Drew handled the rifle as though it were a cobra, then slung the strap over his shoulder.

The phone buzzed inside Gilmont’s pocket with an incoming text. He removed it and read: Landed on Lochan na Carr via seaplane. We’re heading your way. Richardson.

Gilmont chuckled and repocketed his mobile device. “Richardson is a resourceful fellow. He, Joe, and Callie are making their way up from Lochan na Carr as we speak.”

“Where’s that?” Drew asked.

“It’s smack dab in the middle of this section of the Tay Forest Park.” Gilmont led the way down the steep slope, taking care to avoid loose stones.

Anticipation filled him, and once more, he promised himself that Agent Taylor’s death would be a slow and painful process. Afterward, he would leave for the Dalmatian coast and invite his wife and children to visit his beautiful estate. Surely, Sandra would abandon her new husband after she saw what he had to offer.

Elise turned slowly as she surveyed the trees around her. No one moved. No twigs cracked. No rocks rattled.

Where was Sammy? Elise paced in a tight circle in an effort to calm the rising panic inside. She always prided herself on her clear-headedness during a mission. But her training jumped out the window when it came to someone she loved.

Placing her hands on both hips, she took several deep breaths. You’re no good to Sammy if you don’t rein in your fear. Another lungful of air. Think of Sammy. Where would he go?

She laughed, the noise verging on hysteria. How could she predict where Sammy might go? Anything might take that wee lad’s fancy. She marched to the rocks where she had cooked their meal and replayed snatches of their conversations in her head.

Elise jerked straight as a pool-table cue. Pollywogs. In the last twenty-four hours, Sammy had mentioned pollywogs several times.

Her gaze drifted in the direction of the river gorge. She had to find him before Gilmont left that ridge.

Starting in the direction she believed Sammy had gone, Elise pushed through the underbrush, careful to step only on the rocks and moss. After a quarter mile of rough going, she encountered a game trail. Had Sammy gone this way? It seemed likely.

Within minutes, she had her answer. A small impression alongside the track had her kneeling to examine the ground—a partial footprint.

She inhaled sharply. Sammy was ahead of her. Pressing on, she reached the gorge not long after. If Sammy was after pollywogs, he’d stick to the ravine until he found a way down to the river—unless something distracted him.

She shook her head. With Sammy, one couldn’t rule anything out.

Here, trees grew up the sides of the cliff, crumbling the granite on which she stood and forcing her back onto the forest trail. The track snaked away in the opposite direction from the thundering gorge and its subsequent falls.