“Boss.”

He hammered and breathed, hammered and breathed, hammered and breathed. Clark’s body endured the punishment without moving. Two more minutes passed.

“Boss.”

He counted to thirty. Counted to two. Counted to thirty. Counted to two.

“Jonathan, it’s over.”

Maggie’s hand took hold of his shoulder in a grip that was gentle but unyielding. Midway through the final series of chest compressions, Stride finally stopped and sat back on his haunches. His arms dangled at his sides. He could hardly lift them now. He had known from the beginning that Clark was dead, that the electricity had savaged his heart, but it was only when he gave up, when there was nothing else to do, that the reality sank in. His head sank forward against his chest.

“Where’s the damn ambulance?”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference, boss. You did everything you could do.”

He knew that was true, but it didn’t bring Clark back to life. He stared at the body and leaned over and closed the man’s eyes again. Like that, Clark looked more at peace, free of his despair.

Stride got up slowly. His wet, cold muscles complained. His hearing was coming back, and he heard a distant whine of police sirens growing closer. He could see fireworks out on the lake where the storm had slouched to the east. A few lingering drops of rain splashed on his skin. The air behind the front was steamy and warm, and his clothes clung to his body.

He needed to get away. “I’m going to check on Finn,” he said.

Maggie nodded.

Down the beach, Stride saw Finn pawing in the sand and pushing aside the long grass with his good arm. He looked like a scuttling crab with one claw stripped from his body. Stride cocked his head, confused, and took a few tentative steps in Finn’s direction. “What is he doing?”

Maggie looked. “I don’t know.”

“Finn!” Stride called, but the man couldn’t hear him.

Stride walked faster in the deep sand back toward the driftwood. Maggie lingered behind him with Clark’s body. Stride felt a formless sense of unease.

“Finn!”

Without hearing him, Finn sensed Stride approaching. Their eyes met across the dark beach, and an unspoken hostility passed between them. With increasing desperation, Finn turned his attention back to the ground surrounding the huge tree trunk. Stride suddenly understood. He became aware of a lightness under his shoulder and when he tapped his chest, he realized that his holster was empty. His Glock wasn’t in it. As the ground current streaked toward him, he had ditched his gun in the sand.

Where Finn was now searching.

Stride broke into a run across the remaining distance. Before he could dive past the driftwood, Finn’s left arm broke free of the mud with Stride’s gun in his palm. He curled his hand around the grip, shoved his finger against the trigger, and pointed it at Stride ten feet away.

Stride stopped. He held up his hands. The sirens he had heard were close now. Police cars streaked down the Point.