Aaron was wide awake when his bedroom door slowly opened and the silhouette of a large man loomed in the doorway. He shuddered then watched in horror as the man picked up his little-league bat and slapped it repeatedly into his palm. Smack ... Smack ... Smack ...

"Out for a joy ride tonight, Aaron?" the man said.

Aaron was only partially relieved to recognize Tom's voice.

Suddenly Tom stopped, interrupted by a sound that came from downstairs. "Stay here," he said, motioning with his hand.

Tom stepped out into the hall and moved quietly toward the stairs to investigate. It occurred to him to get the .22 caliber pistol he kept loaded and ready in his sock drawer, but the apartment was old, and at night, when it was quiet, it wasn't unusual to hear strange sounds. He gripped the bat with both hands and slowly descended the dark stairs.

Souther was ascending the same stairs from below.

They met halfway.

Tom cried out and swung wildly. He heard a sickening thud, and the bat torqued in his hands as he connected with the side of Souther's head. Souther tumbled backward down the steps and lay motionless at the bottom of the dark stairwell. Tom's heart pounded the breath from his lungs.

Ashley hadn't slept since Aaron ran away, and when she heard the fighting she grabbed her eyegla.s.ses off the night table, jumped out of bed, and threw on her poly satin robe. She hesitated, then ran to Tom's dresser and retrieved his .22, a compact yet lethal weapon of which she had always disapproved. Then she clicked on the hall light and ran to the top of the stairs.

She saw her husband, Aaron's baseball bat, and the shadowed stranger sprawled across the bottom steps.

"Thomas?" she cried.

Tom looked up and saw her holding the gun.

"Shoot the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" he shouted.

"What? I a"

"Kill the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!"

Ashley pointed the gun at Souther, but hesitated.

Souther came to and scrabbled around for his pistol.

"Oh, G.o.d!" Tom cried. "Shoot him, Ashley! Kill him!"

Ashley closed her eyes, fired and missed a the feel of the lethal round exiting the barrel sickened her.

Souther found his gun, whipped it up and fired. The bullet smacked Tom in the chest, slamming him against the wall and sending the bat flying.

Ashley screamed, fired again, and missed. Souther looked up at her, and for an instant their eyes met. Then she ran back upstairs, knowing her husband was dead.

Souther stood and started up the stairs after her. Tom was sprawled on the steps, blood soaking into the carpet beneath him. Souther heard him groan, so he shot him again. Then he stepped over the body and continued up the stairs, reloading as he went.

Ashley ran into her son at the top of the stairs. He had seen everything.

"Aaron!" she cried, surprised, delighted, and terrified to discover that he had returned home.

"Follow me," he said, s.n.a.t.c.hing some car keys, a credit card, and a cell phone from the hall table. They ducked into his bedroom and he dead-bolted the door behind them.

He slid the window open and climbed out onto the flat roof over the garage. "Give me your hand," he said, holding out his. "Hurry!" Ashley took his hand and stepped quickly through the window onto sharp gravel that cut into her bare feet.

Aaron lead the way across the rooftop to the fire ladder, then motioned for her to wait as he peered over the edge of the low parapet. In the dark alley below he saw the huge black man from the cannery standing guard a few feet from the bottom of the ladder a he had his gun in his hand.

Ashley shivered in her thin robe and nightgown. "I-I let Tom d-die tonight," she said.

"What? No you didn't."

"I c-couldn't shoot."

Aaron huddled closer to her, not knowing what to say. He was struggling with his own feelings regarding Tom's death. He noticed the bruise under her eye, and he didn't have to ask her how she got it.

He refocused his attention on his plan. "Mom, listen to me," he said. "We're going to use the fire escape and make a run for the garage. I'll go first ... then I'll help you, okay?"

Ashley looked at him, clutching the neck of her nightgown. The plan terrified her.

Aaron sensed her trepidation. "We have no other choice," he said. "If we don't move fast they'll find us and kill us." He placed the keys, credit card, and phone in her hands and squeezed them. "Take these ... you've got bigger pockets than I do." The pockets in his jeans were fine, of course, but in the likelihood that he and his mother got separated during the escape, he figured she could use them more than he.

He remembered that she had had Tom's gun, and for a brief insane moment he thought they might be able to shoot their way out.

"Do you still have the gun?" he asked.

Ashley felt the cold steel pressing against her thigh and she nodded. But as she went to pull the .22 out of the pocket of her robe, Aaron came to his senses and laid his hand on her arm. His gun handling skills, although excellent, were limited to video games. He wouldn't stand a chance in a real gunfight, against what was likely a highly trained professional killer. Besides, if they did get separated, he'd want her to have the pistol as well.

"No," he said. "You keep it."

"Really? But you a"

Aaron squeezed her arm, nearly to the point of hurting her.

"Keep it," he said.

Ashley looked at her son for a moment, struggling with her thoughts. Everything was happening too fast. Then she let the gun slide back into its satin holster.

Aaron looked at her squarely. "No police ... okay, Mom?"

"What?"

"Trust me," he said. "You don't want to call the cops on these guys. Not yet, at least."

Ashley had never seen Aaron act this way before a like a man a and she felt the warmth of maternal pride move through her. It relaxed her a little and quelled some of her fear. But still she struggled to hold back her tears.

Aaron stood and breathed deeply. What they were about to attempt terrified him, too. "Okay, then ..." he said. "Let's do this."

Chapter 15.

300 Horses Blood streamed down the side of Souther's face as he checked the upstairs of the apartment. In the master bath he found a clean towel and used it to wipe his face. Then he pressed it against his scalp to control the bleeding. He saw a utility bill lying on the dresser: It was addressed to an Ashley Quinn. He noted the name and left the room.

He crossed the hall and tried Aaron's door, but it was bolted. He slammed his shoulder into it, but the door held.

Again.

The door held.

He fired a bullet into the lock, but the lock held.

"s.h.i.t!" he said, enraged. Then he headed back downstairs.

Aaron peered over the edge of the roof and down into the dark alley. The gunman was still only a few yards away. Aaron knew that the last section of the rickety fire ladder was missing, leaving an eight-foot drop to the pavement. This wasn't going to be easy.

He steeled himself then climbed over the edge and down the ladder where he hung from the last corroded rung for a moment before dropping to the street. He crouched low against the wall, watching the gunman, then looked up and gestured to his mother to follow him.

Ashley edged herself out over the parapet and onto the iron ladder, her hands trembling uncontrollably as her body tried to ward off hypothermia.

"Hey!" a voice boomed, sending a cold thrill of terror lancing up Aaron's back. Ashley leaped back onto the roof, stifling a cry as the sharp stones cut into her feet.

Aaron turned to run, but as he did an immense, powerful hand landed heavily on his shoulder and in an instant the hard black asphalt rushed up and smashed into him like a bus. He gasped for breath, crying out silently to his mother, Run when you can, Mom! Run to the Nova! But all he could do was grit his teeth in pain and prepare to meet his fate.

Ashley peeked over the edge and watched helplessly as Beeks dragged Aaron down the alley and around the corner of the building. She was nearly hysterical, her face awash with tears, her mind spinning out wild imaginings of what they would do to him. But she knew what she had to do if she was ever going to see him again. So she calmed herself, said a short prayer, and set her mind on escaping.

Though still fit and agile at thirty-four, she had difficulty with the final drop to the street, hitting the pavement hard, twisting her bare ankle sharply. She grimaced in pain, then braced one hand against the rough stucco wall, with the other under her torn ankle, and hopped over to the small door into the garage.

Johnny Souther caught up with Needles in the side alley. "I think they went out the back," he said, looking up at the roof over the garage. "Where's Beeks?"

"He was guarding the rear," Needles said. He noticed the fresh blood on Souther's face. "I heard shots. Are you okay?"

Souther started toward the back alley. "Let's just say I stood too close during batting practice, and the batter had to be taken out of the game."

Just then Beeks showed up dragging his prize along side him. Souther saw Aaron and seized him violently from behind and thrust his knife up under his chin, nearly breaking Aaron's arm with his powerful hold.

"You cost me a lot of time and trouble tonight, punk," Souther said, teeth clenched. He tightened his grip with a grunt. "Now it's payback time."

Aaron was consumed by fear, unable to think or move as the cold sharp blade quivered beneath his jaw. But just as Souther went to slit Aaron's throat he stopped and looked at Beeks.

"Where's the woman?" he said.

Beeks was still patting himself on the back for rounding up the boy. "Woman?" he said, surprised by the question.

"The kid's mother, d.a.m.n it!" Souther said. "The lady whose husband I just killed. She can ID me, for Christ's sake." He glanced up toward the roof again.

Behind the wheel of the Nova, now, Ashley fumbled desperately with the keys.

Beeks was sure that the boy had been alone. "I never seen any a"

"Shut up ..." Souther said, cutting Beeks off at the sound of a car starting. He tossed Aaron to Needles and ran toward the garage, yelling over his shoulder: "Take care of the kid ... we may need him."

Ashley gripped the wheel and mashed the Nova's accelerator through the floorboards. The small-block V-8 coughed twice, then responded with a throaty gla.s.s-pack roar, sending all 300 screaming horses to wide rear tires that billowed thick white smoke like a coal-fired locomotive.

The little Chevy smashed through the wooden garage door in a shower of splinters, narrowly missing Johnny Souther before swerving off down the alley and out of sight.

Neighborhood dogs barked hysterically as Souther slowly picked himself up off the pavement.

Chapter 16.

The Photo The two vans pulled inside the cannery, and everyone got out. Beeks rolled the big door closed, and Needles lit a gasoline lantern.

"Put him over there and tie him up," Souther said, pointing to a chair in a corner.

Beeks led Aaron to the chair and as he turned to grab a roll of duct tape to secure him, Aaron quickly slipped Michael's cell number into his shoe.

Souther walked over and went through Aaron's pockets.

"Did you call the cops?" Souther asked.

Aaron still struggled with his decision not to. "No," he replied.

"Good. Because you'd have signed your mother's death warrant."

Souther found Aaron's wallet and inside it a small snapshot. He held the photo up to the lamplight. It was the shot of Aaron's mother and father in the alpine meadow. There were very few photos taken of his parents together and to Aaron this one was priceless.

"Give me that!" he cried, straining against his bindings. "That's mine!"