I nod. Claire and I are the only ones dressed for hiking. Before we left my house, I insisted that Marco let us change into comfortable cargo shorts, boots, and lightweight polyester Tshirts. Marco, who is only one shoe size smaller than me, was able to put on a pair of my running shoes, but otherwise his slacks and jacket are completely impractical for hiking. Jasper, in combat boots and jeans, looks more appropriately dressed for a rock concert than a day hiking in the wilderness.

“We’ll take the boat,” Marco declares. “But if either of you try anything,” he adds, looking back and forth between Claire and me, “we’ll kill the driver and dump him overboard.”

The driver is a different person this time, a chubby twentysomething with a trucker hat and big stud earrings. We are the only ones in the taxi. When we load onto the boat, I keep expecting the driver to spot Jasper’s gun. Marco’s is well hidden in his shoulder holster, but Jasper’s is only stuck into his jeans with his shirt pulled over. Still, the kid doesn’t notice and doesn’t seem to care that half our group isn’t dressed for hiking.

As the boat skims across the surface of the lake, the air is colder. Clouds are moving in, covering the sky in murky gray. Claire holds her arms tightly around her body. I can see goose bumps on her legs and arms.

The boat speeds past the docks of the cabins perched on the granite banks.

“Can you get to these houses only by boat?” Marco asks me, as if we’re pals and I’m taking him to a new place to hike.

“Or by foot,” I say.

Marco frowns. “What about in the winter?”

“No one lives here year round,” I say. “The lakes are frozen and you’ve got to use cross-country skis to get in and out.”

The cabins appear to be vacated for the season, except for the one where the girl was drowning. A man is sitting on a deck chair at the edge of the water, reading a book. The father, I assume. He looks up at us and gives a friendly wave.

At this distance, there’s no way he could recognize me as the man in the newspaper photograph.

I’m going to die because I saved your daughter, I think. I would be okay with that—to trade my life for hers. The problem is I don’t want Claire to die because of me.

The boat slows as the driver navigates through a narrow channel to Upper Echo Lake. The water is so clear that we can see trout swimming beneath the boat. A few minutes later at the dock, the boat pilot points to the pay phone.

“If you guys want a ride back, give us a call,” he says. “The number’s posted. There’s no cell service out here.”