Younger inched the Land Rover through the open gate of the snow-covered wooden fence and gently slowed to a stop. The van slid sideways before coming to rest. He puffed out a relieved sigh.

“Made it,” Younger said, his voice slightly shaky.

Jake was peering at the lodge. He couldn’t see any lights inside. But then, in the glow from the Land Rover’s headlamps, he saw Glynis’s Jaguar, already thickly covered with snow. But its hood was up and a man was standing beside it, peering at the engine by the feeble glow of a flashlight.

He looked up and Jake recognized him. Monster.

Wearing a long black overcoat and a fur-trimmed hat with earflaps, Monster trudged over to the SUV, shoulders bunched, looking truculent. Younger rolled down the driver-side window, but before he could say anything, Monster demanded, “Whattaya want?”

Jake leaned across and said as brightly as he could manage, “Hey, Monster, it’s me, Jake.”

“Jake?” Monster’s heavy features registered surprise. Then he shook his head. “You ain’t supposed to be here, Jake.”

The Lakeside Lodge

THE LAKESIDE LODGE

Monster led them through the snow and into the lodge, muttering about Glynis’s Jaguar every step of the way.

“Fuckin’ English cars’re no fuckin’ good. No way.”

Except for Monster’s flashlight it was dark in the entryway; all the lights in the lodge were out.

“Doesn’t Leeds have an emergency generator?” Younger asked, sounding incredulous that a U.S. senator could be so shortsighted.

“That’s the least of our troubles,” Jake muttered as Monster led them into the lodge’s main room, flicking the flashlight beam ahead of them.

One battery-powered hurricane lamp was lit, by the big window overlooking the lake. And there in front of the dark fireplace was Glynis, sitting in one of the rustic chairs, her body taut with tension, hands clasped on her lap, looking angry and fearful at the same time. She was dressed for Tomlinson’s costume party in a pirate wench’s outfit, lace-up black bodice, off-the-shoulder white blouse, ragged colorful skirt, and a scarlet red scarf knotted around her waist.

Jake felt the air gush out of him. She’s all right. They haven’t hurt her.

Not yet, he silently added.

As Younger rushed over to her, Jake saw Nacho Perez standing by the window, fidgeting nervously, his jacket flapping open, the black butt of a pistol showing at his belt. A pair of other men stood in the shadows by the bar, thickset, blank-faced, wearing dark suits. They had Mob written all over them, Jake thought.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be,” Perez sneered, “the three musketeers or somethin’?”

Ignoring Nacho’s sarcasm, Jake demanded, “What’s going on here? Why are you holding her?”

“Me? Holdin’ her?” Perez’s lean face broke into a sardonic grin. “She came up here on her own. Di’n’t you, babe?”

Glynis glared at him, said nothing.