"You will? Who asked you to do that?"

"Your wife, of course. She asked me to bring you to her when you arrived."

"Seems like she's thought of everything," Joshua said, under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"Never mind," Joshua said. "It seems like my wife is pretty well connected here. She told the lady at the visitor center that I might be coming today, now she's got you taking me to her, too. Is that regular treatment for guests of residents?"

"No, no," Jimmy said. "But your wife is not a regular resident."

"What do you mean?"

But Jimmy only smiled, and excused himself to attend to deck operations. Frowning, Joshua watched him hurry away.

He pulled the informational booklet out of his back pocket, and scanned it once more. When he reached the section of the brochure describing Hall Hammock, the Geechee community on the island's southernmost tip, he wondered again about Rachel's connection to this place.

It can't be, he thought. And in the next heartbeat: Or could it?

Add one more item to the list of topics he planned to discuss with Rachel.

About twenty minutes later, a lighthouse, striped with fat red bands, came into view. Drawer closer, Joshua made out old houses on high timbers dotting the shore.

He wished he had thought to bring a pair of binoculars. He thought he could see the house he'd seen in his dream, but it was too far away for him to clearly discern it.

If that's the same house out there on the shore, that would mean my dream was a vision of the future, wouldn't it?

A chill settled over him.

The main dock was ahead, crowded with shrimp boats and smaller boats secured to the pilings. He took out his Blackberry to send another message to Eddie, though he hadn't yet received a response on the first message.

And apparently, he wouldn't. The device declared, No Service.

"Damn," he said. But the lack of a service carrier wasn't surprising. With the island's remote location, it most likely fell into one of those infamous cellular dead zones.

As soon as he disembarked, he would try to find a landline. He wanted to call Eddie and hear his voice. It wasn't like his friend to let a half hour pass before he responded to a message. It wasn't like him at all.

Chapter 56.

Eddie didn't black out during his fall down the hard wooden steps. He was wide awake for every stake of pain that stabbed his muscles, alert to an agonizing twist of his ankle, conscious of a spurt of warm, salty blood as he involuntarily bit his tongue.

Finally, he lay at the bottom of the steps on the cement floor, his body contorted like a broken action figure. He'd lost the Taser during his fall; it had clattered away and landed somewhere in the shadows.

He saw Bates at the top of the staircase, the light behind him silhouetting his tall figure in the doorway. Because of the odor, Eddie had thought that the guy was in the basement, but the sneaky bastard had been behind him.

But how could he have crept up behind me? I looked everywhere and I never saw him.

"Eddie," Bates said in a no-nonsense voice. "Where is my wife?"

He called Rachel his wife as if they just got married yesterday-not like she'd filed for divorce four years ago. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

There would be no reasoning with him. Tanisha, may her soul rest in peace, had probably tried to reason with him.

Although it hurt to move, Eddie shifted, verified that he had not lost his Blackberry when he'd fallen. The device was sheathed in a thick, rubber belt holster that protected it from breakage in the event of falls like this.

"Where is my wife?" Bates asked, again, an edge in his voice.

The shadowed basement was a virtual labyrinth; the maze walls the stacks of computer parts and boxes that held all kinds of electronic gadgets. He was a short brother, rail-thin, and now it might really work to his advantage: if he could get away and hide somewhere down here, he could call the police.

"You haven't answered my question," Bates said.

Sweating, Eddie crawled forward, dragging his injured ankle behind him. Although the chamber was dark, he knew every nook and cranny of the cellar as well as he knew his own face.

He heard Bates begin to descend the stairs, heavy feet thumping on the steps. He moved with the unhurried pace of a lion that had already dealt its prey a paralyzing blow.

Eddie pulled himself around a column of old, dust-filmed computer monitors. Drawing up his legs to his chest, he rolled on his side, hissing at the pain the movement caused, and silently unholstered the Blackberry. He didn't need the backlighting feature-he used the device so frequently that it had become like another finger.

With a shaky thumb, he speed dialed 911, cursing at the soft beep the cell emitted. He prayed that Bates didn't hear him.

He heard Bates, however. His loud footsteps were somewhere on the other side of the basement. What was he doing?

The operator answered on the second ring.

Eddie put the phone to his mouth and whispered his name, street address, and why he was calling-because a man named Dexter Bates, wanted for several murders, had invaded his house to kill him. He hung up without waiting for the operator to reply.

They would dispatch the cops. It was standard operating procedure. If they got there in time, they would capture Bates, and this nightmare would be all over for everyone.

He needed to only survive until they got there.

He listened for Bates. He could no longer hear him. But he could smell him. The guy's odor filled the entire basement, like smog, made Eddie want to puke.

Eddie peered around the stack of monitors.

He saw nothing. Only thick layers of shadows, and a narrow aisle flanked with computer equipment and cardboard boxes.

Where was Bates?

Suddenly, two sizzling probes burst from the darkness and attached to Eddie's shirt. Eddie screamed as a tremendous surge of electrical current flooded his body, overpowering his central nervous system. Muscles twitching uncontrollably, he flopped on the floor, foaming at the mouth.

Above him, Bates had appeared like the conclusion of a magician's disappearing act.

"Always wanted to use one of those on someone," he said.

He knelt and picked up Eddie's Blackberry. Pale blue light bathed his face as he worked the device.

"You called the cops," Bates said.

Quivering, Eddie gagged, panted.

"There's a text message from Joshua," Bates said. "He's said he's taking the ferry to the island. What island would that be?"

Curled in fetal position, muscles like wet noodles, Eddie summoned the strength to spit at Bates.

Snarling, Bates flicked away the saliva. He grabbed Eddie's injured ankle in both his hands.

"Last time," Bates said. "What island?"

Eddie whispered thickly, drooling: "Kiss . . . my . . . ass . . . ."

Bates wrenched Eddie's foot viciously, breaking the ankle as easily as a chicken's neck.

Eddie howled. The pain was so intense he wished he could black out, fade away, anything to end the agony.

"What island?" Bates seized Eddie's other foot and braced it between his legs. "Or I will hobble you."

"Hyde," Eddie said. He hated to give up Joshua and Rachel to this monster, but he didn't have the fortitude to hold out any longer. Maybe if he gave this asshole what he wanted he could survive, and warn them. "Hyde . . . Island."

"Hyde Island."

No sooner had Bates spoken the words than Eddie heard a blessed siren, distant but drawing closer.

Bates cocked his head at the sound, cut a sharp gaze at Eddie.

"Please . . . don't kill me," Eddie said. "I've got a wife . . . a son. Please . . ."

Bates smiled, but it was a cruel expression. "Are you planning to father any more kids?"

"Huh? W-why?"

Bates dropped Eddie's foot and pressed the business end of the Taser against the crotch of Eddie's jeans.

Eddie tried to knock the stun gun away, but he was too weak. Bates pulled the trigger, sending the punishing electricity shooting through Eddie, and this time, Eddie did pass out . . . and the darkness that came was, for once, a blessing.

Chapter 57.

Jimmy asked Joshua to wait on the dock once he disembarked, to give him a few minutes to handle his remaining tasks on deck. Joshua found a pay phone at the edge of the dock. He pumped in a couple of coins and dialed Eddie's home phone number.

The line rang four times, and then voice mail picked up.

"Hey, it's Josh. I'm on the island now, and Bates hasn't gotten here yet. Is everything okay there? I sent you a text message a little while ago but haven't heard from you. I'm not getting a cell signal out here, so leave me a message on my landline, all right? Let me know everything's cool. Peace."

Joshua hung up. He scrolled through the list of names and numbers in his Blackberry's address book, didn't find a number for Ariel. He would have to hope that Eddie got his message.

But he worried. Bates was so obsessive, so damn resourceful, that no one close was safe. The quiet on Eddie's end seemed to foretell something ominous.

Jimmy left the ferry, strolled across the gangplank to the dock and waved at Joshua. "Ready, my friend?"

"Let's go." Joshua slung his bag over his shoulder.

They loaded into a battered, black Ford pick up that was parked in a dusty lot on the outskirts of the dock. Like he usually did when riding as a passenger, Joshua pushed the seat all the way back to make room for his legs. Jimmy steered out of the lot and onto a narrow, bumpy road.

"How far away is her place?" Joshua asked, shouting to be heard above the roaring engine.

"About two miles. Not far."

"Are you going to tell me now why my wife is so special here?"

That brought a grin. "Ask her. Maybe she'll tell you."

Well, there's a lot she hasn't told me, Joshua wanted to say, bitterness boiling up his throat. But he kept his mouth shut. Jimmy was right. He should put all of his questions to Rachel. For once in their relationship, she would be forced to be honest with him.

The ride was rough; the road there might have been the same one used during the antebellum era. Numerous rusty cars sitting on sagging tires lined the grassy shoulder. The sun-spangled ocean was on the left, visible through the palmettos and moss-draped live oaks that bordered the road.

Soon, they neared a white sign with blue text that read: Historic Hall Hammock. Established Circa 1857. 445 Acres. Pop. 72.

They entered a community of mostly old, modest homes and trailers that sat on high wooden foundations. A larger brick ranch house had a sign out front that advertised a bed-and-breakfast. A tiny cinderblock store sold groceries, and there was a white stucco church with a large bell.

He didn't see anyone in the street, or in the yards, though winking Christmas lights decorated several of the residences.

"Quiet place," Joshua said.

"Wasn't always this way," Jimmy said. He shook his head sadly. "Everybody's moved to the other side. Ain't no jobs here, no nothing. It's dying."

He steered around a bend in the road, and stopped at a long gravel driveway that led to a two-story, Cape Cod. The house had a fresh coat of white paint, and was in good repair. A row of palmettos ran along the back of the house, the silvery ocean visible between their narrow trunks.

"Your stop," Jimmy said.

Joshua dug in his pocket for his wallet, but Jimmy put his hand on his arm.

"That ain't necessary. I was only doing the girl a favor. Lord knows she deserves it for what she been through."

"Well, thank you."

Jimmy honked, and grumbled away in the truck.

Joshua gazed at the tree-shaded driveway, looked up at the house. In his dream, he hadn't seen the place from the front, but this was the same model, a two-story Cape Cod on the beach. Would it have a patio and a balcony, too?