“Where the hell did he come from?” Will groused, slipping the loop over the animal’s head and twisting it over his nose into a makeshift halter.

“He belongs to Mary Lee.”

“She must have gotten herself dumped,” he said, tying the rope around an aspen sapling. “Let’s get the hell out of here. If we see Mary Lee on the way up, she can jump in the truck. Let’s go.”

He started back to the truck, too concerned about Sam to consider anything else. But J.D. stood there and stared at that empty saddle. With fear clenching a fist in his belly, he thought of Mary Lee, the little city girl who liked to act tougher than she was. And he thought of all her suspicions and her determination to find the truth. And he thought of the signs he had seen up on Five-Mile creek, signs of a hunt. He thought of Samantha, who had been seen bound to a bed, and Lucy, who had been found with a bullet blown clean through her.

Above the trees, thunder tumbled through the swollen clouds. A sense of doom descended on him like a shroud.

They scrambled up the hillside, Mari dragging and shoving Samantha along, pushing her own body far beyond its limits. The cover of forest had grown dense again, giving them a small measure of security. Any shot would have to be taken from close range.

Her foot slipped on the trail, and she went down hard, what little breath she had leaving her on a grunt as her right knee cracked against the dome of a rock buried in the soft loam. Gravity and the weight of Samantha hanging on her left arm threatened to pull her backward, and she grabbed wildly to catch hold of a handful of a huckleberry bush.

We’re dead. We’re dead. The words pulsed through her brain. The expression on Sam’s face seemed to confirm them. Her eyes had gone flat and dull, as if there were nothing behind them, as if her soul had already departed. Her mouth hung slack. She was in shock, Mari supposed, her systems shutting down one by one until the only thing left to kill was a body running on autopilot. The plan held a certain appeal. As she sat in the mud, her body on fire with pain, she had to kick herself mentally to keep from succumbing. Her will was flagging, her stamina gone. Del’s place was still a distant dream.

We’re dead. We’re dead!

There was no way on earth they were going to make it. She couldn’t drag herself any farther, let alone drag Samantha with her. The sounds of the dogs baying rang in her ears.

We’re dead, she thought again. The air sliced in and out of her lungs like the blade of a ripsaw. A million things buzzed through her head-prayers, longings, regrets, images of her family, nebulous thoughts of the children she would never have, J.D. Damn hardheaded cowboy. Too stubborn to know a good thing when he saw it.

Oh, damn, Marilee, this isn’t the time.

From some deep well inside her she dredged up strength she had never imagined possessing and pushed herself to her feet. She propped Samantha up against a tree and scrambled to get a view of their pursuer. She could see the basin they had skirted. The hunting dogs were racing through the high grass. Sharon rode just behind them with a rifle slung across her back. They were moving fast, closing in. Apparently, Sharon didn’t find a manhunt nearly as much fun in the rain. She had probably decided to waste them and be done with it. Go home for a soak in the Jacuzzi and relive her glory moments over champagne.

The rain was coming harder, slicing down through the trees, plastering their clothes to their bodies.

“I don’t want to die,” Samantha mumbled to the world at large. She stared straight ahead as if she were blind.

“Then you have to do what I say,” Mari said sharply. She took hold of the girl’s shoulders and pulled her around to face her. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Sam? You have to listen to me.”

Her gaze swept the area for possibilities as her brain did a thumbnail sketch of a plan. It wasn’t much, but it was better than being run into the ground and shot in the back. She laid it out for Samantha as quickly and concisely as she could, and prayed that the girl wasn’t too deep in shock to comprehend. Then she sent Samantha ahead on the trail and hoisted herself into the branches of a pine tree.

There was no sign of Del at the cabin. J.D. shrugged into a rain slicker and saddled a pair of stout, leggy geldings while Will went to the inner sanctum and procured a pair of rifles.

There had been no sign of Mary Lee along the trail. J.D. couldn’t keep his mind off her. Was she lying hurt somewhere? Was she dead? Was her disappearance somehow connected to her search for the truth?

And where the hell did Del fit into this ugly picture? God, he would never forgive himself if Del had done something to Mary Lee. He had allowed his uncle to stew in his own madness up here. If it turned out that Del had gone over the edge, it would be J.D.’s responsibility. What if Del had shot Lucy? What if he had strangled Daggrepont? He didn’t want to believe it could happen, but what he wanted to believe and what was true were increasingly two very different things.

He tried unsuccessfully to clear it all from his mind as they mounted up and headed northwest.

Sharon pulled up at the base of yet another sharp hill, in the shelter of a canopy of ancient pine trees. The rain was turning her mood sour. She had planned to continue riding until the girl turned around and begged her for mercy. But the little bitch was proving to be remarkably resilient and the rain was spoiling everything.

She raised her gun and peered up the trail through the night vision scope. Her quarry was on the ground, lying in a heap, about a hundred and fifty yards up the hill. She could see no sign of the Jennings woman, and assumed she had run on after the girl collapsed. There were no other options for her. She wasn’t armed. She couldn’t hope to fend off the dogs. She had no way of protecting herself from the rifle except to keep on going after the girl had fallen and hope that Sharon would settle for her original target.

The dogs ran circles around Sharon’s horse, frantic for the command to go. She didn’t give it. Not just yet. She wanted a moment to savor the anticipation. She smiled wickedly, wishing Bryce could be watching this. She wanted him to see what she could be compelled to do. She wanted him to know the lengths to which she would go. Just imagining his shock brought her a sense of power. He didn’t realize her strength. He didn’t realize she was his strength. Without her, he was nothing. Without her, he would succumb to the tepid pleasures of a girl like Samantha Rafferty or a petty criminal like Lucy MacAdam and his power would shrivel and die.

She would never allow that to happen.

She urged the horse forward.

Mari looked down on her from the branches of the pine tree. A hundred unforeseen complications thundered through her head. What if she missed? What if she landed behind the horse or on one of the dogs? What if the dogs caught her scent? All Sharon had to do was tilt the muzzle of her rifle up and pull the trigger.

She took a breath and held it, waiting. The dogs were setting up a racket that rivaled the storm, dashing up the trail, then turning back. A memory of the way the dogs had torn into the tiger in the video flashed through her mind, and she shifted uneasily on the branch. Samantha had endured enough horrors without being torn apart by a pack of dogs, but if they weren’t diverted soon, they would undoubtedly make a dash for her.

The horse came a step closer and another step closer. Mari crouched down on the limb, wishing she had a weapon of some kind. But there was nothing at hand, and wishing wouldn’t save their bacon.