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choice.
    Max, however, looked content to hang tight. He wagged his tail, his tongue flicking out the side of his mouth, displaying that infamous smile.
    "Max, back." I pointed him toward Stone, who tilted his head with a quizzical look cinching his face.
    I scooted toward the tree, while Sam pulled my ankle toward him. Once I got my footing, I yoked the thug's thick arm over my shoulder, getting a nose full of wet wool mixed with smoke and ash, odors that revived memories of my accident, threatened to send me back on my ass if I didn't clear my mind. I shook my head to stay focused. And balanced.
    With shaky legs, I hoisted Sam to a wobbly start. He yelped as he tried to sustain his own weight, but most of the load was on me. And I wasn't that sturdy. So I leaned him against the tree before he collapsed and face-planted me with him.
    Panting, Sam locked his arm around my shoulder. I braced myself, waiting for him to recover and relax his grip on me. Or on the gun dangling in front of my chest.
    Stone climbed down the embankment in his dress shoes, cussing quietly but just loud enough I could hear his expletives. "Miss Larson, try explaining what the hell you're doing down—"
    "Stop right there." The thug shifted to stand behind me, his arm binding me in a quick headlock.
    Halting, Stone spotted something at my lower right that alarmed him enough he gasped. At least now I knew where the thug had relocated his weapon.
    Maybe I could kick free, twist and leverage the gun away from the guy. And maybe I could give the detective my coffin size in advance to save time.
    Stone must have sensed my intentions, because he raised a hand. "Stay still, Julie. Do as he says, and we'll all come out fine."
    Max barked but held his ground. A play bark, of all things. Just when I needed him to actually attack a man, he was playing along, a patsy like his mom.
    "Clear my path, Detective," said the thug, his short, hot breaths searing my neck. "No cops, no dogs, no horses. Ten-minute start. Or you know where this is going."
    I thought of the corpse under the leaves, wondered if that was underdog-Sam's handiwork, not Goliath's. Crap, did I know how to pick 'em.
    "Real slow, lady." Sam flattened the cold weapon on my breastplate and leaned me backwards, dragging my feet over the silt and mud. Guns were hot when they'd been fired, not icicles like this. "Move real slow."
    "You're the boss," I choked, less daring with a pistol poised to dig a hole in my chest. Another Glock, like Petosa's, I noted, relieved at the lack of a sulfurous smell in the air. Cold weather could oppress odors, but not enough to keep an experienced nose from detecting cordite, the telltale scent of spent gunpowder. Maybe Goliath had been the shooter after all.
    "Wait, we can talk about this," called Stone. "Just tell me what you want."
    He stepped foot over foot, hand hovering at his holster, till he caught Max's collar and pulled my little buddy out of the line of fire. Oddly, Max complied. At least one of us was being sensible.
    "This isn't a negotiation, Detective. You know the drill. Hostage negotiations aren't your territory. Call it in."
    Gripping his radio, Stone hesitated. His cheeks turned red and I could see him steel his jaw. Then he spoke low and slow into the unit, watching our every step. His eyes locked with mine and he nodded. Stay calm , he was saying, stay alive .
    My mouth was open to speak but dry as chalk. All my snappy comebacks dissolved with the thought of causing Stone or Max to get shot with a bullet they didn't deserve. A bullet with my name on it. All thoughts of "this couldn't be happening to me" shushed. Not only was this nightmare a reality, I'd been waiting for it. Accepted such a fate. And this time, no one was taking the hit for me.
    The thug yanked me into a thicket, where barberry scratched my legs and branches snapped at my head and shoulders. My moves to avoid the forest's assault only made Sam pull harder. I kept my feet under me to aid