while armed men are searching for us.”
“Bickering?”
“Fighting. Arguing. Disagreeing.”
“I know what it means, I’m just surprised to hear you use such an old-fashioned word.”
“Old-fashioned? Dotty would take offense at that.” She was watching him, her eyes gleaming in the darkness, her face a pale oval, her clothes nearly glowing in the darkness. A beacon drawing the eye of anyone searching for them.
“She says it a lot, huh?”
“She did. When I was young and arguing with my uncle about curfews and grades.”
“Did she also use the words grit, gutsy, daring? Because that’s what you’re about to be. Let’s go. Over the fence.”
A dog howled, the sound ringing through the forest, and his pulse jumped, his heart racing. He knew the sound of a hunting dog. This one was close.
“Are there dogs here?” he asked.
“Yes. A couple of guard dogs that patrol the meeting hall at night and some hunting dogs that are used by the residents of the community.” She nodded, her eyes wide, the pulse in the hollow of her throat jumping frantically.
“I wonder how good those dogs are at tracking escapees?” he muttered.
“We may be the first people who’ve have the need to escape, but the hunting dogs are bloodhounds. They have great noses.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Come on. Let’s go.” He lifted her. She was slighter than he’d expected, her back narrow, her body light. He’d always thought of her as athletic and strong. She had a presence that demanded attention and seemed to fill every room she entered. Chatty, quick with smiles and compliments, she was the opposite of Radley. Except in her need for justice, her determination, her dogged focus when it came to solving a case or finding a criminal.
Now she seemed determined to pull herself over the fence. She’d grabbed the top and was struggling to drag her body over. He gave her legs a boost, holding on until she managed to scramble up and drop one leg over the top.
Behind him, the hound was crashing through trees, baying wildly.
Radley slung the duffel strap over his shoulder, grabbed the top of the fence and pulled himself up beside Honor. He’d climbed fences dozens of times. He’d run from danger even more times than that. He knew how to move quickly and quietly. But Honor was still perched on the fence like she was riding a horse. One leg to one side. One to the other. Hands clutching the wood. Backlit by the setting moon, pale skin, light hair, light-colored clothes. She was a sitting duck, an easy target.
“It’s okay,” he said, because he thought she was frozen in fear.
“I know, but I wasn’t going to jump until you were out of there. Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“You needed help,” she replied, and then she threw her second leg over the fence and dropped to the ground.
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