When she managed to get to her knees and crawl over, she reached her hand in, hoping the phone had lodged against the grate but knowing it hadn’t. Finding nothing, she looked up and saw that her father was now a good hundred yards ahead of her, even with his pronounced limp.

The phone doesn’t matter. Get up. Get him.

She pushed herself upright, pretending not to notice her throbbing knee or her screaming ribs. As she started to get some momentum again, she saw Xander round the corner north onto 2nd Avenue. She picked up the pace so as not to lose sight of him.

He was still visible when she got to the intersection. She had made up some of the distance, even at her slowed pace. He looked back at her and, seeming to decide that a chase on open streets was ultimately a losing battle for him, ran up the sidewalk toward one of the expansive manor houses on that street.

As Jessie hurried to catch up, she saw him reach the door and grab the knob. She willed it not to open. But it did. He looked back down the street at her, gave a malevolent grin, and stepped inside.

By the time she reached the house almost a minute later, Jessie knew her advantage was gone. Xander could be just inside the door, waiting with a fireplace poker or a butcher knife. But at least he was trapped. Dolan would get her message and in just a few minutes, this street would be swarming with cops. All she had to do was sit and wave them down when they arrived.

Then she heard the scream.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jessie ran up the steps.

She couldn’t wait. That wasn’t the scream of someone who was simply scared. It was a person in unrelenting pain. Another scream cut through the night air. And she had to make it stop.

Even as she reached the top of the stairs and saw that the front door was ajar, she knew she was being manipulated, that she was doing exactly what Thurman wanted. And yet she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t just stand on the street and wait for backup. Her father’s victim would be dead by then.

But just because she had to enter didn’t mean she had to be predictable about it. She dove at the door, extending her arms to push it open, before tucking her head into a roll at the last moment, just as her FBI field instructor had taught her. She somersaulted into the house and used her momentum to pop right up and spin around quickly, looking for any immediate threat. There was no one in the foyer.

Then she heard another scream. It was coming from somewhere in the center of the house. She rushed down the closest hallway, and as she approached the entryway to the large room ahead of her, used the same move to roll into it rather than run in upright.