Her mind racing, she shoved her feet in the ridiculous heels. “Where are you?”

“Just leaving my house. I’ll be there in fifteen with my lights. Where are you?”

“David’s cabin. I’ll meet you as fast as I can get there.” She grabbed her keys from her purse and headed to her car where she’d left her overnight bag, still talking to him. “Kane, why would someone bomb the school?” she asked, afraid she already knew.

“One, they’re fucking nuts. Two, they have a beef with someone at the school. Three, someone wants the population evacuated from the dorms.”

“Kenny. We talked to twenty-one kids. Only Kenny lived in the dorms.”

“I know. I already told dispatch to have the first responders find him and watch him. I gave them Kenny’s description, just in case there’s confusion on the site.”

“How did they know about him?” She had her bag and was running back to the cabin. “He’s our link to a potential eyewitness, but who told them we talked to him?”

“Could have been anyone at the school. I don’t guess twenty kids kept it a secret.”

“Oh God.” The sick feeling was slinking down her spine. “Kane, I never actually talked to Val. I left her voice mails, but she never did anything but text.”

“Shit. Get dressed and meet me here. I’ll get a unit to check on the interpreter.”

Wednesday, September 22, 12:45 a.m.

It was controlled chaos, he thought. He stood in the trees beyond the back lot of the school, watching the children pour out of the dormitories, all in pajamas. There were more than he’d thought there’d be, ranging in age from five to eighteen, all scared.

They wore shoes, or at least carried them in their hands. His gaze moved to the oldest group of boys and watched for a pair of blue Converse high-tops.

The kids signed busily as the dorm staff herded them to their specified safe area. He was beginning to think he’d never find Kenny, when he saw him. Sandy blond, five-ten, wearing blue high-tops. Standing off to the side, looking miserable.

He took his notepad and scrawled two separate messages, then swaggered over to the boy as he’d seen countless cops swagger in and out of his shop over the years. He tapped him on the shoulder, ignoring the students and staff behind him.

Kenny read the note. Kenny Lathem, the detectives want to speak with you again.

For a moment, he thought the kid would run. But Kenny steeled his spine and nodded stiffly. He started to walk, Kenny in front of him.

“Wait.” It was one of the dorm staff who stood shivering in the wind. “Where are you taking him?” The young man’s speech was slightly slurred, but understandable.

Keeping his head down, he handed the note to the staff person, then took it back after the staff read it and nodded. He wore black gloves and had left no fingerprints, but there was no reason to hand evidence over to the cops. His hat covered enough of his face that if he kept his head down, no one would be able to clearly describe him.

And if they did, then so what? He looked like everybody. He had one of those faces that just blended in. Add to that the face putty he’d used to build up his cheekbones, chin, and nose, and he was unrecognizable.

He jerked his head, motioning Kenny to come. They rounded the building, out of sight. Then he drew his gun and watched the boy’s eyes widen in fear. Stepping closer, he pressed the barrel of the gun to Kenny’s gut and handed the kid the second note.

If you scream, I will kill you. Turn around and walk. Slowly. If you run, I will kill you. Then I will kill every member of your family. Nod if you understand.

Kenny’s nod was tiny, but perceptible.

He patted the kid’s pocket, found Kenny’s phone, then shoved the phone in his own pocket and the gun into Kenny’s kidney. They began to walk. He could see his van parked just beyond the trees.

Almost there. Almost home free. They were at the van and he slid the side door open and shoved the kid in. Then he heard it. The snap of a twig behind him. Fuck.

“Stop. Police.” It was a deep voice and loud. And coming closer.

Fuck. He yanked the side door closed and reached for the driver’s door, wrenching it open. He had one foot in when a hand grabbed his collar and yanked.

“Get out of the car, goddammit,” the cop snarled.

His left hand clamped on the wheel and held on. His right hand still held his gun. He held it close to his chest so that the cop couldn’t see it. The cop’s hand left his collar, but grabbed his left wrist and twisted it behind him.

It hurt. A goddamn lot. The cop held him down and with his free hand opened the side door. Kenny scrambled out and ran. “You’re under arrest,” the cop said.

Hell no. He gave a huge shove back and twisted, firing as he did so. He heard the blast, felt the jerk of the discharge up into his shoulder, smelled the acrid odor of gunpowder, heard a little gasp. The hand on his wrist loosened and he fired again. The cop’s body just fell away. He jumped in his seat, twisted the key he’d left in the ignition, and peeled out, zigzagging to throw his door closed as he sped away.

Then he looked back in his side mirror, saw a figure on his back on the ground. Not moving. It wasn’t a regular cop. The man wore a suit. His fedora lay a few feet from his outstretched arm. He was big, dark, and… He knew him. Detective Kane.

He fixed his gaze forward, his mouth a grim line. “Goddammit,” he hissed. His own hat was gone. His fucking hat was gone. Relax. You wore gloves. It’s just a hat.

They might find a hair.

And? So what? It doesn’t tell them anything without something to compare it to. And if he was careful, there would be nothing to compare it to.

I shot a cop. Maybe killed a cop. A retired cop had been hilarious because he’d pinned it on the College Four. Now the College Four was down to two. And the cops have my damned hat. The cops won’t rest until they find me.

I’ll cool it for a while. He laughed bitterly. If I have to run, I can always go to France.

He pulled into a side street, got out and changed the rear plate. He could already hear the sirens blaring. They’re looking for me. He reached between the front seats and pulled out the magnetic sign he used for his business. THE DELI-WE CATER. They’d be looking for a plain white van. His sign made him invisible.

He applied it to the driver’s side door and got back in. He pulled the putty off his face and yanked at his tie, pulled off the costume shirt, and pulled on a Deli polo shirt. His heart was pounding. He hated when his heart pounded. Dammit.

His hands were shaking as he put the van in drive and pulled out of the alley, onto the next block. He merged into traffic and headed for home.

I don’t have Kenny. He patted his own pants pocket. But I do have Kenny’s phone.

The evening wasn’t a total loss.

Wednesday, September 22, 1:00 a.m.

Olivia was out of her car almost before it stopped, looking for Kane. Officer down. She’d heard it on the radio when she was five minutes out and her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. Serious injury. Shots fired. She’d tried Kane’s cell three times in the last five minutes, but nobody answered. He should have answered. He’d know she’d worry. He’d have hell to pay when she found him.

She scanned the crowd as she ran past the line of emergency vehicles and news vans. Where’s Kenny? Where is Kane? She searched the crowd but didn’t see Kane standing as he always did, head and shoulders over everyone else. She didn’t see his fedora. Her heart was in her throat, choking her.

Two uniformed officers began to walk toward her and her pounding heart stopped. No. She knew that look. She’d worn that look.

No. She started to run. No.

“Sorry, ma’am, we can’t let you through.” One of the uniforms grabbed her arm, stopping her, but she jerked free, flashed her badge and took off around them. There were people through the trees. She could see a gurney and the lights of a rescue squad on the access road behind them.