Reed pinched his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, his mind had calmed. He smiled. He and Pip had made it across the border with enough cash to get them set up. He knew of a fishing camp a day northeast of them where a man with pontoon planes would fly them out of the woods for cash. He and Pip could start over. He would raise Pip alone. Sandy was dead. He had won.

Reed lifted his binoculars and searched the Minnesota side of the river, staying low just in case Lyle was doing the same on the opposite bank. The trees were thin but abundant, a curtain that could hide a man until he chose to make his presence known. But no one could hide once they stepped into the river. If there were two men chasing him, he would wait for the first to cross and get to shore, and hope that the second man followed closely behind—kill the first man on the bank and the second in the water.

His stomach growled with hunger. He’d only brought one power bar with him and he’d eaten it already. It wouldn’t be long. If Lyle had followed him, he would be at the rapids soon. Reed slid the glove off of his right hand and stuck his cold fingers up under his armpit for warmth, raising the binoculars to his eyes again with his left hand.

He saw nothing at first, and was about to lower them when something moved at the edge of his vision. He sank behind the stump and scanned the area. Then it moved again—twenty feet up the bank, in a patch of birch, a man. Reed’s pulse hammered in his ears. It was Lyle Voight. He was studying the Canadian shore through the scope of a deer rifle.

Where was the second man? Had he stayed with Peter? Had the plan worked? Reed watched Lyle step closer to the river and again scan the woods. Lyle didn’t appear to be talking to anyone. He was acting like a man alone.

Reed leaned against the stump as he drew the pistol from the back of his belt, pulling the slide back and loading a round into the chamber. Gun at the ready, he eased another look, a sprig of dead pine needles hiding him.

He could make out the edges of Lyle’s shape moving between stands of white birch trees, inching down the bank. When he stepped out of the shadows Reed could see that Lyle carried his backpack in front of him like a shield. Reed looked for the second man but still saw nothing. He would wait until Lyle reached the Canadian shore before he opened fire.

Lyle had slipped out of his coat, hiking pants, and boots, but had left his shirt on as he waded into the icy water. Reed tracked his every step with the sight on the pistol. Patience. Wait until he climbs out.

Lyle took careful steps as he crossed the river, stumbling a bit as he finally crawled up the bank on the Canadian side. The backpack blocked Reed’s view of Lyle’s chest, and although there was probably nothing in there that would stop his bullet, he lowered his aim to Lyle’s thighs. He would cut the man down and then finish him off.