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groaned under the burden of red kayaks—three on each side. The grating ratchetlike calls of blue jays in a nearby oak jangled her already frazzled nerves. With halting footsteps she followed the path through the trees that would lead her to the cottages. Maybe all the Amazons were out hiking. Maybe they’d left some spare clothes behind.
    The trail curved around a narrow strip of beach. The cloud-leached sun eked out pale light that barely scratched at the surface of the water. Pulling out her cell phone, she paced the length of a bench made from a fallen log placed around the dead fire in the stone pit. She was too worried to care if the Colonel had access to her call records. Biting her lower lip, she listened to the incessant ringing of Tommy’s phone.
    She growled when Tommy’s voice mail kicked on. “Tommy,
please
. Call me. I need to know Scotty’s okay.”
    How many messages had she left him? At least a dozen. What if something had happened? What if that was why Tommy hadn’t called to reassure her?
    Scotty’s with his father, who loves him
, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. It wasn’t as if a stranger had kidnapped him and was holding him for ransom in some dark hole. Tommy wouldn’t let any harm come to their son.
    Unless Tommy was off his meds.
    Her hand strangled the phone and she gulped in air. Scotty was fine. Tommy was fine. They were both perfectly fine. To think otherwise would push her over thebrink into insanity. And she couldn’t afford that. Scotty was depending on her.
    The mountains loomed on the other side of the lake, taunting her with their nearness, with her helplessness to find one little boy in their midst.
    She slammed the phone shut. There was no one else to call. No Amazons to the rescue. Only Sabriel.
    Adrenaline ants scurried through her limbs, goading her to take action. With an irrationality bordering on mania, she wanted to turn over rocks, climb trees, ford rivers—anything to find Scotty. She whirled away from the tormenting mountains and jogged toward the cabins.
    Fingers of wind rustled through the fallen leaves in the woods and reminded her of chattering teeth. The shifting shadows of trees creeped her out—as if eyes were watching her from behind every trunk, following her, waiting to pounce. She half expected a pack of rabid wolves, yellow teeth bared, red tongues lolling, fiery eyes glowing, to spring out at her. Never mind that there weren’t any wolves in these parts.
    Her pace faltered. Oh, God, what if Tommy and Scotty were attacked by a bear? Or charged by a moose? Or pounced on by a bobcat?
    Up ahead, a cottage creaked. The haunting wail of its misery lingered in the brittle air. Nora froze. Her breath chugged in ragged bursts.
    “Hello?” Her voice fractured like a teen scream-queen’s. “Is anyone there?”
    No answer but the lamenting sough of wind.
    Her gaze scoured the woods. Never before had she felt so isolated. Alone like this, she made a perfect target. What if something happened to her? No one to see her. No one to hear her. No one to fight for Scotty. The last time she’d felt this vulnerable, she’d been sixteen. Pressure built behind her eyes and her throat worked itself raw.
    She almost wished she were back at the estate, letting the Colonel take charge.
    Don’t talk crazy. Keep moving. Find clothes. Be ready
.
    She hesitated at the cottage door, knocked, then wrenched the knob. It turned in her hand. The door squealed open, blasting her less-than-moral intentions to break-and-enter to the world.
    She wasn’t stealing; she was borrowing. She’d give everything back once she’d found Scotty.
    Two bunk beds held up the narrow walls of the cabin. Weather-resistant mattresses lined each bunk. One bench crouched beneath the lone window. The smell of must and the bite of wood smoke lingered in the air. No clothes. No boots. Nothing of use at all.
    Maybe the next one would prove more fruitful.
    Nora made her way to each of the