Hazel had changed into black jeans and she wore a knee-length black suede coat with a fur-lined hood.  She was waiting in the hallway with a small leather backpack swung over one shoulder when Riley and Cole arrived pulling on the jackets they’d retrieved from the entry. Cole was still carrying the small, gym-bag-sized duffel she’d noticed when he appeared at her house.

“You okay?” Hazel asked.

“Yeah. I’m solid. We need to go.”

“I know. The kitchen. Follow me.” Hazel turned and took off at a fast pace through the front living room. When she rounded the corner into another hallway, all the lights in the house went out.

Riley reached her hand out in front of her, probing the blackness, trying to find the wall. So he’s here already, she thought, and she knew that she couldn’t lose anyone else to this madness of his. Her fingers touched the wallpapered surface. She found the door frame. Poking her head part way out into the hall, she peered into the darkness. Hazel, dressed in black as she was, had disappeared.

“Hazel?” Riley whispered.

“Down here.” Hazel’s stage whisper came from far down the hall.

Riley blinked and squinted trying to make her out. A hand touched her sleeve and she jumped, whirled around, and slammed him against the wall, her forearm at his throat. Then she smelled the half briny, half musty smell of Cole’s foul weather jacket. She felt his breath on her face and the flip flops in her belly weren’t just from fear. She exhaled and put her finger to his lips to warn him to keep silent before she backed away. Damn she was jittery.

They had to catch up with Hazel. Riley knew the house better than Cole. She took his hand in hers and pointed with her index finger on his palm in the direction of the kitchen out back. She could barely make out the outline of his body. It seemed to be taking forever for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Cole rested a hand on her good shoulder, and she felt the room tilt again, and she knew it wasn’t the drugs this time. She wondered how she ever could have mistaken his touch for her brother’s.

They started down the hall, their backs to the wall. Her eyes were growing more accustomed to the dark. Riley hoped Hazel was ahead of them, but she still saw no sign of her friend. Damn black clothes.

She was about to risk a call out to Hazel again when the hand on her shoulder tensed. A cold draft. Riley felt it, too. Somewhere in the house a door or a window had opened and let in the sub-freezing air from outside. Riley was certain it wasn’t Hazel leaving without them. Besides, it had seemed to come from behind them. He was inside now.

At the end of the hall, she could see a dim red glow from what she thought was the digital clock on the microwave oven.

That it was Dig, she had no doubt. The man she had seen dancing over her father’s body wasn’t rational anymore — if he had ever been. She also knew that the government had trained him to be an effective killing machine. Now he was coming for her, and he wouldn’t care about collateral damage. She picked up the pace.

Before they could reach the kitchen, they had to pass the open doors on either side of the hall that led to the dining room on one side, a drawing room on the other. Riley paused, her back to the wall. The drawing room had windows facing the street and from them a pool of pale light shone across the floor at the intersection. They would have to walk through it. Or run.

She turned to Cole and signaled that they should run on the count of three. She grasped his hand. Holding up the fingers of her other hand, she counted down.

Go! Riley heard the shot and the soft phhfft as it penetrated cloth. Cole! Was he hit? Oh God. She did not dare slow the pace. She gripped his hand tighter and she felt some small relief when he squeezed hers back. She knew that if he faltered, she would pull him, carry him if necessary.

They made it through the kitchen door, then turned right and rounded the big butcher block center island. Riley strained to hear sound of footfalls behind them. Nothing. Her breathing was already rasping in her throat, and she could not hear a thing beyond the slap of their own shoes. Cole was keeping up with her. Maybe he hadn’t been hit? She was headed for the servants’ door to the kitchen that was out back, through the mud room.

The scarf round her neck tightened so abruptly, her throat closed and her feet nearly flew out from under her. Her neck, already sore and bruised, burned as the scarf dug into the skin. She could not breathe. Cole continued past her, then almost dislocated her shoulder when he pulled up short. She nearly blacked out from the pain, but even so, she wanted to scream at him No, go on, let go of me. Get out of here!

In less than a second, Riley regained her balance and whirled around, her hands coming up ready to strike. She would not let Dig get his hands on her again.

“In here,” a voice whispered. She paused, her arm cocked back, ready to punch. In the darkness, Riley could make out Hazel standing in a recessed doorway holding the other end of her long scarf.

Behind Hazel, a flight of stairs led downward. Jesus, she thought. She stopped herself from imagining what would have happened if she’d struck Hazel.

Her friend motioned again for them to go down the stairs. Riley hesitated. She didn’t like the idea of being caught in a cellar. Then another shot whizzed past them, and she heard it hit the wall next to her head. Night-vision goggles, she thought. Of course. She sprinted down the stairs with Cole right behind her. Hazel slammed the heavy wood door, and Riley heard the bolt slam home. At the foot of the stairs, Hazel turned on a small penlight.

Riley squeezed Cole’s hand. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He held up his duffel and Hazel shone the light on the small hole.

“Thank God,” Riley said, throwing her arms around him. “I thought you’d been shot.”

“Hey,” he said, his lips right next to her ear. “You keep this up and I might go back out there and let him have another try.”

Riley released him and stepped back. She brushed her hands off on her jeans. “Don’t get your hopes up, Thatcher,” she said. “Just glad none of us is injured.”

“Don’t even joke about going back out there. Not smart,” Hazel said to Cole. “I’ve seen enough of these obsessive nut cases. You, he’ll do quick.” She pointed at Riley with her thumb. “He wants to take his time with her.”

“Enough chit chat, people,” Riley said, loosening the scarf round her neck. “He’s got us all cornered down here.”

From the top of the stairs came a resounding crash. Then another.

“And now he’s planning to beat a hole in the door,” Riley said. “Dammit, is there anything down here we can use for a weapon?”

“No need. Over here.” Hazel led them down a corridor between racks filled with wine bottles. The cellar was large, the air damp and cool, though not freezing. “This whole house used to be heated by coal. The old coal chute is back here.”

The pounding continued from the top of the stairs, though it sounded more muffled when they reached the back wall.

In the corner, Hazel shone the thin light on double doors that angled down from overhead. A big rusty barrel bolt held them closed on the inside.

“Boost me up,” Riley said.

Cole threaded his fingers together and bounced his eyebrows up and down. “Glad to be of service.”

She put her sneaker in his hands. “You’d better not be enjoying any of this, Thatcher.”

He grunted as he heaved her up. “Not a bit, ma’am. I promise.”

She hit the bolt’s raised handle with the heel of her hand. It didn’t budge. She hit it again, hard enough to make Cole stagger. “Shit!” she said. “That hurt.”

“Let me try,” Cole said.

From the far side of the cellar, they heard a muffled gunshot. He was shooting at the door now to splinter the wood.