She'd called herself Saskia, but no one believed that was her real name. If she had a husband, she'd never said. She was a weaver and a painter, but not the most attentive of mothers. Ty had pretty much grown up on his own. Even as a little boy, he'd wander up on the ridge trail for hours before his mother would even realize he was gone. She died four years ago, leaving him the house and fifty acres of woods and meadow. Everyone expected him to sell it, but he didn't, although, given the demands of his military career, he wasn't around much.

Hank Callahan shifted. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to put some serious mileage between me and the guys with guns."

Carine steadied her breathing. "What about your other friend Manny-"

"Don't worry about Carrera," Ty said. "He can take care of himself. What's the best route out of here?"

"We could follow the stone wall. There's an old logging road not far from the shack-"

He shook his head. "If the shooters are using the shack, that's the road they'd take. They'll have vehicles."

She thought a moment. "Then we should follow the stream. It's not as direct, but it'll take us to where we parked."

"How exposed will we be?"

"From a shooter's perspective? I can't make that judgment. I just know it's the fastest route out of here."

"Fast is good," Callahan said.

Ty nodded, then winked at Carine. "Okay, babe, we'll go your way."

She didn't remember him ever having called her "babe" before today.

Thirty minutes later, as they came to the gravel parking area, they heard an explosion back in the woods, from the direction of the shack and the shooters. Black smoke rose up over the trees.

Hankwhistled."Iwonderwhothehelltheseguysare."

Manny Carrera emerged from behind a half-dead white pine. He couldn't have been that far behind them, but Carine hadn't heard a thing. He was another PJ, a dark-haired, dark-eyed bull of a Texan.