Garrett’s plan was brilliant but he had made one mistake—assuming that it would take the search party several days to find Lydia (which is why he’d left all the food for her). By then he’d have been with Mary Beth in the real hiding place and the searchers would be combing the Outer Banks.

And so Rhyme had asked Bell what was the best route west from Tanner’s Corner. “Blackwater Landing,” the sheriff had answered. “Route 112.” And Rhyme had ordered Lucy and the other deputies there as fast as possible.

There was a chance that Garrett and Sachs had been through the intersection already and were on their way west. But Rhyme had calculated distances and didn’t think that on foot—and keeping under cover—they could have gotten that far in so little time.

Lucy now called in from the roadblock. Thom put the call on the speakerphone. The policewoman, undoubtedly still suspicious and wondering whose side Rhyme was really on, said skeptically, “I don’t see any sign of them here and we’ve checked every car that’s come by. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” he announced. “I’m sure.”

And whatever she chose to think of this arrogant response she said nothing other than “Let’s hope you’re right. There’s a chance for some real sorrow here.” She hung up.

A moment later Bell’s phone rang. He listened. Looked up at Rhyme. “Three more deputies just got to Canal Road, about a mile south of 112. They’re going to do a sweep north on foot toward Lucy and the others and pin Garrett and Sachs in.” He listened into the phone for a moment longer. Glanced at Rhyme, then away, and continued into the phone: “Yeah, she’s armed … And, yeah, I hear tell she’s a good shot.”

Sachs and Garrett crouched in the bushes, watching the passenger cars waiting to get through the roadblock.

Then, behind them, another sound that even without a moth’s sensitive hearing Sachs could detect: sirens. They saw a second set of flashing lights—coming from the other—the southern—end of Canal Road. Another squad car parked and three more deputies got out, also armed with shotguns. They started slowly through the bushes, moving toward Garrett and Sachs. In ten minutes they’d walk right through the nest of sedge where the fugitives were hiding.

Garrett looked at her expectantly.

“What?” she asked.

He glanced at her gun.

“Aren’t you going to use that?”

She stared at him in shock. “No. Of course not.”

Garrett nodded toward the roadblock. “They will.”