I’m so sorry, Tom.

“Well?” she challenged as she stared up at him. “What are you waiting for?”

It was madness to taunt him. But he’d been raised in a community that viewed women as chattel, where women never talked back. Her best weapon now was his own fury.

He stared down, finger still on the trigger. “I’m imagining you with your very own locket.”

“You’re assuming you’ll even have a community to oppress.” She pointed at Pastor’s body. “Without him, no one will want to stay. No one will follow you. Are you going to kill them all?”

His jaw tightened and she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Maybe. Maybe I’m not going back.”

“I wouldn’t. I’ve heard a lot about Eden’s amenities and they’re not great.”

“Shut up and get up. Now. We’re going for a walk to the ravine.”

This would be it. Her only chance. She focused on his left shoulder, mentally rehearsing what she was going to do. Slowly she rolled to her knees, then rocked back on her heels.

Then she sprang, gripping her blade and thrusting it into his left shoulder, as hard as she could.

He screamed, dropping his pistol.

She scooped it up and backed away, holding him at gunpoint with hands that, miraculously, did not shake. He watched her with eyes filled with hatred. She’d seen those before, too. That day. That day when her friends had died. When Fritz had died.

“Don’t move,” she said quietly. “Or I will kill you.”

“You won’t,” he said, and on the surface he sounded confident. Beneath there was doubt.

“I will. You’re not the first person I’ve pointed a gun at. Nor the first I’ve killed.”

But if you do, you’ll never find Eden. With Pastor gone, no one else knows where it is.

Then shoot to maim.

But he snarled at her, lunging for her, stumbling to his knee, starting to rise again. She had her finger on the trigger, ready to pull—until they both heard it. An engine. A big one, from the sound of it. It was approaching quickly, coming around the bend. DJ froze, still on one knee. She saw the realization in his eyes at the same moment that she processed the sound.

They’re here. They’re finally here. Relief coursed through her and her legs went weak.

She glanced at the black SUV that was screeching to a halt. And that was the opening DJ Belmont had been waiting for. He lurched to his feet, grabbing her wrist and twisting until he could snatch the gun from her hand. In a practiced move, he jabbed the pistol into her temple, one fist clenching the neckline of her scrubs, cutting off her air.

Just as Tom burst from the passenger side of the SUV, gun drawn, screaming, “FBI! Drop your weapon.”

TWAIN, CALIFORNIA

TUESDAY, MAY 30, 4:35 P.M.

Tom’s emotions were a fucking roller coaster. He’d gone from abject fear as they’d approached, to pride and bone-wilting relief when he’d seen her holding a gun on DJ Belmont.