“Jenner? I think the bleeding has stopped.”

He knelt next to her and carefully lifted her shirt.

Deb had kept the gauze pressed firmly against the entrance wound; it was soaked with blood, but the skin around it was dry.

“Can you turn to your side a little?”

Grimacing, she rolled so he could inspect the wound on her back. The Band-Aids he’d pressed across the little slit were holding.

He smiled at her. “Well, the exit looks good, and the entrance wound is pretty dry. But try to stay still—if you move it’ll start bleeding again.”

He stood and walked to the other window to look out over the mangrove swamp. Nash was standing forlornly on the dock; Jenner wondered if he’d make a break for it, just grab a boat and go.

But that wouldn’t work, and Nash would know it. They knew where Nash lived, and if he tried to run, they’d cut his family down before he set foot back on dry land. Besides, Nash didn’t have the guts to run.

When it came down to it, Nash had no choice—if he didn’t, they’d kill him, too.

So, okay, yeah. No two ways: Nash was going to kill them.

As Jenner watched, Nash pulled out his pistol and stared at it. He racked it, checked to see there was a round in the chamber.

When Nash turned to look back toward the shed, the window was empty.