“What good would that do? You’ve seen how he’s been protecting Reed. Besides, all our evidence was gathered illegally. We’re the ones Bolger’s gonna come after.”

“True, going to Bolger now would probably land us in hot water. But if Pip is there, it proves everything we’ve said. Bolger won’t be able to sweep it away. Besides, we may need the manpower.”

“I’m not letting Bolger turn this into a hostage standoff,” Lyle said. “I wouldn’t put it past Reed to do a murder suicide. That’s my grandson in there. He’s all that matters.”

Lyle had a point. A show of force would be clumsy and loud. It could backfire quickly. Max thought about the burner phone in his pocket. If things started falling apart, he could be the one to call Bolger.

Lyle directed them through backroads that twisted around lakes, and woods, and marshland as Max pushed the Cherokee to its limits, the speedometer hitting ninety before he’d break hard for the curves.

“Around that next bend we turn left,” Lyle said.

Max made the turn and weaved between some marshes.

“We’re close,” Lyle said. “Up ahead on the right.”

Max slowed down to look for a trail, nearly passing it before he saw it—nothing more than flattened grass the width of car tires disappearing into the trees. The cabin was far enough in the woods that it wasn’t visible from the road. Max parked at the end of the trail, blocking the way, but before he could turn off the engine, Lyle was out the door, the shotgun in his hand.

“Wait!” Max called out, but Lyle was charging for the trees. Max grabbed the twenty-two and ran after him.

Lyle moved fast, more like a man in his thirties than a man in his sixties. He crouched under branches and glided over fallen trees with the ease of someone at home in the woods. The ground was soft and wet from the rain, the pine trees still holding droplets, which fell down the back of Max’s neck as he bumped the lower branches. Fifty feet into the woods, the contours of the cabin became visible, a small structure with a rusted tin roof and algae-stained siding. As he drew closer he saw Peter’s silver car, but no black Tahoe.

Max caught up with Lyle, who had squatted down behind a fallen jack pine. “That’s Peter’s car,” Max whispered.

They were close enough to the cabin that anything more than a whisper would give them away. There were two windows facing them, a small one that might suggest a bathroom or kitchen, and a bigger one. With the sun nearly touching the horizon behind them, the reflection turned the glass a bright gold.

Lyle pulled the pump back just far enough to confirm a shell in the breach. “They got Pip in there,” Lyle said. “I just know it.”

“Then let’s call Bolger.”

“Not yet. I want to take a peek.”

“If they found my phone, we could be walking into an ambush,” Max said.