He was right.

He stretched and massaged his shot arm. The bullet hole was near the edge of the jacket. It had apparently missed bone and vital vessel. He mused, “Crazy line of work we’re in, don’t you think, Brynn?”

“We’re not in the same line of work.” She couldn’t help but scoff.

“Sure we are… Take tonight: We came up here to do jobs we’d agreed to do. And now we’ve still got the same goals. To stop each other and get out of this damn forest alive. Who writes your paycheck and who writes mine, that’s just a technicality. Doesn’t matter much why we’re here. The important thing is that we are.”

She had to laugh.

But he continued, as if she’d conceded his point. And looked into her eyes as he said, animated, “But don’t you think it’s what makes everything worthwhile? Even what’s gone down tonight, all this crap. I do. I wouldn’t trade the life I lead for anything. Look at most of the rest of the world-the walking dead. They’re nothing but dead bodies, Brynn. Sitting around, upset, angry about something they saw on TV doesn’t mean a single thing to them personally. Going to their jobs, coming home, talking stuff they don’t know or care about…God, doesn’t the boredom just kill them? It would me. I need more, Brynn. Don’t you?” He massaged his neck with his uninjured arm. “Tell me where she is. Please. It’s going to get bad.”

“I tell you and you let me live?”

A pause. Then: “No, I can’t hardly do that. But I have your phone number. I know you have a husband and you might have children, probably do. If you tell me, they’ll be fine.”

“What’s your full name?”

He shook his head, giving her a frown.

“Well, okay, Hart first or last name, listen: you’re under arrest.” She recited the Miranda warning, start to finish. She never used those laminated cards that bail bondsmen handed out. She’d memorized the language years ago.

“You’re arresting me?”

“Do you understand your rights?”

Amused, he said, “I know you know where she is. You had a meeting point somewhere, didn’t you? I know that. Because that’s what I would have done.”

Breaking the silence that followed he continued, “Life’s funny, isn’t it? Everything seems perfect. The plan, the background, the research, the details. You even nail that fishy human factor. Clear road, easy escape, you’ve distracted everybody who needs distracting. And then something small happens. Too many red lights, tire goes flat, an accident ties up traffic. And the psycho security guard, who just got a new forty-four Desert Eagle he’s itching to use, comes to work ten minutes early because he woke up before the alarm because a dog started barking two blocks away because a squirrel…”

His voice faded. He tented his gloved fingers, wincing slightly when he moved his left arm. “And all your plans go up in smoke. The plans that couldn’t go wrong go wrong. That’s what happened to us tonight, Brynn. You and me both.”

“Undo my hands, give me your weapon.”

“You really think you’re going to arrest me, just like that?”

“You weren’t paying attention. I already did.”

He stretched again. “Not as young as I used to be.” He massaged his left arm. “How long have you been married?”

She didn’t answer but glanced involuntarily at his gloved hand.

“Marriage doesn’t suit me. Does it suit you, Brynn?…Come on, what’s Michelle to you?”

“My job. That’s what she is.”

“How important can a job be?”

Brynn, wrinkling her brow cynically-and with pain. “You know the answer to that.”

He began to speak then stopped. Tilted his head in concession.

“You might’ve talked to my husband but you don’t know him. He’ll’ve put things in motion by now. He’s not falling asleep after the ten o’clock news.”

Again, disappointment in his face. “That’s a lie, Brynn.”

She inhaled slowly. “Maybe it is,” she found herself saying. “So. Okay. No more lies, Hart. Graham might’ve gone to sleep. But he’ll wake up about four A.M. for the bathroom. Which he does like clockwork. And when I’m not there he’ll call my boss, and his first call’ll be to mobilize the State Police. You have some time but not a lot. And not nearly enough for you to get me to tell you where she is. And that’s not a lie.”

“Okay, what we could do is…” His voice faded.

Brynn laughed. “You were going to lie to me, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I was.” He grinned.

“Going to give me some hope, right?”

“Yep. But it felt wrong.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a map. Opened it and spread it between them. He located the faint road where they were. Flicked on the overhead light. “Where is she, Brynn?”

She noted the tiny blue dot that was the lake where Michelle waited. She said, “I’m not telling you.”

He shook his head. “Well, I won’t hurt you. That’s not dignified. And your family’s safe.”

“I know that.”

He drew his gun. Glanced at it. “But…you understand.”

He’s reluctant to shoot, she thought, surprised. But shoot he would. In a curious way, though, she felt that she’d won this part of the game. And she felt too, with a deep pang, that she’d also lost. Not because of her death. But for a dozen reasons that hovered far outside this van, this forest, this park.

The silence was awkward, like that surrounding a couple near the end of their first date.

“Hart, this is your last chance.”

He laughed.

“Call nine-one-one. I meant what I said. I’ll ask the DA to be lenient. No more lies between us, Hart. I mean it.”

His head was down, he was caressing the black gun absently.

“You going to surrender?” she persisted.

“You know I can’t.”

They exchanged rueful smiles.

Then a faint frown crossed Hart’s face as he glanced out the window. “What-?”

The van was moving, easing downhill and picking up speed.

In the moments just before he’d climbed inside she’d shifted the transmission into neutral with her bound hands, disengaged the emergency foot brake and then sat back. As they’d been talking she’d kept her foot on the main brake pedal. Finally when it was clear she couldn’t talk him into giving up she’d lifted her foot. The van, pointed downhill, surged forward. It now bounded over a railroad tie parking barrier in the lot and began careening down the steep hillside filled with brush and saplings.

“Christ,” Hart muttered. He grabbed for the wheel and transmission lever but Brynn slammed herself sideways, colliding with his bad arm. He shouted in pain.

The vehicle sped up, crashing into rocks, which made it veer to the left, then, going a good twenty miles an hour, rolled on its side, the passenger window exploding inward.

As Brynn pitched hard into Hart’s chest, the van began to tumble madly down the endless hillside.

BY THE TIME Tom Dahl drove Graham Boyd back to the Feldmans’ house, two State Police cars, lights flashing, were bounding up rough Lake View Drive. They made the turn fast, churning up dust, and hurried along the driveway. The six troopers climbed out.

Graham shook Dahl’s hand solemnly and wandered off to his truck, pulling his phone from his pocket. Dahl joined the WSP’s night watch commander, Arlen Tanner, a big man with a mustache. He and the sheriff had worked together for years. Dahl briefed him and the other men.

Tanner said, “Crime Scene’ll be here in a half hour. So it’s a search and rescue?”

“That’s right, Arlen. We’ve got teams from Humboldt and a half dozen troopers from Gardener coming. Barlow County’ll send some too.”

“Woke up our two divers. They’re on the way.”

“I’m not sure we’ll need ’em. It’s likely our officer got out of the car and hooked up with a friend of the victims. They’re in the woods around here someplace. But we’re pretty sure the two shooters’re after them.”

Dahl had a phone call. The area code told him it was coming in from the Kenosha area. He frowned. Take it or not?