He held still, listening to Kevin and Dennis. The laundry room turned a corner where it opened into the kitchen; the pantry was off that little hall. He could hear them talking, though he couldn’t understand what they were saying, and then the voices stopped.
Thomas crept through the laundry room to his father’s tiny hobby room at the end opposite the kitchen. Both rooms were at the rear of the garage, though you could only get to the garage through the laundry. That’s how everyone came into the house from their cars: through the laundry room and into the kitchen.
When Thomas reached the hobby room, he eased the door closed, then once more turned on his flashlight. His father’s hobby was building plastic models of rocket ships from the early days of the space program. He bought the kits off eBay, built and painted them at a little workbench, then put them on shelves above the bench. His father also had a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol in a metal box on the top shelf. He had heard his mom and dad fighting about it: His dad used to keep it under the front seat of the Jaguar, but his mom raised such a stink that his father had taken it out of the car and put it in the box.
On the top shelf.
A long way up.
His hand cupped over the bell of the flashlight, Thomas spread his fingers enough to let out a shaft of light. He figured that he could use the stool to climb onto the bench, and, from there, he could probably reach the box.
He climbed. It was so quiet that every creak from the bench sounded like an earthquake. He turned on the flashlight again for a moment to fix the box in his mind’s eye, then reached for it, but the box was too high. He stretched up onto his toes. His fingers grazed the box just enough for him to work it toward the edge of the shelf.
That’s when he heard Dennis.
“THEY’RE COMING!!! KEV, MARS!!! THEY’RE COMING!”
Thomas didn’t waste a moment thinking about the gun; he had come so close, but now he didn’t have time. His only thought was to get back to his room before they discovered him. He jumped down from the bench and ran to the laundry as two fast gunshots exploded in the house, so loud that they made his ears ring.
He wasn’t thinking about Jennifer’s purse. It was on the folding table by the door to the garage, that convenient place where everyone in the family dropped their stuff when they came in from the garage. Jennifer’s purse was there, a Kate Spade like every other girl in her high school owned. Thomas grabbed it.
He scrambled up onto the washing machine, from there to the top of the hot-water heater, then through the access hatch into the crawl space. The last thing that he heard before closing the hatch was Dennis shouting that they had to get the kids.
TALLEY
Handing off the role of primary negotiator was never easy. Talley had already forged a bond with Rooney, and now would pull away, replacing himself with Maddox. Rooney might resist, but the subject was never given a choice. Having a choice was having power, and the subject was never given power.
Talley brought Maddox and Ellison into the cul-de-sac where they hunkered behind their car. Talley wanted to go over his earlier conversations with Rooney in greater detail so that Maddox would have something with which to work, but they didn’t have time. The gunshots from the house cracked through the summer air like a car backfiring in a distant canyon: poppop.
Almost instantly, a storm of transmissions crackled over their radios:
“Shots fired! Shots fired! We are under fire from the house, west rear at the wall! Advise on response!”
All three of them knew what had happened the instant they heard the calls.
“Damnit, she moved in too close! Rooney thinks he’s being breached!”
Ellison said, “We’re fucked.”
Talley felt sick; this is the way it went bad, this is how people got dead, just this fast.
Maddox clawed for his radio as other voices checked off positions and status. The tinny voice of Carl Hicks, the tactical supervisor, came back, calm over the strained voices of his men.
“Will advise, stand by while we assess.”
Talley didn’t wait; he dialed the tactical team’s frequency into his own transceiver.
“Pull back, pull back, pull back! Do NOT return fire!”
Martin’s voice cut over his, short and clipped.
“Who is this?”
“Talley. I told you to respect that perimeter!”
“Talley, get off the freq.”
Maddox finally had his radio, cursing as he keyed the mike.
“One, Maddox. Listen to him, Captain. Do not breach that house. Pull back or we’re going to have a mess!”
“Clear the frequency! Those people are in danger.”
“Do not breach that house! I can talk to him!”
Talley had his cell phone out. He punched redial to call the house, praying that Rooney would answer, then ran to Jorgenson’s car, still there in the street, and turned on the public address system.
THOMAS
Thomas scrambled across the joists like a spider. He slammed his head into the low-hanging rafters so hard that his teeth snapped together, but he didn’t stop or even think about the noise he was making. He scurried through the long straight tunnel of the crawl space past Jennifer’s room, under her window, past her bathroom, past his, and then to the access hatch in his closet. He didn’t pause to see if they were in his room, but scrambled through the hatch and ran to his bed. He wanted to retie himself; to pretend that he hadn’t moved. He pulled the ropes back over his ankles, working frantically, his hands slick with sweat, as shouts and footsteps pounded toward him through the hall.
He looped the ropes and slipped his hands through, realized in a flash of fear that he had forgotten the tape that had covered his mouth, but then it was too late.
DENNIS
Dennis threw open the door. He saw that the boy had damn near untied himself, but he didn’t care.
“C’mon, fat boy!”
“Get away from me!”
Dennis jammed his pistol into his waist, then pinned the fat boy with a knee to untie him. Outside, Talley’s voice echoed over his P.A., but Dennis couldn’t make out the words. He pulled the fat boy from his bed, hooked an arm around his neck, and dragged him back toward the stairs. If the cops crashed through the front door, he would hold his gun to the kid’s head and threaten to kill him. He would hide behind the kid and make the cops back down. He had a chance. He had hope.
“Hurry up, Kevin! Jesus! Bring the girl!”
Dennis dragged the fat boy down the stairs and into the office where Mars was waiting by the window. Mars looked totally calm, as if he was killing time in a bar before going to work. He tipped his head when he saw Dennis, that stupid tiny smile on his calm face.
“They’re not doing anything. They’re just sitting there.”
Dennis dragged the kid to the shutters. Mars opened the shutters enough for Dennis to see. The cops weren’t storming the house. They were hunkered behind their cars.
Dennis realized that the phone was ringing just as Talley’s voice came over the P.A. again.
“Answer the phone, Dennis. It’s me, Talley. Answer the phone so I can tell you what happened.”
Dennis scooped up the phone.
TALLEY
Martin and Hicks ran into the cul-de-sac without waiting for a cover vehicle, Martin hitting the ground beside Talley so hard that she almost bowled him over, shouting, “What in hell do you think you’re doing, interfering with my deployment?”