CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Camille hurried around the side of the house, using it as a cover in the event the shooter was within sight of the property. As she and Palmer moved towards the back yard, another shout came. It was hard to tell if it was one of agony or alarm. Either way, she supposed, it was someone in need of help.
They came to the back of the house and she peered out quickly. She couldn’t see anyone, but she could still hear the engine further off. Out past the back yard, there was an old, rickety dock. Two boats were tied to it—a standard aluminum fishing boat and a badly maintained johnboat with an outboard motor jutting off the back.
“You know how to drive one of those?” Camille asked.
“I know enough,” he said. “You?”
“Same as you. If we—”
Another gunshot sounded out. This time
