Joe agreed. He also noticed among the litter the empty package of a razor. He pointed it out to Hick.

Hick said, “He got rid of his ugly scruff.”

Joe stood up and looked back toward the path. “Say he did come back here and changed at least his shoes, shaved, stuffed his purchases into his backpack, and walked back to the highway. What then?”

“Hitched a ride,” suggested one of the officers grouped around the clearing.

“Ankle express,” said another.

The deputy who’d found the debris said to Joe, “If he was on foot, search dogs might pick up a scent. We could get a canine unit out here in the a.m. ”

“How about ASAP?” Joe asked. “The dogs don’t know it’s dark.”

The deputy hesitated. “It’s a private contractor. Y’all paying?”

“We’ll pay.”

The officer touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll make the call.”

Leaving the others to bag evidence, Joe and Hick began tromping back toward the highway. Joe’s cell phone rang. He answered. “Joe Wiley.”

“That sketch of me you showed on TV is for shit.”

Joe came to a dead standstill. “Josh?”

When Hick heard the name, he swung around. Joe angled the phone away from his ear, so Hick could listen in.

“How’d you get my cell number?” Joe asked.

“I remember it from six months ago. I’m smart that way.”

“Calling me to turn yourself in is the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I’ll never turn myself in.”

“Then are you calling only to critique our sketch artist?”

“Is Jordie dead?”

The blunt question and the perceptible emotion behind it surprised Joe. “I don’t know, Josh. I hope not.”

He made a choking sound. “I think she’s dead and you’re just not announcing it yet.”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you and we’ll talk about it.”

“As if.”

“You left a trail from the convenience store. Agent Hickam and I aren’t too far behind you. We’ll keep at it until we find you.”

“Stop wasting your time tracking me and find my sister!” On the last word, his voice cracked.

“We’re doing our best.”

“You think he’s already killed her, don’t you? That guy Kinnard. Shaw Kinnard. They showed his picture on TV.”

“He’s bad news. Mean bastard. But he and Mickey Bolden were only hired guns, bought and paid for by Billy Panella. You know that as well as I do.”

“You’re only trying to scare me. Billy doesn’t care about me anymore.”

“Josh, you worked for the man. Did he ever let a slight go unpunished? And you ratting him out was a lot more offensive than a slight.” Taking advantage of the gulping swallows coming through the phone, Joe laid it on thick.

“Geography won’t be a hindrance. Panella’s got a surplus of money. Thirty million will buy a lot of contract killers. He can send one right after the other. They’ll come in waves. He’s already sending two at a time. He won’t die happy till you die miserable.”

Josh began to sob in earnest. “He always threatened to kill Jordie first. He swore he would if I ever double-crossed him.”

“Looks like he’s made good on that threat, doesn’t it? Guess who’s up next? You. Unless you let the government protect you.”

“Protect me? Ha! You’ll put me in prison.”

“Maybe you can strike another deal with the DOJ. But you lose any bargaining position you have if you continue to run. And without us shielding you, you’re fair game for Panella. So tell me where you are. Agent Hickam and I will come get you. You’ll be safe.”

“I am safe. I want Jordie to be safe.” He gave a liquid sniff, then mumbled, “Maybe we could work together.”

Joe looked sharply at Hick, who raised his eyebrows with interest. “What do you have in mind, Josh?”

“First, you’ve got to tell me the truth. Is Jordie dead?”

“God’s truth, I don’t know.”

“But you think he’s killed her, don’t you? Don’t you?”

Joe figured that Josh Bennett was angling to cut another deal, and the sly little shit had proved to be a stubborn negotiator. Would it be better to hedge or to level with him?

He knew Hick was following his thoughts and silently consulted him. Hick tipped his head as though to say Your call.

Joe decided to give it to Josh straight. “Given this man’s reputation, the odds are not in Jordie’s favor.”

Shaw Kinnard was going to kill her and collect his two million dollars. That was what would happen unless she could escape him, or prevent him.

Navigating the labyrinth of channels behind the building was out of the question. She had no idea how deep the water was, and determining its depth would be hazardous enough. Just by wading into it, there were any number of ways by which she could perish: alligators, poisonous snakes, and becoming ensnared underwater in the tangled roots of vegetation that grew above as well as below the opaque surface.

She also had no idea how far-reaching the swampy waterway was or to where it led in any direction. If she were to survive in it, she could meander for days and get exactly nowhere before the elements claimed her life.

Looking behind her, she considered the gravel lane by which they’d arrived. But how far away was the main road? She’d thought she had posed her question about the distance to it quite cleverly, but Shaw had seen through her disingenuousness and had avoided telling her. If she attempted to make it there on foot, he could easily run her down in the car.

She didn’t have wings.

So escaping by water, land, or air was out. Which meant she had to prevent him from killing her.

Her only possible means of doing that was inside the building.

She reviewed her limited options once more, but no new ideas came to her. She was only delaying the inevitable. With trepidation, she reached for the broken latch and pulled open the door. The building was in total blackout, the air inside as dank as a cave.

“Come in.” His voice was disembodied. She couldn’t see him.

“I can’t see where I’m going.”

After a lengthy silence when all she could hear were her own heartbeats against her eardrums, he opened the car door and the dome light came on. It did more to emphasize the surrounding darkness than to relieve it.

He was standing on the opposite side of the car, only his head and shoulders visible above the roof of it. “Did you get wet?”

Until he asked, Jordie hadn’t even noticed that her hair and clothing had indeed absorbed the mist while she’d been outside contemplating the only hope she had of surviving.

The mere thought of what she must do sickened her. But more sickening was the thought of dying like Mickey Bolden.

The bandana with which she’d tied her ponytail felt soggy and heavy against the back of her neck as she nodded in reply to his question. “Yes, a little.”

“Maybe there’s something in the trunk you can use to dry off.”

Her heart thumped hard. He’d just given her an excuse to go back to the spot where she’d taken her sponge bath. But she didn’t want to appear too eager to get there. “What have you got?”