Outside, Amy Tang was waiting, leaning against the side of an unmarked Crown Vic. Spike haired, dressed in goth black, chewing gum, she somehow had a Buddha’s calm. From behind her sunglasses, she said, “I’m still counting those lives, cat.”

“It’s all about statistics with you, isn’t it?” Jo said.

Tang smiled.

Tina hefted the flowers Ferd had sent. They were so lavish that they looked like a stage prop for Little Shop of Horrors.

“I need to load these in the car before they eat me,” she said.

As she headed off, Jo moseyed over to the Crown Vic. Mosey was her top speed at the moment. Leaning against the car next to Tang, like they were bandmates in a rock video, was Evan Delaney.

She looked calm and bright-eyed, her toffee-colored hair flicking in the breeze. And she looked strangely melancholic at seeing Jo. Perhaps it was the sight of Jo’s lingering injuries and knowledge of the chaos wrought by Haugen and Ratner.

Noah had been released from the hospital. His recovery was going to be painful but straightforward, thanks to youth, fitness, and good luck. He had months of grueling rehabilitation ahead, but he could look forward to a full recovery. So could Terry Coates. His shattered femur had been pinned back together, and with work, he should return eventually to full strength. Peyton had not been quite so lucky. The broken clavicle was healing, but she too had suffered nerve damage from the snake bite. The doctors didn’t yet know if she would recover full use of her arm.

Jo approached the Crown Vic. “I can’t look that bad, can I?”

Evan said, “You look ready for your close-up. In a zombie movie.” Then she smiled. “No, you look sunny. But you gave us a scare.”

“And you got the story,” Jo said.

“Bigger story than even I could have imagined. And I have a gargantuan imagination.” The smile softened. “But you got more than anybody bargained for.”

“Thank you for your help. You were a lifeline. Both of you.”

Jo held out her hand. Evan squeezed it. Jo held on for an extra second. “I’m going to archive all your text messages. I’ll never erase them.”

Tang glanced across the road. Gabe’s 4Runner was parked across the street. Gabe was waiting behind the wheel, elbow propped on the open window.

“Got energy for the debrief?” Tang said.

“Not really.”

Jo knew most of it already. Haugen had died from the fall from the catwalk. But if he hadn’t fallen, he would only have lived a few hours. He’d sustained enough bites from the nest of baby rattlers to kill five people.

Von was also dead. His body had been found in the pit in the mine. A punji stick had impaled his thigh, but he had died from the ricochet of a bullet fired from his own gun.

Sabine Jurgens alone had survived. Now she was talking, at length, to the Tuolumne County sheriffs and the FBI, in the hopes of leniency. She wouldn’t get it.

Jo had no interest in hearing about Sabine’s attempts to spin excuses for herself. The only thing she found pertinent was Sabine’s admission that she had shot and wounded Ruben Kyle Ratner as he fled from her and Haugen during their negotiation on the mountain—and that she had erred in assuming Ratner was dead. She and Haugen had seen him lying bloody and motionless at the bottom of a gully. Impatient, Haugen had left the scene and gone after Autumn. But Ratner regained consciousness and was able to drag himself up the ravine and nearly hijack the Pave Hawk.

Tang raised her hands in surrender. She’d wait to talk until Jo was ready.

Then Jo mellowed. “Give me the short version.”

“The sheriffs rescued the horse,” Tang said.

Jo felt the beginnings of a smile. “Great. Has anybody told Autumn she’s a hero?”

“I don’t know,” Tang said. “But I’m going to tell her to apply to the SFPD. That kid has a spine.”

“No kidding.”

Evan looked tart. “I’ll give you the short version. Peter Reiniger planned a dream birthday for his daughter. Haugen turned it into a nightmare. But you stole the show.”

Jo smiled at her. “Call me the nightmare thief.”

She walked past the Crown Vic and stepped into the sunlight. The hospital looked out across the hillsides of the city, past the white towers of St. Ignatius Church, over the rolling green forest of the Presidio, to the iron red towers of the Golden Gate Bridge. She inhaled air tinged with salt. For a while, she had wondered if she would ever see this view again.

She ambled slowly toward the 4Runner. Tang and Evan flanked her.

“So what did you get up to while I was gone?” she said.

Evan said, “This and that. Tang and I did each other’s hair. And she showed me her scrapbooks, all those pony club ribbons for dressage. Tina taught me how to count cards.”

Jo gave her a crooked stare.

“Then Ferd entertained us with selected songs from The Mikado. In costume,” she said. “Did you know Mr. Peebles mixes a wicked cosmopolitan?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You have a good bunch here.”

They reached the 4Runner. Evan paused. “Up there on that bridge—you threw the dice hard, Jo.”

Gabe glanced over.

“It was a calculated gamble,” Jo said.

“I have to know—what gave you the nerve to try?” Evan said.

Jo hesitated. “Something a friend said to me. That when you can’t change a situation, and can’t get out of it, you have to go forward. Call it a hard fact of life.”

Evan looked, all at once, like she’d turned to smooth stone. Her eyes were hot, confused, and longing, all at the same time.

“He told you that, didn’t he?” she said.

Jo held poised. She sensed that Evan was on the lip of something—a change, a breakthrough, a crash. Light. She waited, and Evan said it.

“Jesse.”

“He’s the one.”

Evan flushed, and her eyes shimmered. Jo lowered her voice to a murmur.

“Jesse told me about your father’s disappearance, and—the rest. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t . . . I want . . .”

Jo thought about shaking her hand, then pulled her into a hug. She said, “Waiting’s no good. Jesse’s out there.”

Evan held still, tightly knotted. After a moment she inhaled and stepped back. Her eyes gleamed. “Right.”

Gabe got out of the 4Runner and walked around to open the passenger door for Jo. She smiled once more at her friends and got in.

Gabe got behind the wheel and pulled out carefully. They drove quietly for a block. His mind was elsewhere. Jo suspected he was evaluating what she had said to Evan about the calculated gamble.

She turned to him. “I saw my chance and took it. I knew the chopper was coming.”

“I know you did.”

“I’m sorry that I worried you.”

“Don’t apologize.”

She felt, all at once, a swell of emotion. Everything swept over her: relief, happiness to be going home, sadness at the loss of innocent lives, elation that Gabe was alive and unharmed and there with her. Her vision swam.

He pulled over. “Jo.”

She raised a hand. “It’s okay. Rogue emotional wave. I’m fine.”

He unhooked his seat belt and pulled her against him. “Let’s not think about everything right now. I know you’re okay. It’s just that . . . the risks you take—”

She felt a cold thread of worry. “Don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me.”

“What? No. Christ, no.”

She looked up. “Then what?”

“You scare me sometimes. So kick my butt. Keep me onside. Sometimes I’m stupid.”

“What are you saying?” she said.

“That I know I can trust you. You’re not reckless. But you are going to live at high pitch, and go to the wall. I just have to roll with it.”

She shook her head, baffled. “You’re losing me.”

“That’s what I don’t want to do. I want to keep you. I want you to be with me. Always. I want Sophie to have a good role model. Jo, stay with me. Move in. Let’s make a life. Crazy as it is. Let’s keep each other alive. When I’m with you I am alive. I don’t want to lose that.”

She leaned back. “Wow.”

“I talk about my emotions once every five years, and when I do, I empty the clip.” He looked at her. “Think about it.”

“You bet I will.”

She pulled him to her and kissed him. He put his hands to her face. She tightened her arm around him and held on. He was smiling. The phone rang. He kissed her again.

The phone continued to ring. She ignored it until he said, “Answer it.”

Reluctantly she sat back, brushed her hair from her eyes, and answered.

A woman said, “Dr. Beckett? It’s the Quest Network.”

Her lipstick had smeared Gabe’s mouth. She wiped it off. She was smiling.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“We’re calling about Edge Adventures.”

Jo hesitated. “Quest—the television channel?”

“We’re developing the premise into a television show. We’d like to talk to you about being a consultant.”

“No.”

“There’s enormous interest in the concept.”

Jo pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it. “No.”

The woman kept talking as if Jo hadn’t spoken. “It’s a hot property. And you’re the hottest property of all.”

“Hot? You bet I am.”

“All right . . . there’s also the possibility that we can discuss hosting the show.”

“Really? Dr. Jo’s Disaster Camp?”

“Well, we’d have to negotiate the title.”

“In that case, listen closely.” She waited. The woman listened. “No. As in never.”

“But Dr. Beckett—”

Jo hung up and tossed the phone in the backseat. She pointed at the road. Gabe put the truck in gear.