Chapter 3

“I hope you’re not planning on tasting that,” Ethan muttered, having been mentally scarred by watching re-runs of Due South when he was younger.

Whatever Logan might have said—and from his expression, it wouldn’t have been anything complimentary to Ethan—was interrupted by the thucka-thucka-thuckaof a helicopter sounding overhead. Ethan looked up automatically, but he could see nothing through the thick forest canopy.

“What the hell’s that all about?” Logan’s bushy black brows huddled together like cats in a basket as he frowned and looked up.

“At a guess, I’d say there’s been an escape from Parkhurst Prison.” Ethan flicked open his phone and opened up the internet browser.

Logan stared at him. “So you have to tell all your Facebook friends about it?”

“No,” Ethan said with exaggerated patience, “but it might be nice to know if there’s a homicidal maniac running round the forest with us.”

Mutely, Logan raised the gun.