Holding her rock tightly, Lillian slipped along the perimeter of the clearing, past the dock. She hated to leave the protection of the woods, but to get onto the point, she had to cross a patch of low-lying bushes and head up a rocky, sandy slope to the hemlock.

She held her breath and walked with purpose, daring anybody to shoot her.

No one did.

The rain was tapering off as she stood at the hemlock and looked around.

And saw them.

They were on the very tip of the point, among the rocks and blueberry bushes, exposed to the bitter wind off the ocean. MacGregor Stevens and the man called Bartholomew Wakefield. Bare chested and ashen faced, the farmer was half reclining against a boulder. Mac lay in his lap.

Neither was moving.

She knelt beside them and saw the blood that had seeped into Mac’s shirt and the blood all over the farmer’s arm...and everywhere.

“Oh, God,” Lillian croaked, kneeling. “I’m too late.”

“No.” The farmer’s eyes opened, and she saw the warm brown eyes of the man behind the confessional screen in Budapest, the only man she had ever truly loved. They focused on her. “We’re alive.”

His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, but seeing her seemed to give him strength. He started to move, but Mac was a heavy weight on him. Lillian saw now that the farmer, Barky, had taken off his own shirt and stuffed it under Mac’s shirt to staunch the bleeding. She held back tears as she peeled off her poncho and covered Mac. Together they managed to get him off Barky, and laid him gently on the ground. Lillian tore off her sweater and wrapped it around his head, so just his mouth and nose were exposed.

“The bleeding has stopped,” Barky said.

“I’ll have to leave...call for the Coast Guard for help, paramedics.”

Barky grabbed her hand. “Ashley...David... where are they?”

“A plane just landed. I assume it’s Ashley. And David...David’s missing. Andrew picked him up in Southwest Harbor. I see the boat...”

“David isn’t with him.”

“Oh, God.”

Barky nodded, knowing now. “David is his leverage.”

Laboriously, agonizingly, Barky climbed to his feet. Lillian offered her shoulder, but he refused. “Get your MacGregor Stevens to the hospital. He knows he has made a terrible mistake. He’ll need you.”

“You’ll both go to the hospital,” she said, her voice cracking as she fought tears. She hadn’t cried thirty years ago; she wouldn’t cry now.

“No.”

And not looking at her, the stout old man hobbled unsteadily down to the woods.

Lillian stumbled toward him. “You’ll never make it.”

“I must stop József Major from killing Ashley and David.”

“Killing them? But why—”

“Because that is how he thinks. For him, to be afraid is intolerable. And he’s never been more afraid than now.” He gave her a steely look. “You should never have listened to Judith.”

“Let me go with you.”

He had turned his brown, naked back to her. “Stay with Stevens. He needs you now more than I do. I’ll call the Coast Guard. Wait with him. Keep him warm.”