“Your uncommon optimism is refreshing.” He arched his stomach upward to give Jacob room to maneuver. “Go!”

Jacob slithered out from under his stepfather and slunk across the forested carpet. He was wearing short sleeves and that was a big mistake. His arms became scratching posts for organic detritus as twigs, rocks, pebbles, leaves, pinecones, quills, and spiky seed pods abraded his skin and worked their way under his shirt, scraping his stomach. The worst were the tiny stones that got caught in his stomach hair, pulling it as he skulked across the dirt. His legs were okay. Thank God for Levi Strauss and high-top Reeboks.

He was supposed to be scared.

Instead, he felt exhilarated.

Decker always said that adrenaline was the ultimate rush. Jacob was surprised by how unhurried he was, savoring every moment of the unknown. But too quickly, it was over. He reached up, stuck his fingers under the steel door frame, and gave himself just enough clearance to undulate stomach-down into the backseat floor. A moment later, Decker was on top of him. He was talking into his cell phone.

“You got the others? Good, get us out of here!”

The cars went down the hill. Decker waited until the car was parked behind the police barricade. Then he got up, opened the door, and got out, offering a hand. Jacob took it and was liberated seconds later. He squinted as he stepped into harsh illumination coming from dozens of headlights. Peter was already on the phone.

“I want three copters. I need light, and I need it now!” He turned to the first patrolman he saw. “Take this young man home.”

“I don’t mind sticking around,” the boy said.

“That’s interesting, Jacob. Now get out of here.” He turned to Martinez. “Let’s get a team going.” He frowned. “I suppose we need to find the place first.”

“Lieutenant Decker?”

Decker turned around. Sebastian Bernard—Bastard for short—a uniformed sergeant in his mid-forties with twenty years’ experience. He was tall and bald and had a big mole over the right corner of his lip—a Cindy Crawford birthmark on steroids.

“Do you want to send a team inside?”

“Yeah, I’m working on that.”

“How many windows, how many doors?”

“Fuck if I know. We’ve got to find the place first. Then we’ve got to find out if anything’s booby-trapped.”

“We can send out a dog. See what pops up. Or we can lob in some smoke canisters.”

“But that’ll make it doubly hard to see any booby traps.”

“I can get masks.”

“Masks will help us breathe; they won’t help us see.” Decker rubbed his neck. “Let’s send some cruisers up, and I’ll bullhorn them.”

“Can I come?” Jacob asked.