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Someone was standing right there, already in the doorway. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Matt?"

It was Kyra.

"Matt, what are-?"

He signaled her to stay quiet and beckoned her inside.

"What's going on?" Kyra whispered.

"What are you doing awake?"

"I-" She shrugged. "I saw police cars. What's going on?"

"It's a long story."

"That investigator who came by today. She asked me about you."

"I know."

They both heard Marsha shout: "Just a minute."

Kyra's eyes widened. "You're trying to run away?"

"It's a long story."

Her eyes met his. He wondered what Kyra was going to do here. He didn't want to involve her. If she screamed, he would understand. She was just a kid. She had no role in any of this, no real reason to trust him.

"Go," Kyra whispered.

He didn't wait or say thank you. He started outside. Kyra followed, veering the other way back toward her room above the garage. Matt saw the swing set he'd put up with Bernie a lifetime ago. It'd been ridiculously hot the day they assembled it. They'd both had their shirts off. Marsha had waited on the porch with beers. Bernie had wanted to put in one of those ziplines, but Marsha had nixed that, claiming, correctly in Matt's view, that they were dangerous.

What you remember.

The yard was too open- there were no trees, no bushes, no rocks. Bernie had cleared out a lot of the brush with the anticipation of putting in a swimming pool- another dream, albeit a small one, that died with him. There were white bases laid out in the shape of a baseball diamond and two small soccer goals. He started to cross the yard. Kyra had gone back inside the garage.

Matt heard a commotion.

"Wait!" The voice belonged to Olivia. She was intentionally shouting so that he would hear. "Why are your men going to the backyard?"

There was no time to hesitate. He was out in the open. Make a mad run for it? There was little choice. He sprinted into the neighbor's yard. Matt avoided the flower beds, which were a strange thing to worry about at a time like this, but he did it anyway. He risked a glance behind him.

A policeman had made the turn into the backyard.

Damn.

He hadn't been spotted. Not yet. He searched for a place to hide. The neighbors had a toolshed. Matt leaped behind it. He pressed his back against it, like he'd seen done in the movies. A pointless move. He checked his waistband.

The gun was there.

Matt risked a peek.

The cop was staring directly at him.

Or at least he appeared to be. Matt quickly pulled back. Had the cop seen him? Hard to say. He waited for someone to yell, "Hey, he's right there, right in the next yard behind that toolshed!"

Nothing happened.

He wanted to take another look.

He couldn't risk it.

He stayed and waited.

Then he heard a voice- another cop, he guessed: "Sam, you see some-?"

The voice cut out like a radio turned off.

Matt held his breath. He strained his ears. Footsteps? Was he hearing footsteps? He couldn't say for sure. He debated sneaking another glance. If they were on their way toward him, what harm would it do? Either way he'd be nailed.

It was too quiet back here.

If the cops were actively searching for him, they'd be calling out to one another. If they were being quiet, quiet like this, there was only one explanation.

He'd been spotted. They were sneaking up on him.

Matt listened again.

Something jangled. Like something on a policeman's belt.

No question now- they were coming for him. His heart picked up pace. He could feel it hammering in his chest. Caught. Again. He pictured what would happen: the rough handling, the handcuffs, the back of the cruiser…

Jail.

Fear gripped him. They were coming. They'd take him away and throw him back into that pit. They'd never listen. They'd lock him up. He was an ex-con. Another man was dead after a fight with Matt Hunter. Forget everything else. This one would be a slam dunk.

And what would happen to Olivia if he was caught?

He couldn't even explain the truth, even if he wanted to, because then she would end up in jail. And if there was one thing that terrified him more than his own incarceration…

Matt wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly the Mauser M2 was in his hand.

Calm down, he told himself. We're not shooting anybody here.

But he could still use the threat, couldn't he? Except that there were several cops here, four or five at a minimum, more probably on the way. They'd draw their weapons too. Then what? Were Paul and Ethan awake?

He slid to the back part of the toolshed. He risked a peek out from the back.

Two cops were no more than six feet away from him.

He had been spotted. No way around that. They were headed right toward him.

There was no escape.

Matt gripped the gun and got ready to sprint when his gaze was snagged by something in Marsha's backyard.

It was Kyra.

She must have been watching the whole time. She was standing near her door at the garage. Their eyes met. Matt saw something that looked like a small smile on her face. He almost shook his head no, but he didn't.

Kyra screamed.

The scream shattered the air and rang in the ears. The two cops turned toward her- and away from him. She screamed again. The cops sprinted toward her.

"What's wrong?" one of the cops yelled.

Matt did not hesitate now. He used Kyra's diversion and sprinted in the opposite direction, toward the woods. She screamed again. Matt never looked back, not until he was deep in the trees.

Chapter 43

SITTING WITH HER FEET on her desk, Loren Muse decided to call Max Darrow's widow.

It was three or four in the morning in Nevada- Loren could never remember if Nevada was two hours or three behind- but she suspected that a woman whose husband gets murdered probably sleeps uneasily.

She dialed the number. It went into voice mail. A man's voice said, "Max and Gertie can't answer your call right now. We're probably out fishing. Leave a message, okay?"

The voice from the grave made her pause. Max Darrow, retired cop, was a human being. Simple, but you forget that sometimes. You get caught up in the details, in the puzzle pieces. A life has been lost here. Gertie will have to change that message. She and Max won't be going fishing anymore. Sounded like a small thing but it was a life, a struggle, a world now shattered.

Loren left a message with her phone number and hung up.

"Hey, what are you working on?"

It was Adam Yates, the FBI chief from Vegas. He'd driven to the county prosecutor's office with her after their meeting with Joan Thurston. Loren looked up at him. "Just a few strange developments."

"Such as?"

She told him about her conversation with Cingle Shaker. Yates grabbed a chair from a nearby desk. He sat, never taking his eyes off hers. He was one of those guys. Big on eye contact.

When she finished, Yates frowned. "I just can't see how this Hunter guy fits in."

"He should be in custody soon. Maybe we'll learn something then."

Yates nodded, kept up with the eye contact.

Loren said, "What?"

"This case," Yates said. His voice was soft now. "It means a great deal to me."

"Any reason in particular?"

"Do you have children?" he asked.

"No."

"Married?"

"No."

"You gay?"

"Jesus, Yates."

He held up his hand. "That was stupid, sorry."

"Why all the questions?"

"You don't have kids. I don't think you'll understand."

"Are you for real?"

Yates held up the hand again. "I don't mean that the way it sounded. I'm sure you're a good person and all."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's just that… when you have kids, it just changes things."