The ambulance doors hadn't fully closed before Brian was moving.
"Which hospital?" he demanded.
"Branson Regional," a paramedic answered as they secured Molly's oxygen mask tighter.
"She inhaled a lot of smoke. Minor burns. Possible concussion."
"Will she be able to talk?"
"Not now."
The doors shut.
The siren rose.
And the ambulance tore away from the lakeshore.
Brian stood frozen for half a second before turning sharply back toward the chaos behind him.
Fire crews were still spraying the remains of the cabin. Steam rose in heavy white clouds. Tactical teams were sweeping the treeline in expanding arcs.
"Perimeter expanded to two miles," an officer reported.
"Lake patrol checking every dock."
"State patrol notified."
But Brian already knew.
He's gone.
He walked back down toward the hidden cove, boots sliding on loose dirt.
"Dive team," he ordered.
"They're inbound."
He crouched again near the scrape marks.
The boat hadn't just been pushed off.
It had been launched fast.
Panicked speed.
But controlled direction.
"He had this boat staged here for weeks," Tactical confirmed after scanning fuel residue in the cove.
"Recent oil traces."
"Where does that channel lead?" Brian asked.
The lake map was unrolled again over the hood of a truck.
"Back inlet connects to two smaller coves," an officer pointed out. "Both accessible by vehicle within a mile."
Brian's pulse quickened.
"He pre-positioned a vehicle."
"Likely."
"And we were focused on the cabin," the Chief said grimly.
Brian stood abruptly.
"Alert every access road within a ten-mile radius."
"Already done."
"Expand it."
The Chief met his eyes.
"He had a head start."
Brian didn't answer.
Because he was calculating.
If Jack moved by boat for five minutes…
Reached secondary cove…
Had vehicle staged…
He could already be miles away.
And Sarah—
Brian forced that thought down.
Focus.
He grabbed the radio.
"Any sign of secondary vessel near north inlet?"
"Negative."
"South cove?"
"Negative."
A pause.
Then—
"Wait. We've got a disturbance near Rock Hollow inlet. Fresh wake pattern. No vessel in sight."
Brian's head snapped toward the map.
"That's less than a mile."
"Access road?" he asked.
"County Route 17."
Brian was already moving toward his truck.
"Take two units," the Chief ordered.
"I'm going," Brian said.
"You're not going alone."
"I'm not."
He climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door.
The engine roared to life.
Two unmarked SUVs followed close behind as they tore away from the lake access road.
Gravel sprayed.
Sirens stayed off.
Speed climbed.
At Rock Hollow inlet, a small boat ramp cut into the shoreline.
When Brian arrived, the scene was already being taped off by responding deputies.
"Fresh trailer marks," one deputy shouted.
Brian jumped out of the truck.
The ramp was wet.
Water is still dripping off the concrete edge.
He crouched, running fingers across tire impressions in the mud.
"Still damp," he muttered.
"He was here," the deputy confirmed. "Within fifteen minutes."
Brian stood slowly.
"Any witnesses?"
"Older couple at the far dock. They heard an engine but didn't see anyone clearly."
"Direction?"
"Eastbound."
Brian looked toward County Route 17.
Trees lined both sides.
Plenty of escape options.
Plenty of blind turns.
His chest tightened.
Jack hadn't fled blindly.
He'd mapped this.
Every cove.
Every road.
Every angle.
Back at the hospital, Molly regained partial consciousness as nurses adjusted her IV.
"Miss Johnson, stay still," a nurse instructed gently.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"Sarah…"
"You're safe," the nurse said.
"Brian…"
"He's on his way."
But Molly wasn't calm.
Her breathing quickened.
"He had a map," she rasped.
The nurse leaned closer.
"What kind of map?"
"Folded… in his bag… marked…"
Her heart rate spiked on the monitor.
"We need to call the detective," the nurse said.
Back at Rock Hollow, Brian's phone vibrated.
He answered immediately.
"She's awake," the nurse said. "She's asking for you."
"I'm coming."
He hung up and turned to the Chief.
"He had a map."
"Of what?"
"We don't know yet."
The Chief nodded.
"Go."
Brian didn't waste a second.
At Branson Regional, the emergency department buzzed with tension.
News was already leaking.
Helicopter down.
Cabin explosion.
Officer involved.
But no official statement yet.
Brian pushed through the hallway and into Molly's room.
She looked pale under hospital lighting.
An oxygen cannula rested beneath her nose now.
Her jaw was bruised.
Wrists bandaged.
But her eyes were alert.
"You found him?" she asked immediately.
"No."
Tears welled instantly.
"He had a map," she said urgently. "In the pack."
"Of where?"
"I don't know… I saw markings… red lines."
Brian's mind raced.
Route planning.
Multiple exits.
Maybe multiple safe locations.
"Did you see any names? Towns?"
She closed her eyes, concentrating.
"One word… maybe… Ridge… something."
Ridge.
He replayed the lake map in his head.
There were at least six roads with Ridge in the name within thirty miles.
He leaned closer.
"Think."
"Metal case… in the crawlspace… before the fire…"
His eyes sharpened.
"You're sure?"
She nodded weakly.
"He opened it earlier… before the storm…"
Brian stood instantly.
"If there was a secondary stash, fire might not have reached it."
He turned toward the door.
"Stay with her," he told the nurse.
And then he was moving again.
Back at the lake, fire crews had reduced the cabin remains to blackened rubble.
The heat had lowered enough for search teams to re-enter carefully.
"Rear quadrant stable enough," tactical reported.
Brian dropped to his knees near where the crawlspace entrance had been.
They dug carefully through charred boards and ash.
Minutes stretched.
Then—
"Metal!"
An officer pulled free a warped but intact waterproof case, blackened but sealed.
Brian took it carefully.
Hands steady.
He opened it.
Inside:
A folded laminated map.
Two spare burner phones.
A small stack of cash.
A second set of keys.
And red lines drawn across the map.
Multiple routes.
Multiple rural properties circled.
The Chief leaned over his shoulder.
"He had backups."
"Yes."
Brian's eyes scanned the circled areas.
Cabins.
Remote lots.
Abandoned farmhouses.
This wasn't desperation.
It was phase two.
And Sarah was somewhere on that map.
Brian closed the case slowly.
"He didn't run," he said quietly.
"He relocated."
The Chief nodded grimly.
"This just went interstate."
Brian looked back at the calm surface of Table Rock Lake one last time.
Smoke had faded.
The cabin was gone.
But the hunt had just begun.
And somewhere out there—
Jack was moving.
With Sarah.
Alive.
For now.