A terrible thought struck like a jolt of electricity. Cops on the street would not trigger the alarm. Reece scanned the screens.

Camera 1? Nothing.

Camera 2?

A flicker of movement drew his attention to camera 9, a slash of something dark, there for an instant and then gone.

Reece pulled at his hair.

Nothing!

No, wait …

Camera 12 caught another hint of movement. Someone was on the grounds. Cops? Something else? It didn’t matter.

“Time to go.”

Reece twisted through the secret corridors, and sprinted from the north wing, his thoughts touching again on the boys. Could X be responsible for this? He’d given his word: no contract on Reece’s head. And X would never call the cops, not if his own life depended on it.

“Think!”

He’d planned for this. He had time.

But what if X was responsible?

Reece burst into the main house, snatching up cash and a gun, running numbers in his head. His escape route was through the side door, then across the rear grounds and through the small gate at the back. He owned the property on the other side, a second house with a second garage, bought years ago for contingencies like this. He’d timed it out before. He could clear the gate in sixty seconds. Another forty, and he could be in a car and on the road. What about the boys? Kill them? Take them? Kill the little one and take the other? He ran those numbers, too. Ten seconds to get out of the house. Five more to reach the basement door.

He made the decision on instinct. X was not involved. He’d been specific. It had to be Byrd. Or Reece had made a mistake with Tyra, or with Lonnie Ward, some bread crumb of a clue that brought the cops, at last, to his door. Smart move was to go, and do it fast.

But he did hate Jason French.

Handsome Jason.

Favorite Jason.

In the dark outside, the thought only grew. He couldn’t get to Jason, and even if he could, he couldn’t beat him. He’d seen what the bastard could do; those qualities X admired so much. A dark desire built as Reece hugged the shrub line, moving quickly, no sign of cops or intruder. He wanted to make Jason hurt, and for Jason to know it was he who’d taken, and he who’d destroyed. It would be easy, too. The boys were caged; the basement door was right there. How long could it take?

Pop, pop.

Two seconds, and gone.

46

When the last bolt dropped, Gibby bent the mesh as quietly as he could. It took time; it was harder than it looked. “You first.”

He pulled the mesh as high as he could off the floor, and Chance slipped through like a greased ferret.

“Here, take this.”