"Not necessarily. There's half a dozen ways out of that old neighborhood."

"Great."

The turbulent waters of the reservoir came into sight. Will turned south, heading along the spit of land that held the yacht club and the Fennell home. "How do you want to play it?" he asked.

"We're going to ask nicely for Ben," said Alex. "Then we're going to take him out of there. Bill should be arrested for murder before the day is out."

"Bill can be a cranky son of a bitch," Will said. "He almost went to jail for beating up a guy on the side of the road one time. Road rage."

"I didn't know that." Alex let her left hand fall on the magnum. "But I'd say we're prepared to deal with that." She pointed to a tall, wrought-iron gate fifty meters ahead. "Slow down."

Will pulled up to the gate and stopped.

"Chained shut," Alex said, pointing at a heavy padlock.

Will got out, climbed into the bed of his truck, opened the shining toolbox, and removed a long pair of bolt cutters. He cut the chain easily, then tossed the cutters into the truck bed and climbed back behind the wheel.

"You're handy to have around," said Alex.

Will looked hard into her eyes. "Before we go in, let me ask you one thing. What's the chance that we're walking into some kind of trap?"

She had tried not to focus on this possibility, but rather to prepare herself for whatever might happen. But now Will had given voice to her fear.

"That's why you're here," she said softly. "If I knew for sure it was just Bill, I wouldn't need anybody to help me deal with him."

Will sighed like an old man in need of a nap. "That's what I figured."

"I can go without you," Alex said, meaning it. "You can wait right here."

The detective cocked his head and looked over at her, his watery eyes like those of an old hound dog. "Honey, your daddy pulled me out of so many tight spots I couldn't begin to count 'em. I'm here now because he can't be. And I'm gonna do exactly what I know he'd do." Will put the truck into gear and rolled forward. "Let's go get that boy."

He drove through the gate and around the long, sweeping drive that led to the rear of the Fennell mansion, an oversize copy of a Louisiana plantation house, with tall, white columns and a wraparound porch. He stopped when they were still a hundred meters away and parked behind a thick stand of trees.

"This is far enough," he said.

As he switched off the engine, the rain that had been threatening for hours finally swept over the property like advancing waves of gray-clad soldiers. The first drops hit the truck like shots from a pellet gun, and then the aggregate blotted out the mansion. Through the gaps in the trees, Alex could just make out the leaden surface of the reservoir. She opened the glove box and took out the Sig-Sauer Will had given her two days ago, then got out and walked up to an oak tree. Will carried the shotgun loosely along his left leg, his pistol gripped in his right hand. When he drew up beside her, they turned together and surveyed the house and grounds while the rain soaked their clothes.

The mansion had been built facing the reservoir. Hundreds of trees and shrubs dotted the twelve-acre lot, with gardens and ponds placed throughout in the English style. The landscaping alone had cost more than the houses around it. To their left stood a tennis court, to their right an infinity pool with a serpentine slide for Ben.

In front of the house, Alex knew, a broad pier ran far out over the reservoir. A boathouse stood at the end of it, and it held twice the boat that Andrew Rusk owned. A Carrera bowrider, she remembered, with twin outboards that could push it to ninety knots, which was almost flying.

"Me and Jim did this many a time," Will said. "Thousands of times, I bet, if you count domestic calls."

Alex's abraded elbows stung as though the rain were acid. "That's Bill's Hummer," she said, pointing to a splash of yellow sticking out of the distant garage. "He's got a pair of them. H1s."

"I know," said Will. "I used to see them when he'd drop off Jamie to go fishing with Jim."

"I forgot you used to go with them sometimes."

Will nodded, then started marching across the open ground. "Jamie's a good boy. Never liked his daddy much, though. Loudmouthed prick, you ask me."

"You know what I think," said Alex, following closely.

As the house grew larger, a low growl crossed the space between them. It was Will's voice, she realized, speaking in an entirely different register.

"If Bill tries to stop us taking Jamie out of there," he said, "you go outside and wait for me."

"Uncle Will, you-"

"Hush, girl." The detective turned toward her as he walked, his eyes flat and hard. "None of that hostage-negotiator bullshit. You get out of there and let me do what needs to be done."

Alex had never heard Will speak this way. He was talking to her across a generation. But she understood. Will Kilmer had worked homicide for two decades, and he knew that a murder trial was a notoriously unreliable business, especially if the defendant could afford top criminal lawyers. But if Bill Fennell perished in the confusion of a domestic disturbance, there would be no custody battle over Jamie. It was an inhuman train of thought, she knew-or was it essentially human? Either way, Will had a point. All that mattered now was Jamie.

They moved like shadows through the rain. Will walked faster, breathing hard but showing no sign of slowing. When the house was twenty meters away, they halted behind some tall evergreen shrubs.

"Up the porch steps?" Alex asked.

Will shook his head. "Circle the house and try to get a look inside."

"Split up?"

"Normally, I'd say yes. Today? No. When we reach the right corner of the house, we'll climb onto the porch so we can see through the windows."

They moved out from behind the shrubs and started toward the right side of the house. Will pushed through the thick hedge below the porch, then climbed over the rail at the corner and waited for Alex. He moved with surprising grace, she noted, clambering over behind him.

Through the first window they saw only an empty room. They moved lightly along the wall to the next window. Again, she saw no people.

"Put your hands in the air," said a commanding voice from behind them. "I'm pointing a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun at your backs."

Utter blackness descended in Alex's soul.

"Keep facing the wall, but toss your weapons back over the rail. All of them."

"Where did he come from?" Will whispered from her left.

The hedge, she realized. He was waiting behind the hedge.

Will half-turned and in a tough voice said, "Listen to me, Bill Fennell. You're already in a bucketful of shit. You don't want to-"

"That's not Bill," Alex told him.

Will looked over his shoulder, then closed his eyes and shook his head.

Alex had to admire Dr. Tarver's strategy. He had sent the "message from Jamie," then waited behind the porch hedge to assess the response. Simple but brilliant, since it would have prevented him from being trapped in the house had an army of SWAT agents descended on it. But no such army was coming. The question was, why was Tarver here at all?

"Don't try to play hero, partner," said the doctor. "Chivalry is expensive, and you're past the age for it." Tarver took a step to his right. "I have a picture of you in my cell phone, Pop. You're sleeping soundly after a few beers."

Will muttered something unintelligible.

"And you, Agent Alex. You remember what it feels like to be hit with buckshot, don't you?"

The right side of her face tingled. She could feel Will tensing beside her, like a cat preparing to spring. She closed her eyes and tried to reach him by force of will. Don't try it…you can't beat a bullet, not even buckshot-