Culbeau said, “Wish we got the reward but I’m glad he’s caught. That boy’s trouble.”

When they were gone Sachs asked, “You find anything else in the mill?”

“No. Thought I’d come down here to help you look for a boat.”

As they continued down the path Sachs said, “One thing I forgot about. We ought to send somebody back to that trap—the hornets’ nest. Kill ’em and fill in the hole.”

“Oh, Jim sent Trey Williams, one of our deputies, over there with a can of wasp spray and a shovel. But there weren’t any wasps. It was an old nest.”

“Empty?”

“Right.”

So it wasn’t a trap at all, just a trick to slow them down. Sachs reflected too that the ammonia bottle wasn’t intended to hurt anybody either. Garrett could have rigged it to spill on his pursuers, blinding them. But he’d perched it on the side of a small cliff. If they hadn’t found the fishing line first and tripped it, the bottle would’ve fallen onto rocks ten feet below the path, warning Garrett with the smell of the ammonia but not hurting anyone.

She had an image of Garrett’s wide, frightened eyes once more.

I’m scared. Make him stop!

Sachs realized Lucy was talking to her.

“I’m sorry?”

The deputy said, “Where’d you learn how to use that toad sticker of yours—that knife?”

“Wilderness training.”

“Wilderness? Where?”

“Place called Brooklyn,” Sachs responded.

Waiting.

Mary Beth McConnell stood beside the grimy window. She was edgy and dizzy—from the close heat of her prison and the bristling thirst. She hadn’t found a drop of any liquid to drink in the entire house. Glancing out the back window of the cabin, past the wasps’ nest, she could see empties of bottled water in a trash heap. They taunted her and the sight made her feel all the more thirsty. She knew she couldn’t last more than a day or two in this heat without something to drink.

Where are you? Where? She spoke silently to the Missionary.

If there had been a man there—and he wasn’t just a creation of her desperate, thirst-crazed imagination.

She leaned against the hot wall of the shack. Wondered if she’d faint. Tried to swallow but there wasn’t a bit of moisture in her mouth. The air enwrapped her face, stifling as hot wool.

Then thinking angrily: Oh, Garrett … I knew you’d be trouble. She remembered the old saw: No good deed goes unpunished.