We’re coming to get you, Jenny. Eve wants to bring you home.

Joe glanced around as he slowly pushed ahead. Someone had been on this path. Recently. Leaves had been freshly torn from bushes, and several branches were bent away from the others. It had clearly been a one-way journey toward the plateau but not back. He’d have to be careful; that could be a sign of possible—

Sproing.

Joe froze. The sound was almost imperceptible but unmistakable.

He looked down and saw, beneath his left foot, a familiar, oval-shaped outline.

Shit.

He’d just stepped on the triggering pedal of a Dieter land mine.

Great. Just great.

He remembered “skill with explosives” had been on Walsh’s résumé that he’d been sent by Interpol. Evidently the bastard had made careful preparations for his trap.

The triggering device had been buried on the trail. Now, if he lifted his foot, he’d be blown to bits.

There was movement up ahead, in the brush. Dammit. He was a sitting duck.

The movements drew closer. Joe crouched, keeping his foot planted squarely on the triggering pedal. He drew his Winkler field knife from its sheaf and angled himself toward the sound.

Come and get me, you sick son of a bitch. I’ll be ready for whatever you’re dishing out.

*   *   *

Not at the boulders.

Her heart was pounding as she drew back from the moss-covered rocks and moved back toward the road.

But that didn’t mean that he might not have been there and moved on.

It didn’t mean that he couldn’t be anywhere in the darkness.

She jumped as her phone vibrated.

Walsh.

“Where are you, Eve?” he asked mockingly. “You’ve been too quiet. Did I discourage you? I have to admit that it’s a challenge that would intimidate most people.”

“It’s a trap, not a challenge. We both know that.” She paused. “And neither Joe nor I are foolish enough to walk into it. Did you really believe we would?”

“Oh, yes. I still believe it. Why do you think I arranged the bait with such care? I had to make sure you could see all the fine details you’d installed in that reconstruction. Such a pity to have it blown to bits and sunk into that icy water. What do you think the chances are that you’d ever be able to retrieve it?”

“Science is a wonderful thing. There’s a possibility.”

“You’re bluffing. You haven’t given up. You’re probably frantically plotting with your lover about how you’re going to manage to get the best of me.” He added softly, “I’ll give you another forty-five minutes to study your handiwork and decide whether you’re going to make a try at it. After that, I’m done. I’ll destroy it as I intended to do in the beginning.”

“And why didn’t you do that, Walsh?”

Silence. “I didn’t get around to it.”

“Really? Then maybe it was fate,” she said mockingly. “Maybe you were never meant to have it. You don’t seem to have handled it very professionally since the moment you killed that poor FedEx driver in Georgia.”

“That’s a lie,” he said harshly. “There’s no one more professional than I am. I tell you, I just didn’t get around to it.” He changed the subject. “Forty-five minutes, and you’ll see all your work vanish as if it had never been.” He hung up.

Forty-five minutes.

She almost wished that Walsh would destroy the skull now.

If Joe heard the shot, then he’d know there was no reason to go after that reconstruction. He would be safe.

But she couldn’t rely on wishes. Don’t think about what Joe was doing.

Think about what she could do to make him safer.

She quickly dialed Nalchek. “I need your help.” She quickly gave him the location. “Walsh is here. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“Not my jurisdiction. I’ll have to—”

“I don’t care. Get someone up here.” She hung up.

Now find Walsh.

*   *   *

Joe cocked his head, listening for the rustling brush. The sounds had stopped. Whatever or whoever it was was only fifteen feet away, maybe twenty. Had he been spotted?

Doubtful.

But he couldn’t stay here, that was for sure. The bomb beneath his left foot clearly put him at a serious tactical disadvantage.

Understatement.

He looked down at the half-buried mine. He knew what he had to do, but it wasn’t going to be easy. Shit.

He jabbed his knife into the ground beside him and grabbed the short blade from his ankle scabbard. He’d been taught a trick that might work, but, of course, his teacher had been missing his right arm and half his face, Joe remembered ruefully. From a mine a hell of a lot less powerful than this one.

Joe thrust his hand into the soft earth and moved his fingers underneath the mine. He stretched his thumb over the top triggering pedal and gripped its muddy surface next to his boot. It was slick and wet, and the spring pushed against his clenched fingers.

One slip, and he was a dead man.

Joe slowly, carefully raised his foot, eyeing the triggering pedal to make sure that it remained in place beneath his thumb.

His foot was free. Now for the tricky part.

He pulled the mine from the damp earth, wincing as his thumb slid over the slippery pedal. He looked at the mine for a moment, keeping it at arm’s length from his face. As if that would help if it exploded. The temptation was strong to just throw the damned thing, but there would be only a second between release and the deadly blast.

And it was probably how his old instructor had lost half his face. No, he had to take care of this another way. Joe slowly turned over the mud-encrusted explosive device and looked at its underside. The top half fit cleanly over the bottom, almost like an oval-shaped shell. A thin ridge separated the two parts, a ridge just wide enough for …

Joe looked at the short blade in his left hand. It seemed about right. He’d know soon enough.

He slowly loosened his grip on the mine. The spring-tensioned top half rose slightly …

He stopped. Hopefully, the thicker part of his blade would catch and keep it from rising any more. He probably had only a few more millimeters to play with.

He loosened his grip even more.

It didn’t move. The wedge was holding.

He held his breath.

So far, so good. Here goes nothing …

One … two … three!

He let go.

And the pedal held in place.

He let out his breath. He cradled the mine in both hands. He bent over and carefully, gently, placed it on a large rock.

He backed away and moved toward a denser area of brush. Climbing would be harder this way, but less likely to yield another nasty surprise.

He wiped his brow and realized that his face and hair were soaked with perspiration. As he slid through the brush, he looked up at the reconstructed skull, still glowing in the lights trained on it. What other traps did Walsh have waiting for him up there? It wouldn’t take much, of course. A rifle scope and a decent perch would do the trick. But the psycho had also shown an affinity for explosive booby traps.

So … How to get that reconstruction without getting shot or blown up?

Joe stopped. There might be one way to pull it off.

He shrugged off his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a thin, plastic bag. He tore into the bag and unfolded a six-by-six piece of mosquito netting. Joe pulled it taut between his hands. Thin, light, and reasonably strong. He put it on the ground and surveyed the trees around him. He unsheathed his knife and sliced off two thin branches, each about eight feet long. After a quick pruning, he attached the netting between the branches with wire from his backpack.

He held the two branches in his hands and practiced twisting and turning them for a moment. Not the most ideal contraption, but it could work.

He unholstered his gun and turned toward the reconstructed skull on the hillside. He’d have to get as close to it as he could while still maintaining a line of sight to the rock with the rigged land mine. This would require a near-perfect aim and split-second timing.