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curved sharply to run parallel to the tree line. It would leave them exposed for another quarter mile. She made a split-second decision, gunned the engine and went straight. “Hang on!” she yelled.
    The truck bounced across the ruts and into the cleared strip, missing a ragged stump by inches. Brush dragged at the undercarriage. The trees loomed nearer. Chantal swerved past a sapling and steered toward a gap in the wall of foliage.
    Her sudden maneuver took their pursuers by surprise. The gunfire halted for precious seconds as the helicopter swung to realign itself.
    But the bullets had already done their damage. Black smoke billowed from beneath the truck’s hood. There was a whoosh , and the entire front end was in flames. Chantal shrieked, unable to see, unable to breathe. The truck plowed through a thicket of brush, hit a rock and stopped dead twenty yards from the shelter of the trees.
    Mitch opened his door. “We’ve got to bail before this thing blows!”
    Chantal could hear the roar of the helicopter, along with a renewed hail of gunfire. Flames licked across the dashboard, but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t manage her seat belt. “Mitch!”
    He undid the buckle, hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her out from behind the wheel. She felt herself being lifted into the air.
    And then, mercifully, she felt nothing at all.

Chapter 4
    “A erie, this is Waterfalls Resort. Come in, please. Over.”
    Tyra Pearson walked across the manager’s office and sat in front of the radio. She fisted her hands in her lap. A voice came over the speaker.
    “Chantal, are you there? It’s Bob.”
    Lewis Knox gripped the back of the woman’s chair. “Keep it short,” he said. “And be convincing.”
    She nodded. She didn’t look at him, she looked at her son.
    Taddeo stood in the doorway with a firm grip on the boy. They’d put a strip of duct tape over the kid’s mouth to ensure his silence, but seeing his mother cry seemed to have taken the fight out of him. The thin-bladed skinning knife that Taddeo held at his throat wasn’t to ensure his cooperation. It was to ensure the mother’s.
    Lewis had no doubt that she’d do exactly as she’d been told. As always, fear was a good motivator.
    Bamford slid the microphone in front of Tyra. At a signal from Lewis, he pressed the switch.
    She swallowed, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and leaned forward. “Bob, this is Tyra. Over.”
    “Hey, Tyra! What’s going on?”
    “Nothing special. Why?”
    “I saw black smoke on the horizon a while ago. It looked like it was coming from your area.”
    “It was nothing to worry about. We have a new group of guests. They wanted a campfire.”
    “That was some plume of smoke for a campfire. What were they cooking? Old tires?”
    “I think someone threw on rotten wood.”
    “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full this week.”
    “What can I say? They’re city suits.”
    “Well, just watch them. The fire hazard’s low because of all that rain last month, but if one got out of control we’re all in trouble.”
    “Yes, that’s true.” She paused. “We hope these guests don’t cause us trouble.”
    Lewis didn’t like her tone. It sounded as if she were attempting to send a message. He gestured toward Taddeo.
    Taddeo gripped Henry’s hair, yanked back his head and flattened the blade of his knife along the boy’s neck.
    “Henry!” All the blood drained from Tyra’s face. She was breathing fast through her mouth. For a second, she looked about ready to pass out.
    That wouldn’t do them any good. Lewis jerked her chair to get her attention and pointed to the radio.
    “Are you okay, Tyra? You’re sounding odd.”
    She gripped the edge of the table. “I’m fine, Bob.”
    “Something wrong with your boy?”
    “No, Henry’s fine. I’m just reminding him to do his homework. Only another week and we move back to town. I can’t wait.”
    “Can’t wait to get him out of your hair, you