“The gun,” North said.

She swooped down and picked up the pistol.

Together they ran toward the doors. Tattooed Man had not bothered to lock them.

Sierra plunged down the stairwell. North followed with the artifact, listening for the sound of footsteps from below. It was unlikely the tattooed orderly was the only person on duty.

Sierra was on the first-floor landing when the hall door slammed open.

Another big man in scrubs appeared.

“Walt? Is that you? Everything okay up there?”

Then he noticed Sierra. She showed him the pistol.

“Shit,” he yelped.

He retreated at full speed and slammed the door shut.

“Keep going,” North ordered.

Sierra didn’t pause. She switched on a penlight to guide them across the storage room and then they were through the rear gate. No one followed them.

They made it to the SUV. North dumped the metal box on the floor behind the front seat and leaped behind the wheel. Sierra scrambled up into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door closed.

North drove out of the trees and onto the narrow, winding road.

“Watch our tail,” he said.

Sierra twisted around in her seat to peer out the rear window.

“No one is following us,” she said.

“We had the element of surprise on our side this time. They were watching for us at Loring’s house but they didn’t expect us to go into the asylum. It will take them a while to figure out what happened and where we might be headed.”

“I assume we’re going back to Seattle?”

“Not until we have a chat with Garraway.”

“The director of the asylum?” she said. “When do you plan to do that?”

“The sooner the better. Now would be good.”

“I’m not sure that confronting Garraway tonight is a good idea,” she said. “We both burned a lot of energy in the past few hours, physical and paranormal. We need time to recover.”

“We’ll get some rest right after we talk to Garraway.”

Sierra did not argue. She understood, he thought. They were running out of time.

Earlier that evening he had obtained the directions to Garraway’s house from the same helpful local who had told them how to find Loring’s place. At the time Loring had been the priority, but now North’s intuition was raging at him, telling him he had to confront Garraway immediately. Too much was happening too fast. The situation was starting to spin out of control.

The house Garraway was renting was located at the end of a short drive about half a mile outside of town. The windows were dark. No lights burned over the front porch. A Porsche was parked at the foot of the steps.

North pulled up to the front of the house and brought the SUV to a halt. Sierra studied the dark windows.

“Does it strike you as strange that a guy like Garraway, a man who wears expensive jackets and ties and drives a Porsche, would accept a position as the director of a small private asylum located in a remote corner of the state?” she asked.