“Help will come. You’ll both be fine.” Wilson’s assurance echoed through the small chamber as he pulled up the rope ladder.

Half a minute later, he dragged the cover back over the opening to the cistern.

Deathly quiet descended.

Kayla continued to shake, and Cate clung to her.

Or was she the one trembling?

More likely they were both quaking.

Because Kayla had to know, as she did, that Wilson’s promise to send someone to rescue them after he escaped could have been a lie. Once he left the camp behind, he might forget all about them.

And if that was the case, the odds were high they’d just been sealed into their tomb.

26

SHOOTING KAYLA hadn’t been part of his plan.

And it was all Cate Sheppard’s fault.

Tyrone inched along the rutted gravel road toward the Camp Oasis exit, knuckles bloodless on the steering wheel, teeth gritted.

If her roommate hadn’t come along tonight, he could have convinced Kayla he meant her no harm—because it was the truth.

All she would have had to do was follow his instructions and wait in the cistern for help to arrive. Five minutes before takeoff—in a mere twelve hours—he’d have alerted the local sheriff to her location. By the time they got her out and she told her story, he’d be winging to his new life under his new identity.

She wasn’t supposed to get hurt.

He banged the heel of his hand against the wheel as he stopped at the main road and surveyed the deserted pavement.

The situation with Stephanie and her boyfriend had been tragic. But leaving Kayla behind, bleeding and hurt, in the care of another teen who probably knew more about manicures than medicine?

Much worse.

Yet there wasn’t anything he could do about it without risking incarceration—and the mere thought of being locked up with felons and murderers and drug dealers for the rest of his life sent a shiver through him.

He was better than that.

Far better.

He had never purposefully set out to harm innocent people, as those lowlifes had.

But it was hard to escape collateral damage in this business.

He pulled out onto the dark road, aimed his car toward town, stiffened his resolve—and silenced his conscience.

A man had to do what he had to do.

If a few innocent people had been hurt, that was a small price to pay for avenging two wrongs and helping multitudes.

He pressed on the accelerator and flipped on his wipers, leaving the camp—and his regrets—behind.

The medical supplies Wilson had left weren’t adequate to treat a gunshot wound, superficial though it had turned out to be.

But she was doing the best she could.

Thank heaven the bleeding had been minimal.