During the four years Angus had been incarcerated, his only visitor had been Wilhelmina Gunn. Her gray hair was tousled around her head like a rat''s nest. Her face looked like old crows had walked across it. She wore a threadbare, khaki-colored smock that hung like a tent over thin shoulders. Everything about her seemed tawdry and aged. Unless you looked carefully at her hands and her intense green eyes. And when she winked. That quick eye movement caused the skin on the right side of her socket to crinkle, showing the edge of some kind of mask.

Angus, unlike the guards, didn''t miss it. Wilhelmina claimed she was Angus'' sixth-grade teacher, come to visit when she heard Angus was in a Canadian prison. Then there was a coded conversation about loving the outdoors and rivers and how you had to be careful about rivers cuz they had a mind of their own. Then another wink. Then Wilhelmina reminded Angus about a bully in school named Samuel, and by then Angus was tracking. Over the next 15 minutes she complained about aging, telling Angus the worst part was the way some people, bullies, would take advantage of a single lady on a fixed income. She wished Angus wasn''t in here, she whined, and that if he was out, she knew he would help her deal with the Samuels of the world. The predators.

The hunters. She told him she couldn''t promise but she was hoping to see him again, maybe when he got out? She mentioned his transfer date and where he was headed, to Minnesota, and she had a cousin in the state she''d been meaning to visit. She told him she''d be waitin'' for him. Another wink. A month later, he got a letter from Wilhelmina, with more code. It included a photo of the woman now in front of him, leaning against the Benz. "My niece Justine," the note said. Prison security opened and read inmates'' letters.

But the letter was just an old lady''s small talk. They saw the photo, and before returning it to the envelope, they passed it around, admiring the old woman''s niece, a looker. "Who are you?" Angus said. "Someone like you," the woman said. "Someone who wants Sam Rivers dead." The name Sam Rivers flushed Angus'' face red. Rivers had killed his friends and put him in prison and eventually got him convicted of murder and put away for life. "What he done to you?" "Does it matter?" Angus was hard, tough, and mean, and for the last four years, he''d been incarcerated.

With men. Not only was a woman in front of him, but she was better-looking than any woman Angus had the rare luck to be with. He started toward her. Her right hand reached behind her and brought out a second Glock. She lifted it in front of her and with two hands pointed it straight at Angus'' head, in a stance that told Angus she knew how to use it. He stopped. When she was sure she had his attention, she said, "You need to focus. As soon as someone back at Medwadekein sees this truck stopped, they''ll radio.

Then it''ll be less than an hour before the patrols come see what''s going on." Angus listened. "Everything you need is in the truck," she said. "New ID. Change of clothes. Money. In the next 60 seconds you need to get rid of that prison suit." "Can''t go south," Angus said.

"You can for 15 miles. Take the road west and keep driving until you can find somewhere to pull over and use what''s in the truck to finish your disguise." "What about Rivers?" "Rivers''ll keep. Three, maybe four days, you''ll have your chance. For now, you got one job. Go west. Stay north of the border. When you get to Saskatchewan, hold up.

There''s a phone in the truck. A burner. Know how to use one?" Angus nodded. "I''ll call you tomorrow. Make sure you pick up." For the moment, her comments made enough sense for him to pause. "I can hunt Rivers myself," Angus said. "But I''m going to make it easy for you.

And after Rivers is dead, you get a half million. Part of what he stole from you." When Sam Rivers broke up their insurance fraud scheme, Angus had been in line to get $500,000. He wondered again who she was and how she knew about it. She opened the driver''s side of the Benz and got into her vehicle, keeping the gun pointed at him, the engine still idling. "Find somewhere in the woods to hole up," she said. "At least long enough to use that mirror to change the way you look. There''s a clippers.

Shave your head and use the wig. You got ID. Just don''t get caught. And don''t do anything stupid." She put the car in gear and said, "Tomorrow. Answer my call. And next time you try and mess with me, it''ll be your last." Then she accelerated down the ruts, turned, and disappeared.

Angus spent two seconds watching the Benz. He wasn''t the kind of man who took orders from anyone. Especially a woman. But he had to admit her plan had worked. So far. And he could use a half million, now that he was free. He shed the jumpsuit and pulled on a red flannel shirt with faded coveralls. The coveralls were high water.

Then he hurled his prison footwear into the nearby woods and donned a pair of work boots, scuffed and worn. They fit, which made Angus wonder if the woman, Gunn--if that was her real name--knew his shoe size. But he didn''t take too long thinking about it. He was in the truck and turned over the engine with a rumble. It was loud but typical for an aging F-150. The woman had thought of everything. Then he was down the road and turning west in a little less than 20 minutes, on his way to freedom. And eventually, with or without help, to kill Sam Rivers.