He waits, as if knowing there’s more. He knows me too well.

“They’re running out of time,” I say.

“You can’t rush in there like some rookie.”

“Mast knows it’s over. He’s going to kill them.”

“You go into that tunnel, he’ll kill you. Or me.” He jams a thumb at the trooper. “Or that young cop over there. Is that somehow better?”

“That’s what we’re trained to do.”

“Our training doesn’t include taking crazy risks.”

I turn away and start toward the trooper’s vehicle with no real destination in mind. I know I’m being unreasonable; the intellectual part of my brain knows he’s right. It would be foolhardy to venture into that tunnel. But I saw the terror on the faces of those girls. I saw the cold determination in Perry Mast’s eyes. And I know if we don’t do something, he’ll execute them.

I’ve gone only a couple of strides when Tomasetti sets a hand on my arm and stops me. “Wait.”

I turn to him, struggling to control my temper and the fear that’s squeezing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Kate.” He says my name roughly and with a good deal of reproof. “We have to follow protocol on this one.”

“Sometimes I hate fucking protocol.”

“Welcome to law enforcement,” he snaps, unsympathetic.

I focus on the line of trees growing along the length of the lane, saying nothing.

After a moment, he sighs. “Come here.”

I let him guide me to the rear of Tahoe. There, he turns to me, backs me against the door. Gently, he shoves my collar aside and looks at my neck. “Those look like second-degree burns.”

Without asking for permission, he unbuttons the top two buttons of my shirt and slips my bra strap aside. It feels too intimate for the situation, when there are two other cops in close proximity. Somehow, he makes it seem appropriate, and I allow it.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I say.

“It will once the adrenaline wears off.”

He touches my arm, brings it up for me to look at. I’m shocked to see a swath of bright pink flesh that’s covered with blisters.

Turning away, he retrieves his keys from his pocket and opens the back of the Tahoe. I watch as he pulls out a field first-aid kit, flips it open, and begins to rummage.

By the time he turns to me, my mind is back on the girls below-ground. “The shots came from the barn,” I say. “He doubled back. That means he would have passed by the chamber where the girls are being held.”