As Burgade started to set off, the other dogs started barking with great resentment at Voodoo. He hunched low and growled.

Let Noah be the master of the other three dogs. Burgade would be happy to settle for Voodoo. Burgade glanced back at the cabin, glimpsed Fargo’s face in the window. One thing Noah was right about, for sure. Fargo was going to give them a lot rougher time than anything ever had.

He was going to be one nasty sumbitch.

Fargo said, “Take off your clothes.”

“What?” Nancy said.

“Only chance we’ve got.”

He explained quickly. She agreed without hesitation, slipping out of her jeans and shirt to reveal the curves and hollows and swells of flesh that he had known all too recently. In the moonlight, she looked pale and ethereal, her dark eyes, her naturally red lips, and the explosion of black pubic hair the most vivid parts of her now.

Fargo grabbed a chair. Dragged to the spot in front of the door.

“I’m going to feel awfully damned foolish if he doesn’t go for this, Fargo.”

“He’ll go for it.”

“He’s awfully old, Fargo.”

He sat her in the chair, touching her shoulders as he adjusted her sitting position. Her flesh bedazzled him for a moment and despite the fear and tension of the night, he felt himself surge to arousal.

“You’ll make him feel young again.”

“Boy, do you have the gift for bullshit.”

Fargo laughed. “Now remember, when he comes through that door, you make yourself look as available as possible. I only need him distracted for a few seconds.”

“Then you jump him from behind the door?”

“That’s how it’s s’posed to work, anyway. Maybe he turns around on me and shoots me in the gut.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“And Stephanie, as soon as the door opens, you start your fake crying.”

Stephanie said, “It won’t be fake, Fargo. This whole thing has really started to overwhelm me.”

“Well, just remember to start crying.”

Fargo tried to imagine what it would be like for Noah. You open the door and you are immediately confronted with two images. A voluptuously beautiful girl sits in a chair, her legs parted slightly, the totality of her lush body on display. Your attention is about to settle on that when—

At the same time, the gunshot-like cries of a woman in great distress can be heard from the corner. Which do you look at? What’s going on here? Is this some kind of setup? But before you can puzzle your way through all the questions, suddenly all such questions are moot. Because here comes Fargo out of nowhere—actually, from behind the door—tackling you around the neck and hurling you to the ground, taking your Spencer away from you as you see the floor coming up to smash your face in.

I sure as hell hope this works, Fargo thought. “What’s he doing now?”

“Going to the bathroom.”

“Peeing, I take it?”

“Yes. If it was the other one, I couldn’t watch.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“If you manage to get his Spencer away from him,” Nancy said, “remember that I’m the one who gets to kill him.”

“I thought you wanted to kill Burgade,” Fargo said.

“Just like a man,” Nancy said. “You don’t listen to anything women have to say.” She paused. “The deal we had, Fargo, was that I got to kill old Noah and Stephanie got to kill Burgade.”

“I want to shoot him right in the crotch,” Stephanie said.

“What’s he doing now?” Fargo asked Stephanie.

“Taking a drink from a bottle of bourbon.”

“He’s getting ready,” Fargo said.

“I still don’t know how you could do that to your own brother,” Stephanie said. “Now, he’s checking over his Spencer.”

“All right,” Fargo said. “Everybody get ready.”

“I have the easy part,” Nancy said. “All I have to do is sit here in my birthday suit.”

They got ready. Nancy sat up straight in the chair. Stephanie cleared her voice several times, so her fake weeping would come across clearly. And Fargo positioned himself behind the door. This could all go very wrong very easily, he knew. Burgade could suddenly show up again, for one thing. He’d hear the commotion and be in the cabin with his dogs instantly. At this point, he wouldn’t give a damn about saving the hunt. He’d just want to protect Noah. And he’d do anything he could to save the old man, up to and including siccing his dog on the two young women and Fargo.

This time, Stephanie spoke up without being asked. “He’s got a pistol in his holster. He’s checking that one, too. He looks like he’s about ready to come down here. He’s straightening his hat. He’s dusting off his trousers. He’s straightening his hat again.”

He smiled. Kind of sweet, what she was doing. She didn’t have to give him every damned tiny detail. She’d probably report him picking his nose. Lord, he hoped not.

“Here he comes,” she said.

23

The closer they got to shore, the more the growl intensified in Voodoo’s chest and the harder the time Burgade had restraining the dog. Voodoo had seen and smelled a man being torn apart. He wanted some of the same for himself.

Nobody on the dock. Nobody on the near shore. The river was still, shimmering silver in the moonlight. Burgade wondered if seeing Aaron Tillman die had unhinged the animal, made him start imagining things because he was so eager for the hunt. But, no. Voodoo was the best hunter Burgade had ever come across. He could track a snowman in a blizzard, as some of the older dog handlers like to say.

Voodoo ran several feet ahead. The growling grew steadily louder.

Burgade suddenly got interested in this little prowl. He was sure now that Voodoo had scented something, sure now that somebody had come onto the island. Maybe they had guessed that everybody was busy with something else and it was a good time to sneak on. But who were they and why were they here? Whoever they were, they’d done him a favor. He would have the pleasure of telling Noah that he’d been wrong. That Voodoo had correctly warned them of intruders. Burgade would also like to tell Noah how wrong he was about many other things, too. But he knew better than that.

They sure weren’t good at stealth, Burgade realized soon enough. They were not far away from him as he walked the shore. Maybe ten, fifteen feet into the forest at most. But they trampled on and stumbled over everything in their way.

They’d likely heard Voodoo by now, too. Burgade sensed this because of how they’d picked up their pace. Running now—trampling and stumbling all the way—in the direction of the clearing and the cabins.

He knew a cut-off about three-quarters of the way to the cabin. He caught up with Voodoo and stage- whispered a new command. The animal smelled of heat and spittle and urine. Its entire body shuddered and shook. It sensed Burgade’s excitement. If Burgade was excited, that meant the kill was near.

Voodoo led the way into the forest. Knew instantly the origin of the trail and all its curves through the woods.

A different light spilled on the trail, a light broken by the leaves and limbs of the trees that formed a canopy above them, a grotesque cross-hatching of silhouettes slithery as snakes. A nightmare land that looked like nothing

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