"You bought a house way out here just for that?"

He nodded as he lifted one of the slats on the blind and peered through. "Well, yeah. I wanted three things: isolation, low maintenance, and cheap."

She glanced around again. "I don't know what you paid for it, but you certainly got one and two."

"It was cheap enough to allow me to make some improvements."

"Improvements? Where?"

"They're not readily apparent."

"You can say that again. Looks like a crack house."

He laughed as he kept watch through the blind. "Oh, right. Like you'd know."

"Yeah, I would know," she said, resenting his sarcasm. "I've gone along when we've had to retrieve sick children from addict parents. You don't know a fraction of what I've seen."

Jack glanced at her. "You're right. I don't. Sorry. I'm sure there's lots I don't know about you."

What does he mean by that? Alicia wondered as he turned back to peeking through the blind. She was about to ask him but held back.

Ease up, she told herself. You've been acting a little weird tonight. All right, more than a little. He's got to have some questions about you. Anybody would.

She glanced at her watch: three minutes gone. In seven minutes she'd hold him to his word and make him take her home.

"Uh, oh," he said from the window. "Company."

He stepped aside and held up the slat for her. She peeked though.

Out front, beyond the derelict pickup, a car and a panel truck—her heart began to race as she recognized that truck—were pulling to a stop.

14.

"Everyone get out on the street side of the truck," Baker said into the cell phone as he pulled to a stop behind the panel truck. No point in advertising how many men he'd brought.

He opened his door and jumped out to take charge. He could almost hear the blood singing through his veins, coursing through his limbs, tingling in his fingertips. This was Sam Baker's element, this was when he felt most alive.

"Remember," the Arab said, leaning over from the passenger seat. "You must not harm the woman."

"Yeah," Baker said. "I hear you."

He'd been hearing that since they'd hit the LIE. He knew all about it. Muhallal had made that a condition from Day One. Fine. They wouldn't hurt the girl.

But the guy… that was a different story.

Especially since Baker had got the word about Mott and Richards. When they still weren't answering their phone, he'd called Chuck and sent him to limp over to check on them. Chuck was glad for something to do. He wasn't much good for anything else, what with his right arm in a splint and his knee in a straight brace—courtesy of the guy in the house.

But Chuck had been pretty shook up when he called back. Mott and Richards were dead. Head shots. Looked like hollow points.

Baker had heard of blind rage before, but never had experienced it until tonight. He'd been so pissed, and screaming so loud, he'd almost put the car in a ditch.

Not that Mott and Richards didn't deserve to be dead. Really—how dumb were they, first to get gassed, then to get whacked out in the open? Served them fucking right.

Bad enough that guys he knew had been offed, but they'd bought it while they were working for him. That was a bitch slap to Sam Baker. He could not let this guy live to talk about it.

But he could make him squeal like a pig before he died.

His six remaining men, Kenny and the rest, were out of the van and donning their vests and checking their weapons by the time he got there. He pointed to the big black guy who was kneeling, tying his shoe.

"Briggs. Go check the car. Just to be sure. This guy's tricky, so be careful or you could end up like Mott and Richards."

As Briggs hefted his Tec-9 and trotted toward the Chevy, Baker turned to Perkowski and pointed to the utility pole. "Perk. Climb up there and cut the phones." Then he pointed to Barlowe. "Take DeMartini and cover the rear."

Briggs returned as they took off toward the backyard.

"Car's okay," Briggs said.

"Hey, look."

Baker turned and saw Kenny pointing toward the house. He followed his nephew's point and saw two silhouettes through the open Venetian blinds. A second later the blinds closed again.

"They know we're here. Where's my Tec?"

Kenny pulled one of the Tec-9's from inside the van and tossed it his way. Baker caught it one-handed. He checked the clip, then worked the slide. He loved these little beauties. They emptied their thirty-two-round clips in an eye blink.

"Let's go," he said.

"Wait," said a voice behind him. "I am coming with you."

Oh, shit. What a time for Ahab the Ay-rab to get some guts.

"I don't think that's such a good idea. There may be some shooting."

"That is what I fear. The woman must not be hurt."

"Don't worry. We won't—"

"I am coming. Lead on."

Baker looked at him and thought, If you weren't paying me, you lousy twerp, I'd shove this barrel right up your nose and give you a 9mm headache.

He smiled. "Okay. Your call. But don't blame me if you get hurt."

15.

"Why'd you open them?" Alicia said as Jack pulled the string to close the blind.

"Wanted to make sure they know we're here." He stepped back from the window and shook his head. "They're carrying assault pistols. Looks like they mean to do some serious harm."

Alicia's intestines writhed into a painful knot. Men with guns… looking for her… how did she ever come to this?

"You mean they're going to kill us?" Alicia said.

"That's about the only thing Tec-9's are good for," Jack said. "Close-range annihilation." He gave her a quick smile. "But not you. Killing you is the last thing they want to do."

Alicia noticed that he'd left the obvious unsaid: Killing Jack would be the first thing on their list.

Will Matthews, where are you when I need you?

"Call the police," she said, suddenly frantic. She didn't want Jack to join the other three men she'd involved in this. "Maybe if they know the police are coming—"

"That guy who climbed the pole fixed that. And even if he hadn't, the cops couldn't get here in time. And even if they could, we wouldn't call them."

He strode across the living room into the small connecting dining room. Alicia followed.

"Look, Jack. I know you have a thing about the police, but there are a dozen armed men—"

"Eight," he said as he knelt by a dusty, scratched sideboard and pulled it away from the wall. "And one of them isn't armed—or at least isn't showing it."

On the wall behind the sideboard was what appeared to be a security system keypad. Jack began punching in a code.

"All right, eight" she said, her fear and frustration rising. "Whatever the number, there's a small army out there and just you and me in here. And what are you doing? Setting an alarm? We don't need an alarm, we need help!"

"No," he said. "We need out. And that's where we're gonna get." He pushed the sideboard back against the wall and headed toward the kitchen. He motioned her to follow. "Let's go."

He led her through the kitchen without turning on a light. A quick left past the refrigerator to a dark open doorway.

"This way to the basement," he said. "The handrail is on the right. Soon as you close that door behind you, I'll turn on the light."

The basement was partially finished—half-paneled, half-bare cinder blocks. Jack crossed the littered floor to a section of paneling, poked his finger over the top, then pulled. The section swung away from the wall on hinges. Behind it, a circular opening, four feet across, gaped in the block.

"What on earth?" Alicia said.

"Not on," Jack said, "in the earth."