Nothing.
He got to his knees and then, urged by pain, quickly stood up.
He double-checked his gun. Secure in its ankle holster. A pat to the pocket to guarantee that he still had the keys.
He headed into the woods behind the cabins, away from any paths, away from any light, away from any guards.
Deep into a stand of pines, Jack went off the path and navigated around the side of the camp, away from the lake and the lodge.
At one point, the strip of woods narrowed and he came close to the fence.
He moved slowly there.
A thought: What if they have motion detectors out here?
But how could they? Every small rodent would trigger it.
Once he heard voices—guards patrolling the nearby fence.
But then the woods opened up again, and Jack quickly moved away from the fence, curling well behind the Great Lodge, behind the field and the cabin where Shana had so effectively split wood.
The woods ran behind the lodge, close to the parking lot before merging with a sloping hill dotted with pine trees and the dead trunks of deciduous trees.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness. He reached a secluded spot near the lot.
Jack crouched down and left the safety of the trees for the maze of cars filling the lot.
So many cars.
He could have used the electronic key, but the flash of lights would advertise that someone was there.
Instead, he tried the car key in the one thing he thought would not produce a light.
The trunk.
Moving from car to car, crouching the way he imagined soldiers did in some godforsaken city filled with snipers.
How long before a guard on his rounds spotted him? Called for some help to see who the hell was down there.
Then what? Jack making up some bullshit story about how he got out of his cabin? And what the hell was he doing?
So many cars.
He came finally to one near the back of the lot, the car pointed at the hill leading up to the service camp.
Parked that way, Jack would be totally exposed as he went to the trunk.
He used his fingers to find the lock on the trunk. Then, keeping his fingers there, he slid the key in.
It fit.
He turned it.
A click, then the trunk attempting to fly open.
But Jack held it open a crack, the trunk light squelched by the lid being held low.
He slid to the left of the car, finally out of sight of anyone who might look down at the lot.
He couldn’t enter the car. The inside would light up. And like most cars, the interior light would stay on for a good few minutes.
He brought his head up slowly to look inside. Just at the level of the door lock. Another inch, so he could look inside.
On the dashboard—a picture magnet. The frame looked like a palm tree.
A picture in the frame.
Too damn dark to see.
He looked over his shoulder.
He’d have to risk a quick flash.
It would have to be so goddamn fast.
He dug out the flashlight.
He held the compact light next to his eyes. He aimed the light as if it was a weapon.
Targeting the small frame stuck just to the side of the radio.
It was possible that the frame held nothing.
Some knickknack that someone bought along. Empty. Useless
He held the light close to his face, breathing steadily. One quick flash.
Three, he thought.
Two.
One.
Now.
His thumb flicked the light on, then off.
To anyone looking, it might have seemed like an illusion. A flash of light? A lightning bug? Maybe nothing.
But Jack’s eyes had been locked on the small magnetic frame.
The light had missed its target by an inch or more, but there was enough of a glow around the core ray to hit the frame.
For Jack—whose eyes were locked on that frame—to see:
Tom Blair. His wife, Sharon. The two boys.
Then the image was gone.
Jack fell back, falling onto the ground.
He felt sick. He could throw up. The fear so real now.
And only after sitting there for what seemed like such a long time did Jack look up.
To see a glow on the car’s front windshield.
A glow, picking up a reflection from the hill, from the service area up on that hill, up that road.
Something fiery, streaming up, way above the treetops, dissipating into a plume of smoke.
The reflection danced on the windshield of Tom Blair’s car. Something happening up there so late at night.
This night wasn’t over.
Not yet.
Again, Jack got into the painful crouching position.
He knew where he had to go.
He started a slow careful climb up the small hill.
33
1:41 A.M.
Christie turned in the bed and let her arm reach out, a chill in the air making her seek warmth.
Instead, her arm touched nothing. The years of sleeping with another person by her side, just right
