The deputies clustered at the windowless back of the barn. Lucy was thinking that she’d never done anything like this.

This isn’t a SWAT operation….

But you’re wrong, Jesse—that’s exactly what it is.

Dear Lord, give me one clear shot at my Judas.

A fat dragonfly strafed her. She brushed it away with her left hand. It returned and hovered nearby ominously, as if Garrett had sent the creature out to distract her.

Stupid thought, she told herself. Then swatted furiously at the bug again.

The Insect Boy …

You’re going down, Lucy thought—the message meant for both fugitives.

I’m not going to say anything,” Mason said. “I’m just going in. When you hear me kick in the door, Lucy, you go through the side.”

She nodded. And as concerned as she was about Mason being too eager, as desirous as she was to get Amelia Sachs, she was still happy to share some of the burden of this hard job.

“Let me make sure the side door’s open,” she whispered.

They dispersed, jogging into position. Lucy ducked under one of the windows and hurried to the side door. It wasn’t locked and was open a crack. She nodded to Mason, who stood at the corner, watching her. He nodded back and held up ten fingers, meaning, she assumed, to count the seconds down until he went through the door, and then disappeared.

Ten, nine, eight…

She turned to the door, smelling the musty wood scent laced with the sweet aroma of gasoline and oil that flowed from inside the barn. She listened carefully. She heard a tapping—the noise of the engine of the car or truck Amelia had stolen.

Five, four, three…

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Another.

Ready, she told herself.

Then there was a loud crash from the front of the building as Mason kicked inside. “Sheriff’s office!” he cried. “Nobody move!”

Go! she thought.

Lucy kicked the side door. But it moved only a few inches and stopped fast—hitting a large riding lawn mower parked just inside the door. It wouldn’t go any farther. She slammed into it with her shoulder twice but the door held.

“Shit,” she whispered and ran around to the front of the barn.

Before she got halfway there she heard Mason call out, “Oh, Jesus.”

And then she heard a gunshot.

Followed a moment later by a second one.

“What’s going on?” Rhyme demanded.

“Okay,” Bell said uncertainly, holding the phone. There was something about his stance that alarmed Rhyme; the sheriff stood with the phone pressed hard against his ear, his other fist clenched and away from his body. He nodded as he listened. Looked at Rhyme. “There’ve been shots.”

“Shots?”