Two seconds later the alarm went off.

Schematics or not, the security system was too good for Jason to chance on his own. He had a fine memory and knack for tactical thinking, so keeping track of sensors and sight lines was far from impossible. But he didn’t like the odds of running half speed on unfamiliar ground, not against a man like Reece.

So he did need help.

What he’d said to Burklow was not an actual lie.

Jason arrived ten minutes before his father, and parked one street over, slinging his weapons, and working through a strip of forest where Reece’s property touched a neighbor’s. He made a quick recon along the perimeter wall, located the rear gate first, and then a good access point to scale the wall, and watch the front approach. Lying flat, and invisible in the darkness, he was there when his father arrived. He watched Burklow arrive, too; saw them huddle in the gloom between streetlamps.

Jason studied the sky in the east. Paling, at last. Barely perceptible. He turned his attention to the house and grounds, confirming his opinions on sight lines and sensors, then marking doors and windows, looking for problems and the most likely places for opportunity to arise. More light in the east, false dawn, a time Jason knew well. Soon, he thought; and then it happened: sirens in the morning stillness, a cavalry call, the sound of his father’s choice.

The alarm broke Reece’s paralysis, his thoughts suddenly quick and sharp. The girl wasn’t going anywhere, not for a while, at least. Somewhere was a larger threat. Reece hit the security monitors at full stride, eyes on the screens. It was a nightmare. Cameras at the gate showed a swarm of cops. Ten cars. A dozen. Three more rolled in as he watched.

Byrd, he thought. He’d told someone about the job, given someone the address in case he didn’t make it out. Now, Byrd was in the freezer with his two friends. Reece’s thoughts rolled over, logical and mechanical. The house was lost. Unfortunate, but not irretrievably so. Ownership was held by carefully layered corporate entities, none of which would trace back to Reece. Same with the cars, the utilities. He stored his financial information off-site for exactly this kind of circumstance. They’d collect his prints, of course, but Reece was not his real name, and he’d never been printed.

“Damn it!”

His control slipped, and he beat his fists on the console. The girl would live; he didn’t have time to kill her now. Guns were in the main house. There and back would take time. What about the boys? That required thought, but he had to think fast. If the cops were smart, they’d circle the entire block. Reece didn’t need to go through the front gate, but if they shut down the surrounding streets …