“Give me your arm,” Eric commanded, snatching up the cutters. He inserted the jaws over the band, ignoring the sudden warning buzz, and snapped through the band, then whirled to Clayne. “Give me yours. We’d better cut you loose now too.” Again there was a sharp snap, and Eric thrust the cutters at Clayne. “Cut Adrienne and the kids. Hurry!”

“Adrienne?” Nicole asked, still half stupefied by the sight of Clayne.

“Yes.” Eric grabbed her elbow and propelled her toward the door. “Clayne and his family are going with us. They’re out in the alley.”

“But my clothes and things—”

“Go!” he thundered.

By the time they darted out through the garage and into the alley behind Nicole’s home, Clayne was leaning through the window of the squad car and cutting Adrienne’s band. The crackling of the radio shattered the quiet. As he pulled back out, Adrienne leaned forward, her face twisted with fear. “They’re coming Code Three, but with no sirens,” she said.

“They want to catch you by surprise.” Clayne’s expression was grim.

Eric opened the back door of the car. “Nicky, get in and help Adrienne cut the kids loose. Cricket, you get in there with them.” Without waiting for compliance, he darted around to the back of the car, where Clayne had left the trunk open. He snatched up the deer rifle and a box of shells, slammed the trunk lid shut, tore the top of the box off with a savage jerk, and began jamming shells into the magazine.

“Listen, Clayne. The people who will get you out are at 536 Fairfax Avenue. They’re expecting us. I’ll try and keep these guys busy long enough for you to get clear.”

Nicole’s head popped out of the back window. “Eric, you can’t stay!”

He ignored her. “Go to 536 Fairfax and tell them what happened. Now get out of here!”

Clayne hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded and moved swiftly to his door. “Good luck,” he called softly. The door slammed, and the car shot forward in a spray of gravel. Eric caught a glimpse of Nicole’s face, white and torn with fear, and then they were gone.

“All right, Major,” he muttered, “one surprise deserves another.” He broke into a run toward the front of the house. Less than a minute later, he saw the flash of headlights, and then the first car rocketed around the corner onto Nicole’s street, tires squealing in protest. The round plastic top and orange and blue markings were unmistakable.

One quick breath, half out slowly, squeeze the trigger.

The windshield of the car shattered with an explosive spray of glass, and the car careened wildly to the right, hit the curb, bounced upward, then plowed into a chain-link fence with a shriek of metal on metal.