In the dull light in the shed, Deb was sitting up, her head leaning back against the bench, her arm across her belly. She’d stopped crying. When Jenner came over to her, she clutched herself with both arms, as if cold, and looked up at him. When he leaned over her, she seemed to pull away.

Jenner understood.

She said, “What did you do with his body?”

“I put him in the water. We’re pretty close to the sea here, I think—the farm ends in a mangrove swamp.”

Deb nodded dully. “I’m a park ranger, Jenner—I know how the farm ends.”

She looked him up and down. “The blood’s gone.”

“I had to wade him out to make sure he was deep enough.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. He was too surprised to really hit me—all he did was try to defend himself.”

Deb was crying again. “I went to kindergarten with Tom Nash.”

“I know he was your friend.” He sat next to her, back against the bench. “I don’t know why they killed him. I think maybe he refused to kill us.”

“You…you think he did?”

“I don’t know. But maybe.”

He sat back and watched her cry.

“We have to go, Deb. We’ll take a boat, make our way down the channel to the sea.”

“They’ll see us.” She looked exhausted, pale and weak.

“Not if we’re quiet. Not if they’re busy. Not if it’s dark.”

“Then they’ll hear us.”

Jenner stood and went to the window to check the farmhouse. The men were still there.

Deb said, “If it’s dark, we’ll get caught in the mangroves. We need to think this through. Have you ever even driven an airboat?”

He murmured, “No.”

There was movement up on the porch. One of the men stood quickly as a ground-floor window swung open. A small girl climbed through it and ran past the men, hands clamped over her ears. She ran to the Volvo, climbed inside, and slammed the door shut.

Lucy Craine.

Christ.

The dome light inside the car stayed on for about thirty seconds. The men on the porch were all standing now, staring at her as she clambered around the passenger compartment; Jenner realized she was locking all the doors.