'Tresa, listen to me. Stop and listen. You're wrong. I didn't have s.e.x with Glory. I didn't kill her.'

'So what happened to her?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you think I killed her myself? Are you trying to protect me?'

'You didn't kill her.'

'If I saw the two of you having s.e.x, I swear I would have strangled her.'

'I know you, Tresa,' Mark said. 'I know you didn't do this.'

Tresa sobbed quietly. She shuffled closer, bent down, and threw her skinny arms around his chest. 'I'm sorry. I'm such a complete fool. I'm saying whatever comes into my head.'

'Tresa, you have to believe me. I didn't kill Glory.'

'I know. I'm just as bad as everyone else. I'm the one who's supposed to trust you, and I was ready to say you did it, too.'

'I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,' Mark said. 'That makes me the only suspect, at least until Hilary gets back from Green Bay.'

Tresa stiffened and pushed away. It was as if she hadn't heard him. 'What did you say? Why is Hilary in Green Bay?'

'There's a man there who was in Florida last week. Apparently he's got a s.e.xual history with teenagers, and he may be involved in a girl's disappearance. Hilary thinks the police should be looking at him.'

'He's in Green Bay Green Bay?'

'That's right.'

Tresa climbed off his lap and paced between the tight walls of the stall.

'What's wrong?' Mark asked.

'I don't know. I guess it's just a creepy coincidence.'

'What is?'

Tresa stopped and squatted in front of him and held on to his knees. He could feel her entire body trembling. 'A girl disappeared there? What's her name? Who is she?' 'Amy Leigh. Hilary coached her in high school in Chicago.'

'Amy Leigh,' Tresa repeated, rolling out the name as if she was searching her memory and coming up with nothing.

'Do you know her?'

'No, I've never heard of her.'

'Tresa, tell me what's wrong.'

'Nothing. I just can't believe-'

'What?'

Tresa reared back so hard and fast that she stumbled against the metal door. 'Wait a minute, you said Hilary coached her? This girl's a dancer?'

'That's right.'

'Was she in Florida?'

'Yes, she's on the Green Bay team.'

He heard Tresa breathing open-mouthed.

'Oh, s.h.i.t,' she murmured, it has to be her.'

'What are you talking about?'

Tresa ignored him. 'How did Hilary get mixed up in this? Please, tell me what happened.'

'Amy called Hilary yesterday. It sounded like she thought her coach might have had something to do with Glory's death. Now Amy's missing, so Hilary drove down there to talk to the police. She's worried this guy may have grabbed her.'

'This guy you're talking about, is he the Green Bay dance coach?'

'I think he is, why?'

'What's his name? Do you know? Is it like Jerry something?'

'It's Gary Jensen.'

'Oh, s.h.i.t, that's him, that's him. I forgot all about it. I'm so stupid! Peter Hoffman said I'd want to see it because I was a dancer. s.h.i.t!'

'Tresa, you're not making any sense.'

Her voice was urgent. 'Mark, we have to get out of here. Please, we need to go. We have to warn Hilary.'

He felt his adrenaline and fear accelerate as he heard Hilary's name. 'Warn her about what?'

'She has to stay away from there,' Tresa moaned. She crumbled, losing control.

'Tresa, Hilary's not going anywhere near Gary Jensen.'

'No! No, no, no, you don't understand. What have I done?'

The metal door swung open, and Tresa rushed out of the stall. Her panicked sobs bounced between the concrete walls as she stumbled for the way out. When she found it, she tore open the outer door and let it bang shut behind her. Mark chased blindly in her wake, heading into the woods outside the shelter, where the rain and wind swallowed the noise.

'Tresa, stop!' he hissed, it's not safe.'

For a moment, somewhere close by, he heard her running footsteps and the choked gasp of her cries, but he couldn't see through the darkness to follow her. Soon he didn't hear anything at all.

'Tresa,' he called again, as loud as he dared.

She was gone.

Cab awoke with his blood dripping from his face to the floor. It made a pool around the tips of his fingers. The pain in his head was like a nail hammered through the back of his skull and driven out between his eyes. When he pushed himself up on his forearms, a wave of dizziness and nausea almost made him vomit and collapse. He stayed on his hands and knees until his head cleared, then he stood up slowly, supporting himself against the bedroom wall. He touched the back of his head tenderly and winced as he felt the swollen b.u.mp, which was damp with blood. He had no idea if he'd been unconscious for a minute or an hour, but his flashlight was still lit, shooting a tunnel of light toward the bed. He squatted carefully and retrieved it.

When he listened to the cold, quiet house around him, he concluded that the a.s.sailant was gone. So was his Glock. It was missing.

He staggered toward the bathroom and turned on the water at the sink. He grabbed a hand towel from the rack, soaked it under the water, and dabbed it against his skull, wiping the blood. He opened the vanity cabinet under the sink and used the flashlight to find a box of gauze bandages and medical tape. Positioning a pad at the base of his skull, he added tape until the mesh stayed tight against his hair and skin. It was a crude job, but he didn't have time to waste.

Before he left the bathroom, he opened a bottle of Advil and took five of them to battle his monster headache.

Cab made his way out of Mark Bradley's house and tramped through the muddy driveway to the black Nissan, which was parked where he'd left it. He leaned against the car, letting the waves of pain in his head dissipate. Whoever had a.s.saulted him couldn't be far. Neither could Mark Bradley and Tresa Fischer. He just didn't know where to find them. They could be anywhere, hidden by the night.

He opened the car door.

That was when he heard it. A sharp crack sizzled through the noise of the rain. The echoes bounced around him, but the ripples of sound started at the beach.

A gunshot.

The world spun as Cab ran for the water.

Chapter Forty-Eight.

Hilary ran to Amy on the bed.

As she did, her cell phone rang, and the music was jarringly loud in the silence of Gary Jensen's house. She fumbled with the b.u.t.tons to answer the call before the coach heard the ringing downstairs.

'It's Katie,' Amy's roommate whispered as Hilary pressed the phone to her ear. 'Gary's back! Where are you? Are you inside?'

'Call nine one one,' Hilary hissed. 'I found Amy. Get the police here right now.' nine one one,' Hilary hissed. 'I found Amy. Get the police here right now.'

She slapped the phone shut before Katie said another word. She didn't have time to wait. At the bed, she cupped Amy's cheek and then clawed with her fingernails at the tape that bound the girl's wrists. The tape was tightly wound in layers and was slow to fray as she picked at it and pulled it away from the down on the girl's skin. Behind the gag, Amy whimpered, partly in pain and partly in relief, but Hilary quieted her with a gentle hand at her mouth. 'Shhh.'

Hilary succeeded in freeing Amy's right wrist, and the girl's arm flew around her neck and pulled her close. They couldn't stop for emotion. Hilary disentangled herself and set to work immediately on Amy's other wrist. This time, her progress was faster, and in less than a minute, Amy's arms were both free, and the girl immediately ripped off the tape from her mouth with a gasp and dug out the cloth bandage that had been stuffed inside, choking her. Her face was blistered and red.

Amy sat up and again hugged Hilary in an embrace so strong she could barely breathe. 'Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d, oh, Hilary, thank you,' she murmured in a rush of words.

Hilary peeled the girl's arms firmly away. 'I know, kiddo, but keep quiet, he's downstairs. We have to hurry. Help's on the way.'

Hilary grabbed her car keys out of her pocket and sawed at the tape on Amy's left leg with the jagged edge of one key. The threads split apart, and she tore it away, making the girl's skin bleed. Amy winced and bent her leg at the knee to jump-start her circulation.

Hilary quickly freed her other leg.

'Let's go,' she whispered. 'Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here.'

Amy swung her legs off the bed, but her knees gave way as she stood up, and she collapsed heavily into Hilary's arms.

'I'm dizzy,' Amy said.

'I know. Try again.'

Hilary slid an arm around the girl's waist, and Amy draped her left arm around Hilary's shoulder. Amy swayed as the two of them took a step together, but she didn't fall.

'Stay quiet,' Hilary whispered. 'The front door is at the bottom of the stairs. We'll go straight down and out, OK?'

'h.e.l.l yeah.'

With each step, the girl grew stronger. Her young body shrugged off the after-effects of the drug and the long stretch spent p.r.o.ne on the bed. She let go of Hilary, balancing one hand on the wall of the hallway. They reached the stairs leading back to the ground floor, and Hilary went first, with Amy at her heels. Freedom felt close; she could almost smell the rain and pine outside. The staircase wound like a corkscrew, and as they followed the iron railing round the curve, the front door beckoned to them from across the marble tile of the foyer.

She wanted to run. In ten seconds, they could be through the door and safe. She reached behind and took hold of Amy's hand.

Hilary glanced back at the girl. Their eyes met. She gave Amy an encouraging smile, and the girl's face glowed with confidence as she smiled back. Then, as Hilary watched, the smile vanished, and Amy's expression bled into terror. Hilary looked downstairs and understood why.

Gary Jensen stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for them. Hilary's eyes followed the length of his right arm and saw that he was holding a gun.

Amy screamed in panic, yanking Hilary's hand and dragging both of them back up the twisting staircase. The girl's speed took Jensen by surprise, but they were only a handful of steps ahead of him as he charged in pursuit. At the top of the stairs, Amy sped left through the open door to the master bedroom. Hilary cleared the doorway behind her, slammed the door shut, and pushed the surface bolt into place just as Jensen's shoulder collided with the heavy door.

Hilary longed for the sound of sirens, but she heard nothing outside. She dug out her phone and punched in 911 on the keypad. On the other side of the door, Jensen hammered and kicked. The lock shivered under the impact, the screws loosening. She heard the phone ring once, twice, then three times, with excruciating slowness.

Jensen kicked again.

'Nine one one emergency,' the operator finally answered.

'Get the police here, we've got a man trying to kill us.'

Her panic didn't rattle the operator. 'Ma'am, this is a mobile phone. I'm showing this phone registered to an address in Washington Island, Wisconsin. What is your current location?'

Jensen kicked again, and this time the lock exploded off the door, and the door itself spun on its hinges and banged into the wall. He surged through the doorway with his gun extended and his finger on the trigger. He pointed the barrel at Hilary's head.

'Ma'am, what is your location?' the operator repeated.

'Hang up!' Jensen whispered.

Hilary hesitated. The operator spoke urgently into her ear. 'Ma'am? Are you OK? Are you still there? Ma'am, what is your location?'

Jensen shifted and pointed the gun at Amy's head, not even two feet away. 'Hang up 'Hang up!'

Hilary clapped the phone shut. She let it fall from her hand to the ground.

'Don't be stupid,' she told Jensen. 'The police are already coming. You may as well let us go.'