But Sean O’Sarian, it turned out, was much closer than that—as Sachs found out when she sprinted into the clearing and tripped over him. He gasped as she rolled past him and fell onto her back. She smelled liquor and sweat.

His eyes were manic; he looked as disconnected as a schizophrenic.

There was an immeasurable beat and Sachs lifted her pistol as he swung the Colt toward her. She kicked backward into the grass and they fired simultaneously. She felt the muzzle blast of the three shots as he emptied the clip, all the long rounds missing. Her single shot missed too; when she rolled prone and looked for a target he was leaping through the grass, howling.

Don’t miss the opportunity, she told herself. And risked a shot from Culbeau as she rose from the grass and aimed at O’Sarian. But before she could fire, Lucy Kerr stood and shot him once as he ran directly toward her. The man’s head lifted and he touched his chest. Another laugh. Then he spiraled down into the grass.

The look on Lucy’s face was shock and Sachs wondered if this had been her first kill in the line of duty. Then the deputy dropped into the grass. A moment later several shotgun blasts chewed up the vegetation where she’d been standing.

Sachs continued on toward Culbeau, moving very fast now; it was likely that he knew Lucy’s position and when she stood again he’d have a clear shot at her.

Twenty feet, ten.

The glint from the ’scope flashed more brightly and Sachs ducked. Cringing, waiting for his shot. But apparently the big man hadn’t seen her. There was no shot and she continued on her belly, easing around to the right to flank him. Sweating, the arthritis pinching her joints hard.

Five feet.

Ready.

It was a bad shooting situation. Because he was on a hill, in order to acquire a clear target she’d have to roll into the clearing on Culbeau’s right, and stand. There’d be no cover. If she didn’t cap his ass immediately he’d have a clear shot at her. And even if she did hit him, Tomel would have several long seconds to hit her with the scattergun.

But there was nothing to be done.

When you move…

Smittie up, pressure on the trigger.

A deep breath …

… they can’t getcha.

Now!

She leapt forward and rolled into the clearing. She went up on one knee, aiming the gun.

And gave a gasp of dismay.

Culbeau’s “gun” was a pipe from an old still and the ’scope was a part of a bottle resting on top. Exactly the same trick she and Garrett had used at the vacation house on the Paquenoke.

Suckered…

The grass rustled nearby. A footstep. Amelia Sachs dropped to the ground like a moth.