Jason screeched his car to a halt on the side of the road as soon as the phone rang. He switched off the police scanner that had been going all night and answered.

"Gray," he said, gripped with loathing.

"Have you made your decision?"

"I can't give the weapon to you. It's not mine to give."

"Well, then."

A shriek in the background.

"Connie!" he said.

"Are you sufficiently motivated yet?" said Gray.

"Listen, Gray, this is between you and me. Leave her out of it."

"Would you give yourself up? Would you come to me willingly, without involving police or other obstacles that might endanger her life?"

"If I knew you'd set her free."

"As soon as you get here, I will."

"How do I know you'll hold up your end of the bargain?"

"You have my word."

"Your word," scoffed Jason.

"Take it or leave it. If you want to, I'll let you think about it for a little bit. But there's no guarantee your friend here will be safe during that time."

Jason bit back a curse. "Don't you dare touch her."

"I'll give you fifteen minutes."

Jason set the phone down on the seat; flipped the police scanner back on. If he gave himself up, there was no guarantee Gray would let Connie go. He might keep both of them for leverage to get his father's secrets, or worse, hurt her to make Jason give up his.

Dread poured through him at the thought of being in Gray's hands again. But no matter what, I can't leave her there, he thought. Even if it means worse torture at his hands, it's worth it. I just wish there was a way to guarantee her safety.

He gripped the steering wheel, preparing to start the car. "We have a 10-71 at Fourteenth and Vine," said a female cop through the speakers of his phone.

"A shooting on the north side?" said a male voice with mock surprise.

"The victim appears to be breathing, but we need some paramedics over here."

Jason stopped. There was something about it. He had listened to the scanner most of the night, hoping to find some clue. So far, nothing. Why had this caught his attention? Why would a shooting have something to do with it—unless-Gray had been the one to use the gun. But why draw attention to himself in that way? He couldn't have shot Connie…unless…

No. Jason wouldn't consider that possibility.

The phone rang again.

"Yeah," said Jason.

"Do we have a deal?"

"I'll trade places with her."

"I thought so. Well, then. There's no one listening in, is there? Because one sign of the cavalry, and I'll take her out of the picture."

"No. I won't tell anyone."

"Good. Let's meet at the corner of Seventeenth and Vine, in Connellsville, at one o'clock. From there, I'll take you to where Connie is. Then, she'll be free to leave, and we can pick up where we left off. How does that strike you, Jason?"

Jason gritted his teeth. "I'll be there." He shut off the phone.

And considered: 17th and Vine was awfully close to where the police had talked about. Coincidence? Or was that where Gray was located?

It was 9:00. He had four hours. Half an hour to get to Connellsville. Three and a half hours to find Gray, and rescue Connie—since he had no illusions that Gray would actually hold up his end of the bargain.

Maybe I can end this, he thought. For the both of us.

He called his father, but only got his voicemail. Then he called Tasha.

"Hi, Jason," she said. "Are you all right?"

"I've been out all night, looking for clues."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd have come with you."

"I…wanted to do it alone."

"Oh."

"Listen, if I'm not back by two o'clock, contact the police in Connellsville."

"Wait, Jason—back from where? Where are you going?"

"I have to do this alone, too."

"You're not going after him yourself? We talked about this. We can't just jump into it—"

"I can't let him keep hurting her. If he finds out someone else is coming, he might—kill her. I have to go."

"But Jason—"

"Bye, Tasha."

I bet I can make it in twenty minutes, he thought. He revved the car to a start, drove to the nearest exit, then sped down the highway.

Nineteen minutes later, he parked at a gas station, grabbed his 9mm pistol from the glove compartment, tucked it into his coat pocket, and got out.

He walked casually to Vine Street, and then along the railroad bridge, careful to stay in its shadows, its concrete supports splattered with graffiti, colorful gang signs.

Ahead, a huge building loomed, its steel skeleton poking out from beneath its gray concrete skin. What windows that were left were smashed. It looked like an ill-conceived building project, long-abandoned.

He walked across the snow, and then slid along the edge of the building, ignoring the cold splash of water from the icicles above.

At one part of the building, an anteroom or storeroom, the door was open, thudding against the wall with the wind. Around the area was a flurry of footprints, so scuffled that he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Something caught his eye. He crouched next to the threshold.

Red spots had soaked the snow. He stepped inside; more blood, but no sign of anyone.

Back outside, he followed a trail to the left. It stopped abruptly, as if someone had fallen from the sky.

Or, more likely, the roof, he thought. He stood there, considering the best way to get inside. If Gray was there, he had probably trapped the easiest way.