“Gentlemen,” he says when he reaches the two remaining asylum staff members, “we’re all set. Mr. Hannity, is there anything else you need?”

“Nope, I’m all good.” Doug Hannity, a stocky man of about sixty-five, doesn’t look like a smooth-hand “technician” but more like what he is, an old jail screw who knows how to press the right buttons.

“Okay, SWAT has wired up the control booth so they can share vision with the facility’s monitors,” Martino explains. “They’ll give commands to you by radio handset.”

“I tell you, I’ve been working at this facility goin’ on fifteen years—I ain’t never seen a brouhaha like this before.”

“Hopefully it’ll all be taken care of quick, Mr. Hannity. You’re ready to take up your spot? That’s great. Now, Mr. Ashton, I’ve been informed that you need keys, so here they are.” Martino hands over Scott’s keys on the ring, makes a check mark on his clipboard notes.

“That’s incredibly helpful, thank you.” Ashton is a lean, tanned guy, probably in his forties but so fit it’s hard to tell. He must get plenty of exercise running around after patients here at the asylum. Ashton attaches the keys to a lanyard around his neck. “I’m just going to take a pit stop, then I’ll go straight to the control booth. Doug can let me in.”

“Good idea,” Martino says. “But I won’t check you off my list until I hear from you both that you’re locked in. Get on the handset and inform us when you’re present and accounted for.”

“Will do. Oh, and Agent Martino, you’ve got it switched around on your clipboard there. Ashton is my middle name.”

“Really? Ah crap, sorry about that.” Martino points. “So this is you?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man smiles. “Hoyt. Anthony Hoyt.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

They meet up at a community ballpark off Savannah Street SE as the sun is disappearing.

Emma arrives first. She’s been trying to stay calm, but her throat is very dry. She doesn’t get out of her car until she sees the headlights from the pickup. When she reaches Bell’s truck, she hears the sounds of argument.

“… no way we can go back in there with you, you know that, right?” Bell winds down his window, so Emma can see and hear the ruckus.

“No, I don’t know that, and I don’t agree,” Kristin says. “He’s my brother, and you’re telling me that I have to just sit here and wait?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Me and Emma know what we’re doing.” Bell glances out with a Help me expression.

Kristin has her arms crossed and a very uncharacteristic scowl. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You literally just said to me that you’re going behind the FBI’s back on this. There’s no valid reason why I can’t come along.”

“Except you’re not FBI, you don’t know how to defend yourself, you’re emotionally compromised because Simon is your brother, and I swear to god, I don’t understand why you think this is such a great idea!”