She looked to the top of the hill-it seemed very far away-where there was a faint light from the camper. She could hear Hart’s partner calling him. He’d undoubtedly heard the crash but couldn’t see the van, which had rolled through tall stands of brush.

They hadn’t fallen all the way to the bottom of the ravine. The van was resting on a flat area about twenty feet wide, at the edge of which was another drop-about thirty feet down, she estimated-to a fast-moving stream.

She told herself: Your legs’re working fine. Get up.

Only she couldn’t. Not with her hands taped. She couldn’t find any leverage.

“Fuck.” A word she’d said perhaps only a dozen times in her life.

Finally she tucked her knees up and managed to roll onto them, facedown, and then rose, staggering upright. She slipped the map into the back waistband of her sweats and looked around quickly for Hart.

And there he was. He’d been thrown free-which is usually the way she described the demise of a crash victim who wasn’t wearing his seat belt and had rag-dolled against a tree or signpost. He lay on his back on the other side of the van. His eyes were closed but his leg was moving, his head lolling slightly.

His black Glock lay about fifteen feet from him.

She decided she could kick the weapon forward like one of Joey’s soccer balls until she was safely away then drop to her knees and pick it up, then crawl upright again.

But starting for the weapon, Brynn had heard a whimper. She spun around and saw Amy-the little blond girl, in her dirty white T-shirt and denim skirt, clutching her toy. She was running down the hill in a panic. Maybe Hart’s partner had scared her and she’d fled from the camper.

Brynn was between her and Hart, who was coming to consciousness. His eyes were closed. But his fingers were clenching and unclenching. He moaned.

The girl was nearly at the foot of the hill, running blindly, crying. In ten seconds she’d be over the edge of the ravine.

“Amy! Stop!”

She didn’t hear or if she did she paid no attention.

A glance back toward Hart. He was trying to sit up, looking around, though he hadn’t seen her yet.

The gun? Oh, how she wanted the gun!

But there was no choice. Brynn gave up on the weapon and began sprinting toward the girl. She intercepted her about three feet from the cliff edge, dropping to her knees painfully right in front of the child.

Startled, Amy pulled up fast.

“It’s okay, honey. Remember me? It’s all right. Be careful. I don’t want you to fall. Let’s get back, over there, into those bushes.”

“Where’s Mommy?”

“I’m not sure Amy. But I’m here. You’ll be okay.”

“I heard-”

“Come on with me.”

Brynn glanced back. Hart was struggling to get up. Still hadn’t seen her.

“Hart!” The voice came from the top of the cliff. Brynn saw the silhouette of Hart’s partner.

“Amy, let’s go over there. I don’t like that cliff.”

“Where’s my mommy?” A raw edge to her voice.

“Come on.” Brynn hated herself for saying it but she had to: “I’ll help you find her.”

The hysteria faded. “Okay.”

Brynn moved fast toward the base of the cliff and led the girl into a thick stand of brush and tall grass, out of sight from Hart.

“I’ll help you find your mother but I can’t do it with my hands this way. Can you help me? You know how you were taping those bags?”

She nodded.

“Well, I have tape on my hands.”

“Rudy did that.”

“That’s right. It was like a joke.”

“I don’t think it was a joke. He does lots of things like that.”

“It hurts my hands. Will you take it off?”

“I’ll take it off. Okay. I don’t like Rudy. He looks at me sometimes when he thinks I’m asleep.”

Brynn’s heart thudded. “You don’t have to worry about Rudy anymore. I’m a policewoman.”

“You are? Like Charlie’s Angels?”

“Like that, yeah, Amy.”

“You’re older than them.”

Brynn nearly smiled.

Amy was slowly tugging at the tape. “How did you know my name?”

“Your father told me.”

“He’s not my father.”

“Charlie told me.”

After a number of false starts, Amy was unwinding the tape. “Why did Rudy do that?”

“He was going to hurt me. But don’t say anything, Amy. There are other people around. We don’t want them to hear us.”

“I saw them. I think one of them hurt my mommy.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t let anybody hurt you. Just don’t say anything now. We’ll be quiet. Both of us.”

“Okay.”

At last her hands were free. Brynn rubbed them. She’d scraped an elbow but the parka had protected her pretty well and there was no other damage that hadn’t been there before the tumble down the hill. She grabbed the precious map and put it in her jacket.

“Thank you, honey. Now, let’s be quiet.”

Amy nodded.

Crouching, Brynn led her back quietly toward the clearing where the van lay. She peeked through the bushes.

Hart was gone.

So was the gun.

GRAHAM BOYD DROVE fast, away from the place where two bodies lay in a fancy vacation house, his wife’s clothing in another and her car at the bottom of a black lake.

He tried to leave those images behind. But he couldn’t.

He’d thought he’d be seeing Sandra, then stopping for a fast drink at JJ’s-so he could honestly tell Brynn he’d been to the poker game.

But, man, had everything changed… He’d never experienced a night like this one.

Glancing up into the rearview mirror, he saw the police car behind him, coming up close, real fast. Graham glanced at the speedometer. He was doing eighty-five.

He drove a half mile farther, then pulled over. Leaned his head against the steering wheel, gripping the plastic compulsively with his strong hands.

A few minutes later a uniformed officer was standing beside the driver’s side window. Graham took a deep breath and climbed out of the car. He stepped up to the officer and shook Eric Munce’s hand. “Thanks. I really mean it. I knew you’d understand. Nobody else would.”

“Isn’t the most regular thing in the world but I’ll go on your word, Graham.”

Brynn’s husband zipped his jacket up. He got his flashlight and a Buck knife from the tool carrier in the back of the truck. As he relocked the box, he said, “I’m not sure I’m right. Not sure at all. But everything I know about her tells me that she’d head this way.”

“And the canoe?”

“If she used it, it was a trick. To fool those men. Shoved it in the lake and then took off on foot. Brynn hated the water. She’d never try to escape that way if she could help it.”

Lakes and oceans weren’t her environment. He didn’t explain to Munce about his wife’s control issue.

“I sure hope you’re right, Graham… I’d like a piece of those bastards,” Munce muttered, eyes gleaming. He had a round face, narrow light-colored eyes and short blond hair. He looked more like a marine than a deputy and Graham wondered if he’d been in the military. He asked.

“Yessir, I was.” Then confessed: “National Guard. Never saw the big show, though.” He shrugged with a stoic grin and asked, “But there was that ranger station on the map. You saw it? The one near Apex Lake. Why wouldn’t she make for that?”

“Might have. I’m not saying I’m certain. But I think Brynn’ll take the harder route, like I was saying. It’ll equalize them, the women and those men after ’em. On a trail, the men can move faster. In the woods she’ll have the advantage. And Brynn won’t let anybody get an edge over her.”

“Woman must be hell to play cards with.”

“We don’t play cards,” Graham said absently, staring at the map.

He then looked over the dark woods. One car whizzed past. The highway was otherwise empty.

“You’d be a good cop, Graham.”

“Me?” He laughed grimly. “No, sir.” He tapped the map. “Here’s the Joliet Trail. She’ll leave the path about there.” He touched a spot. “Then make for the Snake River and follow it right up here to the interstate.”