“I want you to back the Virtue out, get it turned around in the driveway, leave the engine running. Leave the driver’s door open, you get in the back. Have the back door open that faces the house. When I come out, I’m going to put Angie in the back with you so you can look after her. She’s a bit woozy.”

“You don’t want me to drive?”

“I’ll drive. Can you do everything I’ve asked?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll leave my phone on but put it in my pocket for a sec. Stay on the line.”

“Okay.” To Angie, I said, “We’re leaving, honey. We’re getting out of here in just a few seconds.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she said. “Did I hear right, is Trevor out there?”

“Yeah.”

“That little weasel, putting that fucking thing in my coat.”

“Why don’t we get angry with him about it later, after he saves our lives?”

“I suppose.” She grabbed her coat, slinging it over her arm so she could still keep the gun on Bullock.

“Mr. Walker?”

I held the phone back up to my ear. “Yeah.”

“I’m all set to go here. Run out, hop in the driver’s seat, and we’re off.”

“Good man,” I said. “We’ll be right out.” I slipped the phone into my jacket. “We’re going to be on our way, guys.” I pointed to Pockmark, the dark stain on his trousers getting even larger. “I think you should see about getting this one to a doctor.”

I motioned Angie toward the door. “You go first,” I said. “Get in the car.”

She slid by me and out the door. I heard her run down the hall, through the kitchen, then a door open and close.

“Get under the desk,” I said to Bullock. He scrunched down and got under. Then I told Blondie to do the same. He had some difficulty jamming himself under there with his boss.

Then I ran.

I was out the house door in a second. The Virtue was sitting there, right where it was supposed to be, Trevor and Angie in the back, plus Morpheus, jumping around the backseat and into the front. The driver’s door was left open, and I hopped in, threw the car into drive, and pressed the accelerator, knocking Morpheus, who was without doubt one of the ugliest dogs I’d ever seen, off his feet and into the back of the front bucket. The car jerked to a start, and we were flying down the sloped driveway so quickly the car’s front underpan slammed into the street as we turned onto it.

I caught a glimpse of Trevor, the strap of his laptop case looped over his shoulder, in my mirror and saw that he was turned around, looking behind us.

“They’re coming!” he said. “Two of them! They’re running to the SUV!”