Even though it had been almost forty years since that day, Sonny could hardly own up to what he’d done to that boy. He could still remember Revels’s anguished screams as Morehouse held his skinny arm against the workbench so that Sonny could cut the blue-black anchor from his bloody skin.

“Sonny?” came a faint whisper.

Snake again.

“You’re awful quiet in there, brother.”

“Get me out of this cell and I’ll talk a blue streak for you. But till then, leave me the fuck alone.”

But Snake couldn’t do that. “I’m worried about Will,” he said. “They’ve had him out as long as they had you. And Will ain’t got your sand. He’s a couple of years older than you, isn’t he?”

“That’s right. What are you saying?”

“I’m worried he might do what Glenn did, that’s what. He’s the oldest Eagle left, and the idea of jail—or even the possibility of it—might just be enough to break him.”

“Bullshit,” Sonny said, thinking how easy it had ultimately been for him to tell Kaiser what he’d wanted to know. “Will was the seventh man sworn into the group. Frank gave him his Double Eagle. He won’t say anything.”

“Maybe,” Snake conceded. “But what if he did?”

“Then we’ll worry about it then.”

“That could be too late. We learned our lesson with Glenn, didn’t we? You wait too long, and they start talkin’ before you can stop ’em. Right?”

Sonny nodded.

“We might have to try some preventive medicine. In here. You up for that?”

Sonny’s stomach rolled. “Any son of a bitch tries to cut a deal by naming names, he needs to die. We all took the oath.”

“That’s right, brother. You stay ready.”

JORDAN PULLED INTO A diagonal parking space beside the Crossroads Service Station, which stood at the intersection of Highway 24 and the main drag of Athens Point, Mississippi. The town proper lay a mile closer to the river, but this intersection saw most of the commercial action. Three corners were occupied by service stations, the fourth by a large grocery store. The Crossroads Station was the largest of the three; it held a full-service bait shop, an ice cream counter, and a café with booths and tables. The fueling bays did a brisk business with everything from semi trucks to pickups hauling bass boats and ATVs on trailers.

Caitlin had told Terry Foreman to meet them here, and the girl was waiting outside with two red-faced FBI agents standing like bookends at her shoulders, drawing stares from the mostly black clientele of the station.

“Ms. Glass, you scared the crap out of us,” said one of them.

“You also got us in deep shit,” said the other, who obviously knew Jordan better.

Jordan smiled her mischievous smile again. “Look at the bright side. You got the pleasure of hanging out with Terry here.”

Terry blushed. With her blond hair, blue eyes, and trim figure, she still looked like a high-school cheerleader.

“We’d better get moving if you’re going to make your plane,” said the second agent. “We’re cutting it really close.”

“Give me thirty seconds.”

“We’re in the black Suburban.”

“I never would have guessed.”

Jordan took Caitlin’s arm and led her around the corner of the station. Once there, she took Caitlin’s hand and gave her a wholly unguarded smile.

“I had a blast today. I’m sorry we didn’t hit pay dirt, but that’s the way it usually goes. The big coups take a lot of prep work.”

“Thanks for all you did to help me,” Caitlin said. “And thank you for inspiring me when I was a kid. And—”

“Stop it,” Jordan said. “We’re colleagues now, right? Get that through your head. I hope I’m back to shoot the photo spread of the Bone Tree when you find it.”

Caitlin nodded, a strange elation flowing through her.

“Oh, shit,” Jordan said, mock-slapping the side of her head as though she were an idiot. She reached into her camera bag and pulled out the multi-tool she’d lent Caitlin to cut her life jacket loose in the swamp.

“This is for you. I’ve carried it through at least two dozen countries, and it’s never let me down. Time to pass it on to somebody who needs it more than I do.”

Caitlin reached out to take the scarred metal tool. When Jordan dropped it into her hand, she realized that no gift had ever meant more to her. “Can I ask you something cheesy?”

“Sure.”

“Will you be one of my bridesmaids?”

Jordan laughed so loudly that one of the FBI agents walked out to the gas pump island to peer around the corner at them.

“Christ, I’m more like matron-of-honor age now.”

“You’re same age as Penn. Anyway . . . just think about it. And come back soon—and safe.”

“Safe?” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Cuba’s like Miami circa 1955. You’re the one who needs to be careful.”

“I will.”

“Bullshit. You’re just like I used to be. You’d walk into a minefield for a story. And you have the map now. Promise me you won’t try to find the Bone Tree without Carl or some equivalent with you.” She jabbed Caitlin’s chest with her forefinger, only half playfully. “Promise.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

The photographer smiled and then hugged her. “Have babies and be happy,” she whispered fiercely in Caitlin’s ear. “There’s plenty of time for work.”

Jordan’s urgency sent a shock through her, but before she could analyze the feeling, Jordan hiked her camera bag higher on her shoulder and walked toward her car the way Caitlin had dreamed of walking since she was a girl. Like she’d been everywhere in the world at least twice and was on her way to one of the few places she hadn’t seen yet. But the truth was, Jordan had already been to Cuba. She’d flirted with Castro, for God’s sake. And what she wanted more than anything now was what Caitlin already had.

So why can’t I be content? Caitlin wondered.

Jordan didn’t look back as she drove out of the parking lot and turned onto 24, headed back toward Highway 61 South, the black Suburban on her tail.

Terry Foreman walked up to Caitlin and shook her head. “Those guys were pretty cool. Are we heading back now?”

Caitlin looked down at the multi-tool in her hand, wondering what kind of crazy jams it had gotten Jordan out of over the years.

“Caitlin?”

Caitlin looked up at Terry. Actually, she saw no reason to go home just yet. Natchez was filled with reporters, all working the same story, and all hunting for a lead like the one she had folded in her back pocket. Penn and John were still interrogating the jailed Double Eagles, trying to force a confession out of one of them, like stonecutters looking for a crack in the face of a rock. And worst of all, Tom was still missing.

But I still have the map, she thought.

Mose Tyler might have fled the area, but somewhere in Athens Point or Woodville had to be someone who knew the location of the Bone Tree. There were probably quite a few. Most would be white—ex-Klansmen or Double Eagles who’d been there for god-knows-what rituals that made widows out of wives. Those men would never show Caitlin where that tree was. But there must also be black men who knew the tree’s location, as Toby Rambin had claimed he had.

She just needed to find one of them.

“What’s that?” Terry asked, pointing at the multi-tool.

“Just something Jordan gave me to remember her.”

“Huh. Wow.”

Caitlin shoved the tool into the pocket of her jeans.

“Hey,” Terry said, sounding worried. “Don’t look now, but there’s a black guy staring at us. He’s creeping me out.”

“Where?”

“Behind you, at the gas pumps, gassing up a truck.”

“Let’s go in the café, then.”

“Shouldn’t we just head back to Natchez?”

“Not yet,” Caitlin said. “He might follow us down the road.”

Terry’s eyes widened. “God, you’re right.”

Caitlin wasn’t worried about any black guy following them to Natchez. She just wanted to buy some time to think. It would be abnormal if men gassing up their vehicles didn’t stare at two reasonably attractive young women standing outside a combination bait shop/café. She simply wasn’t ready to leave Athens Point yet. In fact, if she had an extra vehicle, she would send Terry back without her, then search for a reliable guide to take her back into the swamp.