An instant later the booming sound of the gun filled the clearing.

Sachs spun around. From the delay between the sound of the bullet itself and the muzzle report she knew the shot hadn’t come from Lucy or Jesse but from a hundred yards or so behind them. The deputies too were looking back, guns raised, trying to spot the shooter.

Crouching, Sachs glanced at Garrett’s face and she saw his eyes—the terror and confusion in them. For a moment, only an instant, he wasn’t a killer who’d crushed a boy’s skull or a rapist who’d bloodied Mary Beth McConnell and invaded her body. He was a scared little boy, whimpering, “No, no!”

“Who is it?” Lucy Kerr called. “Culbeau?” They took cover in some bushes.

“Get down, Amelia,” Jesse called. “We don’t know who they’re shooting at. Might be a friend of Garrett’s, aiming for us.”

But Sachs didn’t think so. The bullet was meant for Garrett. She scanned the hilltops nearby, looking for signs of the sniper.

Another shot snapped past. This one was a wider miss.

“Holy Mary,” Jesse Corn said, swallowing the apparently unaccustomed blasphemy. “Look, up there—it’s Mason! And Nathan Groomer. On that rise.”

“It’s Germain?” Lucy asked bitterly, squinting. She furiously pressed the transmit button on her Handi-talkie and shouted, “Mason, what the hell’re you doing? Are you there? Are you receiving? … Central. Come in, Central. Goddamn, I can’t get reception.”

Sachs pulled out her cell phone and called Rhyme. He answered a moment later. She heard his voice, hollow, through the speakerphone. “Sachs, have you—?”

“We’ve got him, Rhyme. But that deputy, Mason Germain, he’s on a hill nearby, firing at the boy. We can’t get him on the radio.”

“No, no, no, Sachs! He can’t kill him. I checked the degradation of the blood on the tissue—Mary Beth was alive as of last night! If Garrett dies we’ll never find her.”

She shouted this to Lucy but the deputy still couldn’t raise Mason on the radio.

Another shot. A rock shattered, spraying them with dust.

“Stop it!” Garrett sobbed. “No, no … I’m scared. Make him stop!”

Sachs said to Rhyme, “Ask Bell if Mason’s got a cell phone and have him call, tell him to stop the shooting.”

“Okay, Sachs …”

Rhyme hung up.

If Garrett dies we’ll never find her …

Amelia Sachs made a fast decision and tossed her gun on the ground behind her then stepped forward, facing Garrett, a foot from him, directly in between Mason’s gun and the boy. Thinking: In the time it took to do this Mason might’ve pulled the trigger, and the bullet, preceding the sound wave of the gunshot, might be headed directly toward my back.

She stopped breathing. Imagining she could feel the slug streaking at her.

A moment passed. There was no shot.