I grapple with my lapel mike as I sprint toward the fence. “This is 235! I’m 10-20 at the Plank farm! I’ve got a 10-88! 10-78!”

“Uh . . . roger that.” The new dispatcher. A too long pause. “Um . . . who do I send?”

“Get on the goddamn radio and get someone out here now!” I shout.

“Ten-four.”

I draw my .38. I’m running full out when something tangles at my feet. Wire, I realize, and then I’m falling. I reach out to break my fall, lose the grip on my gun. My hands plunge into mud. I land on my stomach hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. I turn over, kick off the wire—a freaking tomato cage—and scramble to my feet. Scooping up my weapon, I lurch into a run.

My breaths come hard and fast as I scale the fence. I can hear the blood roaring in my ears. I shine the Maglite ahead, and see an ocean of corn. I burst into the first row. Mud sucks at my feet as I sprint to the next row. Husks slash at my face as I run down the row, pop into the next, continue on. I run blindly for several minutes, hoping to intercept my quarry. But he’s nowhere in sight.

Finally, I stop, my lungs burning. “Damnit.”

I nearly jump out of my skin when my cell phone beeps. I snatch it up with a cross utterance of my name.

“What the hell happened? I’ve been trying to call—”

Tomasetti. I close my eyes, try to steady my breathing. “Suspicious person at the crime scene,” I pant.

“You alone?”

“Backup’s on the way.”

“Kate, goddamnit . . .”

“I’m okay.” I’m out of breath. Too pissed to talk. “I’ve got to go.”

He starts to say something else, but I disconnect. I tell myself it’s because I’m standing in the middle of a cornfield soaked to the skin with an unknown subject in the area. But I’m honest enough to know that at least part of the reason I don’t want to talk to him at this minute is because I need him. Such is the nature of our relationship. The thought of needing anyone scares the hell out of me.

Shining the Maglite in the direction from which I came, I see my muddy tracks being slowly eroded away by the pounding rain. A voice barks over my radio. “This is 289. I’m 10-76 the Plank farm, 10-77 five.”

Glock, I realize and hit my mike. “Ten-fourteen heading west through the cornfield west of the house. See if you can intercept at Hogpath Road.”

“Ten-four.” The mike crackles. “You okay, Chief?”

“That’s affirm.”