The stand of sumac was fifty yards to the south, between a grove of birch near the shoreline and the mixed hardwood and evergreen that ran up to the main road. Although it was only July, some of the sumac leaves were already showing the blood red that usually came in late August. The stand was thick, and though Cork didn’t see anything, he had no doubt that Dross had spotted someone.

“How do you want play this?” he said.

“Let’s try being reasonable first.” She leveled her weapon at the sumac. “You in the woods. This is Sheriff Marsha Dross. Come out now with your hands up.”

There was sudden movement, a shiver among the sumac bushes, then everything went still again.

“They’ve run,” Cork said.

Dross holstered her weapon. “Let’s go.”

Although the undergrowth along the shoreline was dense, they broke through at a sprint. Branches slapped at Cork’s face and arms, and vines tugged at his legs. As he leapt over the trunk of a storm-toppled tree, his trailing foot caught in a dense tangle of brush and he went down. It took him a few moments to disentangle himself and to grab his rifle from where it had fallen. When he came up, he could no longer see Dross. He could, however, hear a woman screaming.

It took him nearly another minute to work his way to the source of the screams. He came out of the trees at the edge of the water, where the ground dropped suddenly a half dozen feet into the lake. Dross was already there, shedding her Kevlar vest. Twenty yards out, amid a great splashing of water, a young woman fought against going under. Dross divested herself of her belt and holster, knelt, and in a blaze of finger wizardry, unlaced and removed her boots in a flash. Then she leapt into the water feet first and swam toward the struggling woman.

Cork watched from the shoreline, ready if help was needed. But it was clear to him that Dross was handling the situation. She approached the woman from behind, grabbed her in a cross-chest carry, and despite the woman’s flailing arms, managed to swim her back to shore. Cork grabbed the belt Dross had shed, leaned over the lip of the drop-off, and let the belt dangle.

“Grab it!” he called to the young woman.

Which she did, with both hands. Cork hauled her up, and she fell, wet and exhausted, on the wild grass near his feet. He let the belt dangle for Dross and helped her up as well. She sat breathing heavily next to the young woman, who lay with her face to the sun, her eyes closed. Except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she looked very much like a drowned kitten.

“Nice work,” Cork said to Dross. “Where’d you learn lifesaving?”

“Three summers as a lifeguard on Gull Lake in high school,” she said between gasps.

Cork assessed the young woman. She seemed to him more child than adult. She was clearly Native, her black hair short and tinted blue, and she wore only a halter top and shorts. Her feet were bare and were bleeding from her dash through the woods.

“What’s your name?” Cork asked.

She opened her eyes, stared at him defiantly, and made no reply.

Dross sat up. “Why did you run?”

“You were going to arrest me.”

“If you were being trafficked, no,” Dross said. “You’re the victim in this.”

“Right,” the girl said, clearly not buying it.

“How old are you?” Cork asked.

She only glared at him.

“Sixteen? Seventeen?” Dross said. She spoke gently.

“Eighteen come August.”

Dross nodded toward the girl’s bleeding feet. “Can you walk?”

“I been hurt worse than this.”

“Let’s go back then,” Dross said.

“Rather not.”

“It’s all right. No one’s there who’ll hurt you.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, lady.”

“Are you afraid of Adrian Lewis?” Cork asked.

The name made her flinch.

“He’s dead,” Cork told her.

“Good,” the girl said.

“Okay to go back now?” Dross said. “Our vehicle’s there.”

The girl thought about it, then nodded. She stood up, but when she tried to walk, it was clear she was in pain.

Cork handed Dross his rifle, turned his back to the girl, and crouched. “I’ll piggyback you.”

The girl hesitated.

“Go on,” Dross said. “He’s one of the good ones.”

The girl must have believed this, because in the next instant, Cork felt the weight of her settle onto him.

CHAPTER 39

“You said Toad was dead, right? How?”

Cork had retrieved the first aid kit from his Expedition. They were in the cabin now. The girl sat on the thin cushions of the sofa with her legs propped on a stool. Dross knelt in front of her, tending to the girl’s injured feet.

“Toad?” Dross said.

“Adrian. That’s what we called him.”

“Someone shot him,” Cork said.

“Not you?”

“We think it was Mathias Paavola.”

The girl nodded as if that made sense. “He said he’d kill Toad if he ever hurt any of us again. Where are the others?”

“Others?” Dross said.