How did kids get into the house? He didn’t have an alarm, but Greenbury was safe: often neighbors didn’t even bother locking their doors. But even with that, he was a stickler. All the doors had deadbolts. All the windows were double paned and locked solid.

It had to be professionals.

The sounds grew louder—and closer.

Professionals.

Silently, Decker got up from the floor. With a few deft strokes, he made the bed, stuffing pillows under the duvet to make it look like people were still asleep. Then he crouched down next to Rina, his eyes just above the mattress and locked onto the doorway.

And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The doorknob slowly turned.

Crunch time.

He’d been there before. His heart rate suddenly slowed as his brain cleared with the single thought of survival. Within a second, all his life experiences were cataloged as he pulled out the needed index card to continue on in the world.

The door opened and a dark shadow came inside. It raised an arm straight out, the gun pointing toward the bed. Decker shouted, “Police! Freeze!”

In slow motion, Decker saw the flash of his own gun at the same time the shadow pivoted toward his direction. As soon as the bullet hit, the figure stumbled. But he managed to remain upright, gun in hand, and took off, grabbing his shoulder and dripping blood while he fled.

If Decker had been alone, he would have given him chase. But he dared not leave Rina in case there was more than one bad guy. She suddenly emerged from her prone position under the bed. Decker barked at her. “Get down!”

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Stay down, Rina.” Decker heard a car screech down the street. His heart was now beating at allegro tempo. He flicked on the lights, grabbed his landline phone on his nightstand, and then realized the connection had been cut. Stupidly, he kept his cell plugged into an outlet in the kitchen. “Where’s your cell?”

“In the closet. What’s going on?”

Decker didn’t answer. He grabbed her cell and called 911. He started to relate the information to the emergency operator when he heard Rina’s voice say, “Peter, what about Tyler?”

“Oh shit!” He spoke into the phone. “I need patrol cars sent immediately to . . . what the fuck is his address?” Decker was pacing now as he spoke. “Send out cars to Detective Tyler McAdams’s house immediately. It’s on Hamilton Drive . . . no, I don’t know the address! If I knew it, I’d give it to you!” He grabbed Rina while talking in the phone. “Just send someone out there now!”

Decker clutched the phone in his right hand while pulling Rina with his left. Running through his living room, he found Rina’s car keys, grabbed them, and sprinted out the front door.

“I know his house,” he said to her. “It’s quicker this way.” They jumped into Rina’s Volvo, which mercifully started right away He put on his seat belt, gunned the engine, and then jammed the gear into reverse. He peeled out of the driveway and skidded down the street.

“Be careful, for God’s sake!” Rina snapped on her seat belt. “No sense getting us both killed.”

Decker wasn’t listening. He tore down the street. “Keep your head down.” He pushed her head. “Down, dammit!”

“It’s down, it’s down!”

No moon out. Just a black sky except for the sporadic streetlamp.

There was also no traffic.

Decker sped through the traffic stops as well as the traffic lights.

Rina was crouched down in the front seat. “Give me my phone. I’ll call him. What’s the number?”

He gave her the phone. “God, I can’t think straight.”

Then it came to him. Not only were Rina’s hands shaking, her entire body was convulsing. It was adrenaline, it was the cold, and it was pure fear. Still, she managed to punch in the right digits.

“He’s not answering.”

It didn’t matter much. They were already outside the house. No car outside. Decker gave Rina a crowbar and then cocked his gun. “C’mon.”

They ran to his front door. He pulled her behind him and then started pounding on the wood. “Tyler?!” A pause. “Fuck it. Take my gun and cover me.”

“Got it.”

He took a three-step running start and shoved his shoulder into the wood. The door splintered but didn’t cave in or fall down. But the hole was enough for him to stick his hand in and undo the lock.

Rina gave him the gun as he opened the door and turned on the room light. “Tyler?” The living room was empty, but it had been tossed. He continued to scream the kid’s name. “Are you there?”

No response.

“Stay behind me.” As if to prove the point, he shoved her until she was hidden by his back. “I need to clear the rooms.”

Again, he yelled out Tyler’s name. In the ensuing silence, he heard a distant motor come to life. “Rina, call in a silver Hyundai Accent van. And no, I don’t have the license number, but if it’s in the area, I want it stopped.”

“I’m on it.”

Quickly, Decker went through the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom: all empty. He went to the spare bedroom and by the time he hit the main bedroom, he could hear the distant sirens. He flipped on the lights. “Tyler! Are you here?” A pause. “Answer me, buddy.”

They both heard the groan at the same time, but it was Rina who saw blood seeping out from the bullet-ridden closet door.

It was locked.

Again, Decker shoved it with his shoulder. It didn’t budge. He took the crowbar and after three lumber jack swings, he managed to splinter the plywood. He unlocked the bolt, swung the door open, and pulled down the string to turn on the closet light.

The kid was crouched in the corner, his eyes wide open, his face covered in blood. Decker bent down, his eyes focused on the splatter on his temple. When he touched it, Tyler flinched.

A graze wound, thank God. Decker said, “Can you hear me?”

The kid didn’t respond, either frozen with fear or something worse. He was clutching his arm. “Let me see what’s going on, buddy.”

Decker had to peel his hand away to see the damage. He was hit with a through and through: a small hole in the front with a bigger exit hole. It seemed to be a flesh wound but he couldn’t tell for certain.

“Can you hear me?” He touched the kid’s face and locked eyes with him. “Can you hear me, Tyler? Answer me, please!”

“I’m woozy . . .” he panted out.

“You can talk.” To Rina, Decker shouted, “I hear the ambulance. Go direct them.”

“Right away.”

To Tyler, he said, “Can you move your fingers?”

He winced. “Yeah . . .”

“What about your toes? Can you wiggle your toes?”

Another grimace. “Yeah . . .” As if on autopilot, he tried to stand but immediately collapsed before he could get a knee off the ground. Blood was oozing out of his leg. His skin color was ashen. His forehead felt clammy.

“Tyler, you have to stay still. Real still. It’ll slow down the bleeding.” Decker ripped off Tyler’s pajama bottoms and to survey the damage to the legs.

He’d been hit in the thigh. On the surface, the bone didn’t look broken, but he had no way to assess the damage that the bullet made. A half foot higher and the kid would have had a lot more to worry about than a shattered femur.

Decker pulled a blanket off the closet shelf and covered Tyler to minimize the shock. He kept his voice low and soothing. “Can you feel pain?”

“Fuck yeah . . .”

“That’s good. You’ll be fine. Ambulance is already here.”

The kid lifted the blanket to look at his groin.

Decker said, “Your dick is fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I wouldn’t, Harvard. You’re totally intact.”

Tears were streaming down the kid’s cheek. “Not that it’s getting much use.”

Decker broke into nervous laughter. “You still have your wits.”

“I’m really dizzy.”

“Just hold on.” Decker attempted a smile. “You must be the only person in the world who has a locked closet.”