My grandmother called begging me to run for my life, completely unaware my brother was framing me for burning down our father's house.

The gravel road leading into the Mercer Lake preservation area was choked with overgrown hemlock and rotting birch trees.

The rain had stopped, replaced by a dense, clinging ground fog that swallowed the Subaru's headlights whole. Leo drove with his parking lights only, maneuvering the vehicle through ruts deep enough to scrape the undercarriage.

"Three minutes out," Leo murmured, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. He glanced down at the transponder on the center console. The little red light was flashing rapidly.

"The GPS monitor," I said, looking down at the thick plastic band locked around my ankle. "They know I'm out of the zone."

"The county sheriff’s department is already dispatching an intercept unit," Leo said grimly. "We have twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five, before Miller and six cruisers swarm this ridge. If we don't have Evelyn and Victoria pinned before they get here, Miller is going to shoot first and ask questions never."

He killed the engine at the crest of a wooded hill.

Below us, half-submerged in the mist, sat the Sterling cabin. It was an ugly, sprawling structure of peeled cedar logs and rusted tin roofing, perched on wooden stilts over the black, stagnant water of the lake's northern inlet.

Parked in the gravel turnaround was a sleek silver Audi sedan.

Victoria's car.

Beside it sat an old pickup truck with a rusted flatbed—the kind used by local farmhands.

"She didn't come alone," Leo whispered, unlatching his glove box and pulling out a heavy, blued-steel Colt .38 revolver. He checked the cylinder, snapping it back into place with a sharp metallic click. "She has her father's old groundskeeper, Garrett. He’s done her dirty work since we were kids."

"We don't shoot unless we have to," I said, my heart hammering a manic rhythm against my ribs. "We need Victoria alive. We need her to open that offshore account in front of the federal marshals."

"You don't know my sister, Maya," Leo said, his eyes hollow in the dashboard gloom. "Victoria doesn't surrender. She cleans up messes."

We moved through the sodden woods like ghosts. The wet pine needles muffled our footsteps, but the smell of woodsmoke and damp rotting timber grew thicker with every yard.

As we approached the rear porch of the cabin, a sound cut through the silence.

A high, metallic *yelp*.

My heart stopped.

Tied to the railing of the rear tool shed, soaking wet and shivering under a canvas tarp, was a golden retriever.

"Barnaby," I breathed.

The dog lifted his head, letting out a sharp whine of recognition. Tyler hadn't shot him. Even in his drug-addled, terrified state, my idiot brother hadn't had the stomach to execute my dog; he had thrown him in the back of the pickup and brought him here.

"Stay down," Leo hissed, catching my arm as I moved toward the shed.

Suddenly, the screen door on the upper deck banged open.

A massive man wearing a stained oilskin duster and heavy work boots walked out onto the porch, holding an empty five-gallon plastic bucket. He had a scarred neck, a shaved head, and a heavy hunting knife sheathed at his hip.

*Garrett.*

"Shut that damn mutt up!" Victoria’s voice drifted through the open door from the interior. "Douse the crawlspace with the kerosene from the shed, Garrett. The lawyer just called. Tyler's arraignment is at five o'clock. The moment he enters his plea, we light this shack and leave."

"What about the old lady?" Garrett grunted, his voice deep and gravelly. "She hasn't spoken since noon. Breathing's real thin."

"If she dies before we burn it, who cares?" Victoria stepped onto the porch. She was wearing black denim and an expensive shearling jacket, holding a glass of amber whiskey in one hand. "The coroner will find smoke in the lungs of the Jane Doe back in Oak Creek. As far as the state of Pennsylvania is concerned, Evelyn Vance burned to death twelve hours ago. This carcass is just garbage for the fish."

Hearing her refer to my grandmother as *garbage* made something break violently behind my eyes.

Every shred of fear, every ounce of hesitation evaporated, replaced by a pure, blinding, murderous clarity.

"Leo," I whispered, not looking back. "Take Garrett."

"Maya, wait—"

I didn't wait.

I broke cover from behind the woodpile, sprinting across the open clearing toward the shed, unlatching the heavy iron crowbar from my belt.

Barnaby erupted into a frantic, joy-filled barking roar.

Garrett spun around, dropping the bucket with a wet thud. "What the—"

"Hey, Garrett!" Leo’s voice boomed from the treeline. *BANG.*

A bullet splintered the cedar beam two inches from Garrett’s ear. The groundskeeper cursed, ducking behind the water tank and drawing a snub-nosed revolver from his duster pocket, firing blindly into the trees.

*BANG. BANG.*

I didn't look at Garrett. I took the exterior stairs three at a time, kicking the screen door open with the full force of my body.

Victoria was already turning from the hallway, a silver automatic pistol gripped in both hands, her pale eyes wide with shock.

"Maya?" she gasped, her finger tightening on the trigger.

I didn't give her the chance.

I swung the crowbar with every ounce of weight in my shoulders, striking the side of her extended wrists with a sickening crack.

The pistol flew across the room, skittering across the pine floorboards and disappearing through an open floor vent into the black water beneath the cabin.

Victoria screamed, clutching her fractured wrist against her ribs. She stumbled backward into the stone fireplace, knocking over a brass poker set that clattered across the hearth.

"You bitch!" she spat, blood rising from her split lip where the recoil had clipped her cheek. "You were supposed to be in jail!"

"Where is she?" I screamed, leveling the iron bar at her throat, the tip hovering one inch from her eyes. "Where is Grandma Evelyn?"

Victoria didn't answer. A feral, cornered look entered her eyes, and she lunged forward, not for me, but for the open kerosene lamp sitting on the mantlepiece.