turn away at the sight of the nasty hole in Bree’s arm, it looked like someone had carved through the skin all the way to the bone. She fought the reflex to retch, heard her mother saying, “Oh my God, oh my God,” over and over again.

Madison focused on the dead man fifteen feet away. For some reason the gore didn’t bother her, it was like looking at a Halloween dummy from a cheesy haunted house. And she was glad he was dead, she thought with a flare of anger. She wanted them all dead, everyone who had chased her and taunted her and sent her fucking e-mails pretending to be a great guy. She wanted everyone involved with this dead and gone, then maybe she could go back to her normal life and pretend none of it ever happened.

“It passed right through, which is good,” the man said. He looked at her mother as if weighing her, arrived at some conclusion and turned to Madison instead. It was only then that Madison realized she was crying. He mistook her tears of rage for sadness and said, “Don’t worry, kiddo. It’s gonna be all right now.”

Madison didn’t answer. He handed her something, and she gazed blankly at it. It was a piece of cloth.

“Keep pressure on the wound, okay? I’m going to check the sheriff’s car for a medical kit. Ambulance should be here any minute.”

Madison let him place her hand on Bree’s arm. She kept her eyes averted, trying not to see the steady trickle of blood flowing around the cloth. The man trotted back a second later holding a white box.

“Got it,” he said, kneeling beside them again. He drew out a few items before gingerly lifting her hand. “This is going to burn for a second, but I want to get it clean,” he said clumsily.

As Bree’s howls erupted, Madison squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears, trying to keep from screaming herself.

Jake felt shaky. It had been a long time since he’d administered medical attention to someone, and the last time hadn’t exactly been a success story. But with any luck the kid was going to be okay, it looked like the bullet went straight through. It was hard to tell with all the blood, but it didn’t even appear to have nicked the bone: probably a ricochet from that final barrage. Luckily the bullet had already slowed, energy dissipating, by the time it hit her. Still, the mother moaning and Madison ’s jagged expression-they got to him. Jake took a deep breath, glancing back at them. The ambulance had finally arrived, and they were climbing in after the stretcher. George was going to follow to get their statement. He wanted Jake and Syd to meet them at the hospital, “In case I still need to bring you in,” he’d said, only half-jokingly.