Cadie had never been happier to be on solid ground than she was the moment she stepped out of Bill's helicopter onto the pontoon at Shute Harbor. The last few minutes of their flight had been a nightmare as they'd found themselves deep in the teeth of the storm. The blonde had a b.u.mp on her eyebrow, a bruise already developing where she had had a close encounter with the chopper's internal bulwark during one particularly wild wind gust. She clambered out on shaky legs as soon as Bill gave her the all clear and waited until the pilot joined her. They ran together through the pouring rain towards the Cheswick Marine pontoon.

"No offence, Bill, but I'm in no hurry to get back in that thing again," she said breathlessly.

"None taken," he replied.

They arrived at the door of Cheswick Marine only to find the office locked and empty.

"Well, I guess that figures," Bill said. "They would have seen the storm coming, secured the boats, and b.u.g.g.e.red off for the day. They're not going to do much business in this weather."

"Oh great," Cadie grumbled. She tried again to get Jo's cell phone to connect to a network, any network. "And this G.o.dd.a.m.n thing still won't work. d.a.m.n, Bill, I've got to get to a phone." She looked up at the big pilot and noticed his bottom lip was bleeding. She reached up and gently wiped the blood away with her thumb. "What did you hit?"

"Huh?" She showed him the blood. "Oh." He laughed humorlessly. "I guess I bit my lip trying to get us down onto the pontoon." He caught her eye somewhat sheepishly. "One of my hairier landings. Sorry about that."

She patted his arm rea.s.suringly. "Don't worry about it. Given the circ.u.mstances I was just happy to be on the ground in one piece." She looked up at him again. "Come on. Help me find a phone. We've got to get Jo some help."

He gestured in the direction of the main pier. "Well, there's a coffee shop just over there that should still be open. Let's give that a whirl."

They both looked bleakly out at the torrential rain as a large crack of thunder rolled around the harbor.

"Last one there's a drowned rat," Cadie said, sprinting off into the downpour.

Jo came upon the huge paper bark gum tree suddenly. She hadn't been sure she would be able to find it, but here it was, tall and imposing, the only one of its species in this part of the forest. She circled it carefully, looking for the mark she had placed on its trunk five years earlier.

There. A barely visible arrow scratched into the bark.

Jo dropped to her knees and quickly swept away layers of leaves and twigs. The rich, damp smell came on strong as she disturbed years' worth of mulch and debris. Finally she was down to the loose, dark topsoil and she began digging in earnest.

Three torn fingernails later she found what she was looking for-a plastic-wrapped package. She pulled it up out of the ground and sat back against the trunk of the tree, shooing away a large huntsman spider as she did so.

Jo turned the package over in her hands, looking for the way in. She ripped the plastic apart and pulled out the oilcloth-wrapped bundle inside. She balanced it on her knees and gently unfolded the cloth. She gazed at the contents for a few moments.

Never thought I'd see you again, old friends.

She picked up the piano-wire garrote, the small wooden handles smooth in her hands as she pulled the wire taut experimentally. Carefully she curled the weapon into a loop and tucked the handles into her belt. Next, she took up the thin, long-bladed knife, testing the blade carefully with the pad of her thumb.

Razor-sharp, just the way I left you, she thought grimly, as she slid the stiletto into her sock.

Last of all she picked up the gun, its familiar weight alarmingly comforting. The Colt had been custom-built for her, the grip tailored to fit her palm perfectly. As Jo curled her fingers around it, a wave of memories washed through her. Faces from the past, gunshots, and the smell of spent bullets.

You and me again, huh? I hope to Christ I don't have to use you today. She inspected the gun carefully. And if I do, I hope I remember how to use you well.

Somehow, though, she doubted that was going to be a problem, as her hands found their way into old routines seamlessly. She tipped the .45 caliber bullets out of their box and into her palm, quickly sliding the magazine out of the gun and clicking the bullets into place, before sliding it home again. She stood, tucking the gun into the waistband of her shorts just behind her right hip.

Time to go.

They made it into the shelter of the kiosk just as the storm seemed to redouble its efforts. Cadie spared a thought for the Sea-wolf &n& her pa.s.sengers, trying to imagine what it would be like out on the water in this, even if the anchorage was sheltered. For right now though, her biggest concern was finding some back-up for Jo. A quick look around the shop yielded little cause for optimism.

Half the s.p.a.ce was given over to a souvenir and gift shop. There were carousels of postcards and piles of t-shirts and garish tea towels hanging along the walls. The other half was a slightly seedy-looking coffee shop. There were only three customers-a Scandinavian couple hefting two enormous backpacks and over in the corner, a middle-aged man in a cheap, wet suit.

Cadie headed straight for the counter and Caught the attention of the waitress who was sitting reading a paperback romance.

"Excuse me?" the blonde asked. "Is there a chance I could use your phone? It's an emergency and I can't get a line on my cell phone."

The woman stood, pulling the shop's phone over with her. "You're welcome to try, darl, but the line always goes down in storms like this. There's a big transformer between here and Air-lie Beach that always seems to get hit by lightning every single time."

Cadie's heart sank as she picked up the receiver and jiggled the b.u.t.ton hopefully. Nothing. f.u.c.k. Now what do I do? She turned and walked back to where Bill was sitting, his wet clothes forming a puddle under his chair. Cadie slumped into the seat opposite him, her mind running at a million miles an hour.

"No luck?" Bill asked. Cadie shook her head forlornly. "Jesus. Cadie, what the h.e.l.l's going on?"

She raised her eyebrows, surprised by the question. "I was hoping you'd tell me, Bill. You've known Jo a h.e.l.l of a lot longer than I have."

He shook his head. "She never talks about her life before she came up here. And people in this part of the world don't ask those kinds of questions. This is a place people come to get away from questions and trouble."

Cadie bit her lip anxiously. Trouble. Jo said she was trouble. "You heard the conversation over the headsets, Bill. All I know is we have to get her some help. Where's the nearest police station?"

"Airlie Beach. In this weather that's probably going to take almost an hour. a.s.suming we can find someone to lend us their car."

Cadie rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me, your car is in Airlie Beach?"

He nodded grimly.

Another huge crack of thunder coincided, paradoxically, with a cheerful chirping from the cell phone in Cadie's hand.

"Yes!" she yelled, as the LCD showed four bars of connection to the network. Quickly Cadie keyed through the menu items till she found one marked "Harding, K." "Thank you, G.o.d. It's ringing," she said, half to Bill and half to the universe. She was vaguely aware of someone else's cell phone also kicking into life somewhere else in the shop, its ring tone vaguely distracting.

"Harding."

Cadie's jaw dropped as the phone was answered in stereo-in her ear, and simultaneously from across the coffee shop. She turned and met the gaze of the seedy-looking fat guy in the corner. She hung up the phone and walked towards him.

"You're Ken Harding?" she asked.

"Last time I looked at my driver's license, that's what it said," he said gruffly. "Who wants to know?" He stood up to meet her.

"M-my name's Cadie Jones," she replied, tentatively reaching out a hand to shake his. He's got sweaty palms, she thought. "I'm a friend of Jo Madison."

"You're kidding," Harding said, his eyes lighting up. "What the f.u.c.k are the chances of that?" He sat down heavily and Cadie took the seat opposite him, waving Bill over to join them.

"What are the chances of you being here?" she asked the detective. "Jo said you were in Sydney."

Harding took off his battered fedora and placed it on the table next to his cigarettes and his cell phone. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and patted his damp, balding forehead with it. "I came up here on a hunch," he said. "Where is Jo? I really need to warn her about something."

Cadie snorted. "I think she's already taking care of what you were going to warn her about. That's why I was trying to get hold of you."

"She's up at her house, trying to rescue a friend of hers who's being held hostage," Bill interrupted.

Harding turned noticeably paler under his florid complexion. "Christ in a wheelbarrow, I hope you're joking," he said bluntly.

Cadie shook her head. '"Fraid not, detective. We need to get her some help."

Harding stood suddenly, shoving his hat back on his head roughly and gathering up his things. "Come on. It's time to get the cavalry. You can tell me everything you know on the way," he said, moving towards the door and the still-raging storm.

"I was hoping you'd be telling me," Cadie muttered, following the policeman out into the rain.

Mr. Cigarette had gained a friend. The second man was older, short and squat, and the Uzi in his hand was a menacing reminder to Jo that she was playing in the big leagues again. The newcomer was arguing with his younger colleague.

"Get out there, you f.u.c.kwit," he growled, nudging the bigger goon with the b.u.t.t of his gun. "This b.i.t.c.h is coming to us. It would be nice if we could have some warning. That means you've gotta get out there and look for her, numb nuts."

"Aw geez, Des, it's p.i.s.sing down."

That earned him a clip to the back of the head from the short guy's free hand. "You idiot," he snarled. "Which would you prefer? Getting soaked to the skin, or having your teeth extracted through your a.r.s.ehole when Marco finds out you let Madison sneak up on us? Now, get out there!" He kicked the taller man in the backside, sending him stumbling out into the downpour.

Mr. Cigarette flicked his b.u.t.t into a puddle, cursing softly under his breath as he hoisted the sawed-off shotgun off his shoulder. With all the subtlety of a rampaging water buffalo, he stomped off into the undergrowth to begin a wide circuit of the house through the bush.

From her vantage point deep in the scrub, Jo smiled quietly. This was going to be almost too easy. For about five minutes she tailed the tall man, staying just out of sight. She traveled silently, sometimes sliding ahead of him, sometimes alongside him. Finally, when they were well out of sight of the house, she slipped quietly up behind him, unsheathing the stiletto from her sock in one swift motion.

Jo crash-tackled the man from behind, causing the shotgun to spill out of his hands and land out of range as he hit the muddy ground hard. Her weight pinned him from knees to shoulders. Quickly she slid the knife up under his chin, pressing against his skin, but not drawing blood, while her other hand grabbed his hair and pushed his face into the puddle beneath them.

"Surprise, surprise," she muttered in his right ear. The man bucked under her, trying to raise his nose and mouth out of the filthy water. He spluttered as she pushed him back down. "Now, now, my friend. Don't compound your mistake by fighting me. You can't win." She let him up for a quick, heaving breath, and then pressed him into the puddle again.

"You've got about 30 seconds to tell me what I want to know, or you're going to wish you were never born." She flicked the dark, rain-soaked hair out of her face. She watched the man struggle to breathe for a few seconds more, than lifted his face clear again. "Ready to talk?"

He nodded quickly, spitting mud and water. "W-what, what do you want to know?" he asked.

She laughed humorlessly. "Boy, you really aren't the brightest light on the Christmas tree, are ya?" she asked. "What I want to know, Einstein, is how many of you there are, and where Marco and the boy are."

He hesitated briefly and she shoved him back into the mud once more.

"Don't test me, ya buffoon." She pulled him back again. "Talk."

"Three," he spluttered. "There's three of us, including Marco. He and the boy are upstairs, in the living room."

"Okay. Is the boy alive?"

The man nodded. "But Marco's been having some fun with him."

Jo set her jaw grimly. She knew all too well the kind of fun Marco liked to have. Without another word she drew her arm back, unleashing a vicious punch to the henchman's head, knocking him stone cold unconscious. Quickly Jo stood and walked to the nearest big tree, where she found a lantana vine winding its way around the trunk. With a grunt she yanked it free and sliced off a length with her knife.

Within a couple of minutes she had hog-tied the man and rescued the shotgun from where it had fallen.

No. Too much to carry. Quickly she buried the weapon under a pile of leaves and branches. Now for Mr. Uzi.

She worked her way back to the house. There was a cacophony of sound around Jo as the storm intensified. The sky was prematurely dark and the rain was coming down in sheets. Soon she was back at her vantage point behind the log, watching silently as Mr. Uzi paced up and down under the shelter of her verandah. Jo looked down at her watch and was surprised to see it was only a little over an hour since Bill and Cadie had dropped her.

Feels like about a month, she thought grimly. She watched as the man paced towards her, his eyes sweeping the bush surrounding him. He's wondering where his mate's gone. The question is, do I wait to him to come looking for him, or do I go to him? Of course, I could just take him out with a bullet from here, without him even knowing what's. .h.i.t him.

But something, some civilizing thought deep inside her railed against that notion.

I don't want to cross that line again. Not if I can find another way. For a fleeting few seconds Cadie's face swam in front of her eyes. For her. And for me. A grim thought floated through her consciousness. I just hope that hesitation doesn't cost Josh his life.

Mr. Uzi turned away from her and started walking away, towards the other side of the house. Jo took her opportunity and sprang into life, sprinting out of the scrub and across the small expanse of lawn, banking on momentum and surprise to give her the advantage.

She was almost right. Something tipped the thug off and he swung back towards her, bullets spitting from the gun in his hands even as he turned.

Jo felt time slow down and the world outside the narrow tunnel she inhabited seemed to blur around her. Like that dip-s.h.i.t Keanu Reeves Hick, she found herself thinking in a bizarre piece of mental timing.

Bullets zinged past her and Jo felt weirdly disconnected from what was happening, even as her body threw itself sideways, twisting in mid-air to avoid a bullet she was sure she could see spinning around its own axis as it came towards her. A burning, tearing sensation seared across her upper right arm, and she knew she had been hit, but she felt detached from the feelings, the seeping red penetrating the cloth of her shirt not registering as her own blood.

She hit the ground with a breath-expelling thump and rolled under her Jeep and out the other side. Mr. Uzi had moved forward as he had pulled the trigger and lost sight of Jo as she disappeared under the vehicle. Now she was behind him and Jo made the most of her chance, grabbing a tire iron from the back of the car and flinging it, end over end, at the back of the man's head.

It found its mark with a sickening squishy thump and he dropped like a rock. Something wild in her laughed with exultation but she didn't hang around to see if he stood up again.

Marco knows I'm here now. He had to have heard the gunshots. Now I have to move. And quickly.

She sprinted to the other side of the house, ignoring the sheeting rain that threatened to reduce her visibility to almost nothing. The far side of the house was a blank wall, covered from ground to roof with climbing plants, draped across a st.u.r.dy wooden trellis.

Hold my weight, Jo prayed. Just hold my weight.

She scrambled up, fighting for every toe and finger-hold as the rain was added to by the water sluicing off the roof and the overflowing gutters. Gritting her teeth, Jo ignored the throbbing pain in her arm and the slightly light-headed feeling she had. She refused to look at her wound, concentrating instead on pulling herself up the trellis, as fast and as quietly as she could.

Not that noise was a problem. The storm reached its height, cascades of thunder rolling across the sky like waves advancing onto a beach. Jo pressed on upwards, pulling herself up and over the edge of the roof finally, and slithered across the tiles.

Her objective was a good 20 feet away-the skylight over the main room on the top floor of the house. Jo sized up her options and began crabbing across the front edge of the roof, her grip precarious on the slippery-smooth slate. She reached the skylight and slowly peered over the edge to the room below. What she saw turned her heart to rock-ice.

Josh was slumped on a chair in the middle of the floor. His head lolled backwards and Jo had no trouble seeing the marks of a heavy beating on the teenager's normally handsome face. He was unconscious or close to it, unmoving, and his hands were tied behind his back.

Marco hasn't changed much. Gained some weight maybe. Five years older and slower. She smiled tightly. And balder.

The thug circled Josh slowly, but his focus was outwards, and he was alert.

Waiting for me.

Jo looked down, working out angles and heights. This skylight is not the way in, she decided. Josh is too close underneath it and the gla.s.s is going to hurt him.

She rolled onto her back, sliding her heels down to the guttering at the front edge of the roof. Below her, she knew, were her verandah and the gla.s.s doors leading into the living room.

Please, G.o.d, let those doors be open.

She reached back and drew her gun, checking the action one more time and removing the safety. She inched forward till she was crouching on the front edge of the roof.

Jo looked skyward and waited. It wasn't long before a long, forked streak of lightning lanced across the sky in the near distance. She counted one and then launched herself, twisting as she dropped so she landed facing into the house. Her legs flexed as she hit the wooden deck, absorbing the shock as the lightning's accompanying crack of thunder coincided with her arrival.

To Josh, barely aware, and di Santo, who was standing behind his captive at the time, the effect was devastating dramatic. One second the doorway was clear, the next instant a dark, menacing silhouette filled the s.p.a.ce, backlit by more lightning, its features shadowed, black hair whipping around in the wind.

Jo raised her arm, ignoring the pain as she trained her gun on the hit-man.

Di Santo recovered quickly from the shock of her appearance, reaching down and wrapping his arm around Josh's neck, dragging the teenager to his feet and shielding himself with the young man's body. Jo found herself gazing down the barrel of a gun very similar to her own.

"h.e.l.lo, Marco," she said coldly, taking a step towards him.