He made the turn, weapon up, and saw Reece in full flight for the back wall, a perfect silhouette twenty yards out and running in a straight line. Jason could put one in his skull, count one Mississippi, and still have time to put another in his heart, all before he hit the ground. He didn’t do it, though, and that hesitation surprised him. Maybe it was because he was tired of killing, or because there were a million cops beyond the gate. Maybe it was for X, or because Reece deserved something more than a clean, quick death. Whatever the cause, Jason’s finger came off the trigger. When he lowered the gun, he saw his brother, standing with Chance outside a basement door.

“Jason? What are you doing here?”

“Kid, it’s a long story.”

“What’s that noise?”

“That would be Dad and about a hundred cops. I suspect they’re taking down the front gate. Either of you hurt? Either of you shot?”

Gibby blinked.

And Chance blinked.

Jason had seen it before in raw recruits. “You’re in shock. You’re going to be okay, but I have to move, and you have a choice to make.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“It’s this simple, little brother. Wait for Dad or come with me. There’s no wrong answer, but you need to decide right now.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not far and not for long.”

“I’ll come with you.” No hesitation.

“Chance?”

“I go where he goes.”

“All right, then.” Jason slung his rifle as the gate came down. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

47

The gate crashed to the earth in a cloud of splinters and dust, and the cops needed no more invitation.

Shots fired.

A blank check.

Tactical teams led the assault, but French cared for nothing but Gibby. He wanted to search the house at a dead run, but it was enormous, and Burklow was a very steady friend. “Just be still. Wait here. We have a lot of boots on the ground, and suspended or not, you’re still the ranking detective. Information will come to you first.”

Fear was the only reason he’d agreed: fear that he would find the remains of his son. He’d never felt anything like it. Nakedness. Raw terror. Those fears were only compounded when officers discovered a girl locked in the north wing. Burklow broke the news. “Tyra’s friend Sara.”

“Still no sign?”

“No sign is a good thing. Keep the faith.”

Easier said than done. The girl was distraught, but dry-eyed. She continued to repeat the same thing: “He was in the walls, I heard him in the walls.” They watched as she was led to a police car, and then to an ambulance.