“Ready to run?” he asks, rechecking the narrow concrete alley created by the building ours backs up to. On our left is a swinging metal gate that leads back to the street; on our right is an open path that snakes around to the main courtyard – right where they’re hiding. With a shared glance, we scramble toward the gate… and quickly spot the metal chain and padlock that keeps it shut tight.

“Damn,” Charlie whispers, smacking the lock.

I motion with the gun. I can shoot it open.

He shakes his head. Are you crazed? They’ll hear in a second! Without thinking, he takes off toward the other end of the alley, and I grab him by the arm.

“You’re gonna run right into them,” I whisper.

“Not if they’re already inside… besides, you got a better way out?”

I look around, but there’s no arguing with impossibility.

C’mon, Charlie motions. He speeds down the alley, sticking to the patches of dried-out grass to keep quiet. At the edge of the building, he stops and turns my way. Ready?

I nod, and he peeks around the first corner. All clear, he signals, waving me forward.

Like burglars in our own backyard, we slip down behind the building, ducking under the windowsills. Around the next corner is where we saw him. I hear the stream from the sprinkler still gushing against the glass. The sound drowns out our own footsteps… and whoever’s waiting for us there.

“Let me go first,” I whisper.

He shakes his head and shoves me back. He’s done letting me play protector. I don’t care. Squeezing in next to him, I check the ground for stray shadows and slowly stick my head out. Around the corner, a discarded jump rope sits on the lawn, right next to a deflated beach ball. I scan the courtyard from tree to tree, but I can barely hear myself think. The sprinkler still pounds against the window. Charlie’s breathing heavy next to me. No one’s in sight, but I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. Still, there’s no choice. It’s the only way out. Charlie licks a puddle of sweat from the dimple above his lip and puts up his fist. Counting by fingers, he nods my way. One… two…

We tear out of there at full speed, ducking under the sprinkler. My heart’s thundering… all I see is the street… almost there… the metal gate’s in sight…

“Where you off to, Cinderella – late for the ball?” a voice asks from our front steps.

Whirling around, we stop in our tracks. I lift the gun; Charlie raises the machete.

“Easy there, cowboy,” she says, hands already in the air. Forget the Service. It’s the woman from Duckworth’s.

“What’re you doing here?” Charlie challenges.

She doesn’t answer. Her eyes are fixed on my gun. “You want to tell me who you really are?” she asks.

“This isn’t about you,” I warn.

“Why were you asking about him?”

“So you do know Duckworth?” I blurt.

“I asked you a question…”

“So did I,” I shoot back. I wave the gun to get her attention. She doesn’t know us well enough to decide if she should call the bluff.

“How did you know him?” Charlie demands.

She lowers her hands, but never stops staring at me. “You really don’t know?” she asks. “Marty Duckworth was my father.”

Maggie Caruso was never a good sleeper. Even when things were going well – during her honeymoon in the Poconos – Maggie had trouble mustering five hours of continuous sleep. As she got older – when the credit card companies started calling at the end of the month – she’d be lucky to get three hours straight. And last night, with her sons gone, she sat up in bed, clawed at the sheets, and barely made two – which was exactly what Gallo was counting on when he brought her in this morning.

“Thought you’d like some coffee,” Gallo said as he entered the bright white interrogation room. Unlike yesterday, DeSanctis wasn’t by his side. Today it was just Gallo, wearing his standard ill-fitting gray suit and a surprisingly warm grin. He handed Maggie the coffee with both hands. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said, actually sounding concerned.

“Thanks,” Maggie replied, watching him carefully and studying his new attitude.

“So how’re you feeling?” Gallo asked as he pulled up a chair. Like before, he sat right next to her.

“I’m fine,” Maggie said, hoping to keep it short. “Now is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, there is…” He let the words dangle in the air. It was a tactic he learned right when he started in the Service. When it came to getting people to talk, there was no better weapon than silence.

“Agent Gallo, if you’re looking for Charlie and Oliver, you should know that neither of them came home last night.”

“Really?” Gallo asked. “So you still don’t know where they are?”

Maggie nodded.

“And you still don’t know if they’re okay?”

“Not a clue,” she said quickly.

Crossing his arms, Gallo once again embraced the silence.

“What?” Maggie asked. “You don’t believe me?”

“Maggie, did Oliver and Charlie contact you last night?”

For the slightest of seconds, Maggie paused. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Gallo warned. His eyes narrowed and the nice guy disappeared. “If you lie to me, we’ll only take it out on them.”

Clenching her jaw, she ignored the threat. “I swear to you, I don’t know anything.”

For the third time, Gallo let silence do its work. Thirty seconds of nothing. “Maggie, do you have any idea what you’re up against?” he finally asked.

“I already told you-”

“Let me catch you up on a case we worked on last year,” he interrupted, cutting her off. “We had a target who was using a typewriter to stay in contact with another suspect. It’s pretty ingenious – destroy the ribbon, fax it from an untraceable location – nothing for us to pick up on, right? Too bad for the target, all electric typewriters emit their own electromagnetic emanations. It may not be as easy to read as a computer, but our tech boys had no problem picking it up. And once we told them the make and model number of the typewriter, it took less than three hours to re-create the message from the sound that each key makes. He hit A, we saw A. We had ’em both locked up within the week.”

Maggie squared her shoulders, struggling to hold it together.

“They can’t outrun us,” Gallo added. “It’s only a matter of time.” Refusing to let up, he added, “If you help us find them, we can work out a deal, Maggie – but if I have to do this myself… the only way you’ll ever see your boys is through two-inch-thick glass. That is, assuming they make it that far.” In one smooth motion, Gallo slowly scratched at the back of his neck, and the front of his jacket spread open. Right there, Maggie caught a glimpse of Gallo’s gun in its leather holster. Staring straight down at her, Gallo didn’t have to say a word.

Her chin was trembling. She tried to get up, but her legs were dead.

“It’s over, Maggie – just tell us where they are.”

She turned away and pressed her lips together. The tears streamed down her cheeks.

“It’s the only way to help them,” Gallo pushed. “Otherwise, their blood’s on your hands.”

Wiping her eyes with her palm, Maggie searched desperately for something – anything – to focus on. But the stark whiteness of the walls kept leading back to Gallo.

“It’s okay,” he added, leaning in close. “Just say the words, and we’ll make sure they’re safe.” He put a hand on her shoulder and slowly lifted her chin. “Be the good mother, Maggie. It’s the only way to help them. Now where are Charlie and Oliver?”

Staring up, Maggie felt the world melt in front of her. All that was left were her sons. They were all she had. And all she’d ever needed. Sitting up straight, Maggie Caruso jerked her shoulder out of Gallo’s reach and finally opened her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice measured and smooth. “I haven’t heard from them at all.”