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He pulled himself to shore and climbed out. “She got out.”

Millwood’s eyes were wide and he looked around. “Where? Where is she?”

“I don’t know. Nine-one-one?”

“I called and somebody’s coming.”

“The Lexus.” Shaw nodded, shivering. “The heater.”

“Oh…Right. I didn’t think.” He ran to the big SUV and turned on the engine, and then hit the controls on the dash. He opened the liftgate, rummaging through bags. He changed clothing.

Shaw walked to his bike and opened his backpack. He too stripped off the wet clothing and pulled on dry attire. The wet items went into a pile. He’d get to them later.

Finally dry socks and his boots.

He began carefully coiling the rope. The world, Shaw had learned, was made up of two kinds of people—those who coiled rope and those who did not. There was no doubt which side of the line he fell into. All survivalists did.

“How much does she weigh?” he shouted to Millwood.

“How much?”

“Fiona? Her weight?”

“One twenty-three. That’s why she’s going to the spa. To lose a—”

Shaw ignored the rest of the words. His question hardly was about her svelte figure; he was asking if she could have been sucked into the cave.

At that weight, no.

So where?

Shaw was looking forward to the blasting heat in the luxury vehicle.

But he realized he couldn’t indulge just yet. He noticed a glint from a nearby ridge of rock. Under an overhang was a mobile phone, backward facing.

The lenses were aimed toward where the Camaro had been, according to the marks in the mud.

The woman had been recording herself.

The device was locked but the screen showed twenty-two missed calls.

He took the phone to the Lexus and climbed into the passenger seat, where the heat cascaded over him.

The sensation was consuming.

“Found this.”

Millwood gasped. “It’s Fiona’s!”

“She was taking a selfie video, I think, about getting the car out of mud, for YouTube or something. It’s not open.”

“I know the passcode.” He typed it in and found the most recent video. He hitPlay.

What Shaw suspected was right. Lavelle was determined to rock the car out of the mud trap—and record herself doing it.

About four minutes in they saw the rear end leap over a branch under the doormat and carpet and slide sideways over the brink, as Fiona screamed.

Then the sound of her choking. Briefly. Then nothing.