I roll my eyes and sigh but don’t manage the cocky attitude I’d intended to project.

He reaches me and stops a scant foot away. His gaze finds mine, and he runs his hands over my shoulders and down my arms as if he doesn’t quite trust what his eyes are telling him.

“You got here fast,” I say.

“One of the agents heard the call and recognized the address, then called me straightaway.” He glances from me to the deputy and back to me. “They get him?”

I shake my head. “We’ve got three agencies looking. Glock and Holmes County went to talk to Paula Kester’s father, but he says he hasn’t seen them for almost twenty-four hours. Wayne County SO set up a perimeter. Skid and a bunch of deputies are searching those woods.”

“Vehicle?”

“No.”

“We think he got out before the perimeter was set up,” the deputy interjects. “Nick Kester is the RO of a white 2008 Toyota Tacoma, so we added that to the BOLO.”

Tomasetti glances toward the door, his eyes taking in the broken pane and beyond, the glass on the floor. “What happened?”

I tell him everything, hating the way it sounds, because a little voice inside my head keeps reminding me that I’m a cop and I should have been able to stop him. “It happened fast, Tomasetti. I just … walked up on him, in the living room. My radio and sidearm were upstairs. I couldn’t do anything, so I chucked the cell at him and ran.”

I can tell by the way he’s looking at the door that he wants to go inside to see everything for himself. But until the CSU arrives and processes the scene, neither of us can risk contaminating any possible evidence.

“You didn’t hear anything?” he asks.

“Nothing.” But we both know I’ve been sleeping like the dead.

“Any idea how long he was in the house?”

“No.”

He looks away, and I know he’s wondering how much time elapsed between his leaving and Kester making entry and about all the things that could have happened in between.

As if realizing we need some privacy, the deputy slides his smartphone from his pocket. “Excuse me,” he says and leaves the porch.

I watch him walk down the steps and stroll over to his cruiser to make his call.

“He fired one shot?” Tomasetti asks.

I nod. “It went into the wall. Upstairs hallway. CSU should be able to dig out the slug.”

“Goddamn it, Kate.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Shooting at a cop? This guy’s fucking nuts.”

“I know.”

“Any idea how he found out where we live?”

I shrug. “You can dig up just about anything online these days.”

“Kester doesn’t seem like the digging type.” He thinks about that a moment. “You think he could have followed you home?”