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“Have to ask: You know how to use that thing?” Colter whispered.

“I plink pennies with my twenty-two on the range. Make souvenirs for the twins and their friends. Twenty-five and fifty feet.”

Hitting coins at that distance? Hell, she could outshoot him.

“Lie face down on the ground!” she called.

Bear was crouching, the can now resting on the grass. His hand rested atop it, and he wasn’t doing as she instructed.

Starr said, “I’m considering that a deadly weapon and you should understand that that authorizes me to use force to stop you.”

Nothing.

“Sir, that translates into I am about to shoot you in the face.”

“All right!” He released his grip on the can.

A breeze blew it over.

No!

He’d been faking the weight. The gas was already under the van. And in his left hand was a cigarette lighter.

Without a word, Starr fired but just as she did, Bear dropped fully to the ground and touched the lighter to the pool of gas.

It erupted in a huge tower of orange and blue flames and a cloudof smoke. The man probably lost hairs on his forearm and maybe some skin but the tactic worked. He had put up an effective smoke screen. They heard two shots from the other side as the man fired, but he had no better target of them than they did of him. Glancing back to the command post, Colter saw that Tolifson, Dorion and Lavelle were crouching but none had been hit.

He and Starr didn’t return fire.

Never fire a weapon without a clear view of your target and what’s behind it.

The two ran forward to the van, and he skirted the flames to the left, Starr to the right, both staying low. But the man was gone.

Starr could get nowhere near the rear door, the only one accessing the prisoner compartment. Colter glanced into the driver’s seat; there was a small grille-covered window between the driver’s and the prisoner’s areas. It was, however, only eight inches high.

Annie Coyne’s screams cut through the air—piercing even from inside the enclosed space.

Starr tried again but had to back away. “Colter, what should I do? I can’t get close! Can we shoot the lock out? She’s dying in there. Jesus!”

“No. Locks don’t shoot out.”

“Henry and the fire truck, they’re at the evac station. I don’t know—”

Colter squinted at the van and the surroundings. He said calmly, “Drive it away.”

“What?”

“Just get in and drive away from the flames. Fifteen feet, twenty.” He pointed uphill toward the CP.

“Oh.” A why-didn’t-I-think-of-that grimace. She ran to the driver’s side, leapt in and started the engine, then sped forward.

Colter looked underneath. The flames hadn’t spread far or enthusiastically, because of the soaked terrain, and the vehicle had not caught fire.

Starr stopped abruptly, slammed the transmission into park and jumped out, running to the back door.

Covering her as she opened the lock, looking for Bear, Colter called over of the roar and crackle of the flames, “You understand she’s innocent.”

“Yeah, yeah, Colter. All good. We’ll get it taken care of.”