--15--

i

Darkness descended with inky blackness on the banks of the Anacostia River, but never more so than in the run-down industrial area. Though the violent winds had subsided, a hard rain continued to pummel the Washington Power and Light van parked a short distance from the barbed wire fence that ringed the rundown factory. Anyone unlucky enough to be outside tonight would feel only sympathy for the crew dispatched to work on the power lines.

Inside the large van a different operation was underway. A state-of-the-art communications system, complete with radar detection units, lined both sides; on the bench seats by the rear exit, an elite team of commandos sat, ready and waiting, as their commander tracked the movement outside with watchful eyes.

Scarecrow paused in his pre-mission routine just long enough to stretch the kinks from his back and neck. Tension had tightened his muscles, but he barely noticed as he made the final equipment check. Inserting the small communication device into his left ear, he demanded in a clipped voice, "What's the range on the transceiver?"

"Two miles," Leatherneck informed him. "We shouldn't need half that distance for this maneuver."

Lightening crackled through the sky, followed closely by booming thunder. "What allowances have you made for interference from the storm?" he asked, adjusting the dials for optimum range.

Leatherneck scratched his head. "Since the winds have died down, we shouldn't have to worry about that high-pitched whine anymore. I've done my best to filter out the remaining static, but if the lightening gets much worse, I won't be able to give you a money back guarantee."

"We'll have to chance it." He turned to Francine. "Are you picking up anything on the scope?"

"The radar screen is clean." She spoke in a low, no-nonsense tone. "Their guards aren't deployed on the outside. Assuming, of course, that Marsten hasn't sent us on a wild goose chase—"

"Not a chance. This is the location; I'd stake my life on it."

Leatherneck grimaced as he studied the small screen. "You may be doing just that. I don't like the way the weather's affecting this equipment. If you wait until it clears—"

"No way," he said, through gritted teeth. "Every minute Brimstone has my children is one minute too long."

"I hear you, old buddy." Leatherneck clapped him on the back with a familiarity not many at the Agency would have attempted. "But if visibility worsens—"

"Then I'll deal with it. I know where I'm going, after all." His clenched lower jaw was beginning to ache, but he pushed the pain aside. "I've been here before."

Leatherneck flashed a look at Francine. "I know you have," she said, her concern equally apparent. "That's just the trouble. Brimstone may be playing with your head by choosing this location."

He nodded, silently acknowledging her warning, then rubbed his gritty eyes. It had been so long since he'd slept the night through, he'd almost forgotten what rest felt like. "Brimstone may well be doing just that. But if this is a trap, I have to chance it."

"Lee . . ." Francine stepped closer and lowered her voice, so that not even Leatherneck would overhear. "If you aren't up to this, say the word. No one would fault you."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are, Scarecrow." She snorted the words. "I've known you for a long time, and I've never seen you stretched quite this tight. You don't have to lead tactical yourself—"

"The hell I don't." He pounded his fist against his thigh. "I know what you're up to, Francine, and you can forget it. If you made Billy any promises about monitoring my 'emotional stability,' I suggest you stuff them, pronto."

"I didn't promise Billy a damn thing." Her hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, made her flashing eyes appear even larger then usual, and her controlled fury was more than a match for his. "I promised Amanda. So if you have any notions about casting yourself as the self-sacrificing hero in this little scenario, I suggest you stuff them, Scarecrow. Your wife is going to need you when all this is over, and so will those kids."

"I'm not trying to play the hero. I simply intend to get my children back—nothing more, nothing less." He leaned his body into hers, growling under his breath, "I'd advise you not to get in between me and that purpose."

Grabbing a pair of infrared binoculars, he pushed past her to the front of the van. He could feel Francine's anger pulsing behind him, as if it had a life of its own. She had his best interests at heart—this he knew. But his goal was to bring Phillip, Jamie and Annie home, safe and sound; any other considerations were simply extraneous. Five years ago he'd watched masked men gun down his wife in front of this same ramshackle factory. He had no intention of seeing history repeat itself tonight with his children.

Leaning on the dashboard, he scanned the perimeter one last time. Leatherneck's point about the weather was valid—the sheeting rain had reduced visibility to barely acceptable levels, and if the lightening strikes increased, the night-vision goggles would be rendered useless as well. They would have to rely primarily on the radar scanner to detect movement outside the building, then recalibrate to pick up anyone on the inside. He hoped the new system was up to the task.

But that didn't signify, either. With or without technology, he would breach the factory. Without back-up, if it came to that. Francine's promise to Amanda notwithstanding, he knew exactly what he owed—and to whom. He was perfectly prepared to pay his debt in blood, if that's what the situation demanded.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he addressed the elite group of hand-picked agents. "Be prepared to move on my signal."

ii

"Hurry up, we haven't got all night."

"I'm doing the best I can." Jamie's headache continued to pound in the back of his skull, a less-than-subtle reminder of their predicament. "This lock is more complicated than I thought."

"I know, I know." Phillip jerked his head at the rumpled cot where Annie sat, her eyes awash with tears. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"You and me both. But this is hard enough without you yakking in my ear."

Taking a deep breath, Jamie endeavored to focus his eyes; even with his glasses, he was starting to see two of everything. He could hear his brother's anxious footfalls as he inserted the slim wire from the mattress coil into the lock once again. He pushed outside distractions to the back of his mind, concentrating instead on his pal Leatherneck's instructions. "That's it," he mumbled. "First, line the gates. Then slowly and carefully turn—"

"Have you got it yet?"

Groaning, Jamie rested his forehead against the door. The tiny wire kept slipping from his grasp, and he paused again to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants. He felt a little like he used to on those never-ending road trips to visit Aunt Lillian, with his brother bouncing on the seat beside him, demanding to know every two minutes if they were there yet. No wonder their grandmother had put her hands over her ears and threatened to gag him.

He wished for the hundredth time that Lee hadn't stopped Leatherneck from teaching him the advanced escape course. Picking a lock in your living room was easy; doing it under pressure was another matter entirely. His fingers felt clumsy and stiff as he struggled to work the tumblers correctly. Not only could he feel Phillip's eyes boring holes into the back of his head but Annie's occasional mewing sob cut straight to his heart. Pausing once more, he wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"Hey, worm brain, you're doing okay. You'll get it. Just concentrate."

His brother's gentle encouragement was almost worse than his carping, and Jamie swallowed hard. "What if I can't?" he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

"You've got to." Phillip dropped his voice. "I don't know how much more of this she can take."

"What if that big goon comes back for the food tray and figures out what we're up to—"

"Herman." Though shaky, Annie's voice was surprisingly clear. "His name is Herman."

Jamie caught Phillip's eye. "How do you know that, kiddo? Did you hear someone call him that?"

She shook her head and scooted to the edge of the bed. Terror momentarily forgotten, she looked at her brothers eagerly. "He lives with his mother in the blue house on the beach, back home. When he comes to the grocery with her, he always carries her food bags." She turned her liquid eyes on Jamie. "Are we gonna go home now? I want to see Mommy."

"Everyone's a critic," he muttered, returning to his task. As the first gate clicked into place, he smiled tentatively.

"Jamie," Phillip whispered, squatting down beside his brother, "I've been thinking."

"Now I'm sure we're in trouble," he groaned.

"Very funny. But if Annie knows that guy, it can only mean one thing."

"That Herman finally got to see the big city?" He twisted the wire until it turned just a fraction of an inch. Gate two snapped in line; his smile widened.

"Just hear me out, okay?" His brother's voice was low and urgent. "Why do you think that guy with the birthmark would go to the trouble of having me blindfolded then just walk in here and let us see his face?"

"I don't know, Phillip." He blew out an exasperated breath as he struggled with the last gate. This was the point where he always ran into trouble. "Maybe he blindfolded you because he didn't want you to be able to find your way out of here."

"Maybe . . . then again, maybe it doesn't matter anymore . . ." He gripped Jamie's shoulder. "Think about it. If Annie can finger that Herman guy . . ."

Jamie frowned. "You mean . . .?"

"I can only think of one reason why they don't care anymore if we know who they are—they don't expect us to be around long enough to tell anyone." Phillip drew in a deep breath. "Come on, worm brain," he urged. "You've gotta get us out of here."

iii

Pulling her sweater more tightly around her, Mandy moved restlessly around the bedroom. She'd gone downstairs shortly after the extraction team had departed, but the agents left to man the command center only reminded her of her own impotence. She shouldn't be sitting here on the sidelines, out of the action, like a . . . a civilian. She should be running an avoidance pattern . . . flying a helicopter . . . something. Lee was her partner, and she should be watching his tail, just like she always did.

Pain throbbed suddenly behind her eyes, a thousand razor-sharp needles jabbing into her brain. She should be used to it; some of her headaches had been real lollapaloozas. But this one seemed different somehow. What on earth was happening to her?

Her knees weak with exhaustion, she stretched out across the bed. Images of two little boys flashed across her mind, only to disappear once again into the shadows. Annie's birth, moving to the beach, meeting Brad . . . it was beginning to seem foreign to her . . . almost as if it had happened to someone else. She didn't know anymore what was real and what wasn't—the life she'd made for herself in Michigan or the one that had been waiting for her here all along.

Sighing, she removed the slim gold band from her pocket, the one that Lee had thrust into her hands only that morning. "For all the days of our lives . . ." Wasn't that how the words were supposed to go? Or was that merely something she had dreamed as well?

"Mandy." Her name was followed by a swift knock, and Billy Melrose stuck his head in the door. "Are you—?"

"I'm awake," she said, pushing off the bed. "I was just resting my eyes for a minute." She clutched the ring tightly in her hand as she looked at the man who had once been her boss. "Is there any news?"

As Billy shot a reflexive glance at the windows, Mandy moved quickly to pull down the open shade. "No," he whispered urgently. "Leave them up—"

"Down is too suspicious," she said, looking at him strangely. "Of course. What do you need to tell me?" She tried to appear nonchalant as her headache threatened to overwhelm her.

To his credit, Billy only hesitated for a few seconds before handing her the sheet of paper encased in plastic. Tiny drops of water were splattered on the outside. "Beaman found this tacked to a tree out front on his way back to the Agency. I'm embarrassed to say that no one seems to know how it got there."

The message had been pasted together with clipped words from newspapers and magazines. It seemed childish, unprofessional; something you'd see in a bad movie. Mandy frowned as she read. "'The river where it all began?' What are they talking about?"

"I assume they mean the Anacostia—where you and Scarecrow encountered Brimstone five years ago. That's where they've set your exchange."

Her scowl deepened. "Lee is there already with the extraction team."

"Yes. On the one hand, this could confirm the intelligence we received from Mrs. Marsten . . ." He took the message back from her and studied it carefully. "What concerns me at the moment is how this paper ended up on a tree—undetected."

"Maybe Mrs. Marsten wasn't the only person Brimstone had on the inside, sir. But that would mean . . ." Her brows shot up. "If they still have another mole operating inside the Agency, then the mission could be compromised."

"Yes, I know." Billy's bushy brows knit into one. "Marsten's information could be a setup. The extraction team could be walking into a trap."

"Then we've got to get to them, sir—to Lee. I've got to get to him, to warn him."

"Mandy, we can't go charging out to that factory. It won't do the team any good if we blow their cover."

"It may already be blown. You said so yourself."

Billy groaned. "Lee asked me specifically to keep you out of the line of fire."

She narrowed her eyes. "Begging your pardon, sir, that's my decision to make, not his. Besides, when he finds Annie and the boys, I should be there." She stepped closer, her eyes pleading. "I need to be there."

"And I suppose if I say no, you'll only try to take off on your own," he said, shaking his head.

"If it comes to that, I'll climb down that trellis without a second thought."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Mrs. King, I'm beginning to rue the day I let Scarecrow have a hand in your training."

Mandy found herself smiling. "Should I take that as a compliment, Mr. Melrose?"

"I haven't decided yet." He sighed as he held open the door. "But I do know one thing—if I'm going to put my career on the line and take a civilian to a restricted site, the least you can do is call me Billy."

iv

Standing at the high, barbed-wire fence, Scarecrow pulled out a pair of clippers. His leg was aching from the short belly-crawl through the brush, driving home what he'd already suspected—he was physically unable to do what he used to in the field. No matter how hard he'd pushed to keep himself in shape, his injuries had taken their toll. He acknowledged the irrefutable fact then dismissed it. The lives of his children hung in the balance; there was nothing he could not do when the stakes were this high.

After cutting a wide, serviceable hole in the fence, he quickly tunneled through. Scrambling to his feet, he made a quick weapons check. His semi-automatic brushed comfortingly against his hip; in his back pocket, a tranquilizer gun lay at the ready; in the ankle strap on his left leg, the blade of the hunting knife chafed against his leg. All the weapons he needed.

Pulling out the tranq gun, he swallowed down the bile that rose from his rebellious stomach. The foul odor from the sulfur spring behind the old factory seemed to permeate everything around him, just as it had five years ago. That awful stench was forever entwined in his mind with pain beyond endurance and immeasurable loss. Not even the heavy rainfall could wash it clean.

Distracted by thoughts of the past, the silent attack almost caught him unawares. The sleek Doberman seemed to materialize out of the darkness, an extension of the night. The animal struck quickly and ruthlessly, aiming for his throat. Instinctively blocking with his arm, he took aim and fired. One dart . . . two . . . into the animal's hip, and the heavy body dropped to the ground with a gentleness that belied its frenzied assault. A quick check told him that his jacket was torn, but his flesh had not been penetrated. Pressing his fingers on the radio transmitter in his shirt collar, he muttered a terse, "Extract Base. Did you pick up the attack dog up on radar?"

"Negative, Extract Leader," Francine's voice whispered in his ear. "It came across as ground clutter. Leatherneck says there's too much interference to track properly."

"From the storm?"

"Hard to tell. Watch yourself out there, Extract Leader."

"Roger that." He paused for a beat then added, "Extract Team, did you copy?"

"We copied, Extract Leader. We're on the ready."

"Then move in."

Keeping to the shadows, Scarecrow moved stealthily across the parking lot, taking cover in the shrubbery to the left side of the door. The interference in their equipment could well be from the storm, but the hairs on the back of his neck believed otherwise. It was an internal signal he'd learned never to ignore.

Creeping forward, he heard the door open before he saw it. Reacting on pure instinct, he dropped to the ground and pushed himself flat against the concrete. "Bogey at ten o'clock," Francine's voice whispered in his ear as a broad-shouldered man exited.

The man made only a cursory sweep of the perimeter, more form than function, his yellow rain-slicker doing little to shield him from the rain. But the weather seemed to be the least of his concerns. Tapping a cigarette out of his pack, he cupped his hands and swiftly lit up, satisfaction flooding his face despite the foul weather. Heedless of the cramp in his leg, Scarecrow shifted into a crouch. The bogey took two long drags, tossed the cigarette aside with sigh, then turned and opened the door. Scarecrow seized his chance, rising and firing in one fluid motion. At the first prick of tranquilizer dart, the man crumpled, his body serving as a massive doorstop.

"Extract Base, this is Extract Leader. Recalibrate the radar scope. I'm going in."

The response was eclipsed by a crash of thunder. Then, just as suddenly, everything went dead.

"Extract Base, do you read?" he whispered urgently. Sputtering static greeted him once again. Making a decision, he moved forward. He had no choice—he would have to proceed without the help of the base team.

Stepping over the limp body, he made his way carefully down the hallway. His leg was more of an irritation than an impediment to him now, either because he'd grown accustomed to the pain or because he no longer cared. Despite a few glitches, he'd been able to penetrate Brimstone's defenses with relative ease. Something about the scenario should bother him, he knew. Maybe if Amanda was beside him, she would be able to redirect his exhausted mind in the right direction, but that wasn't an option. He accepted it, just as he did the loss of communication with Extract Base. In this waking nightmare, it was merely one more inconvenience to be briefly considered and then discarded.

Limping briskly down another corridor, he turned into a dark hallway. Pushing the thought that he hadn't seen any of Brimstone's men to the back of his mind, he drew his gun and cautiously opened the door on his right.

He was greeted by the silence of an empty laboratory.

Moving forward, he did likewise with the next two doors, each time producing the same result. At the far end of the hall, he paused and took a deep breath. He was beginning to think Francine was right—perhaps Mrs. Marsten had simply been toying with them after all, buying time for Brimstone while they chased shadows.

Gun at the ready, he savagely kicked open the door, no longer caring who heard him.

v

One hand on the wall to steady himself, Jamie made his way slowly down the dimly lit hallway. Annie seemed to cling more tightly to Phillip's neck with every step, her small fingers working the rim of his t-shirt into a tight bunch. "Don't, Annie," his brother whispered. "You're choking me."

The little girl let out a tremulous breath. "I'm scared."

"I know you are," Jamie said, patting the small hand that clung to Phillip's neck. "But remember, we're playing a game. You have to stay real still and not make a sound. Okay?"

"'kay," she sniffled.

"Good. You hold onto Phillip—just not quite so tightly."

Phillip did his best to disguise the panic in his eyes as he nodded his thanks. Jamie knew he should feel just as scared, but his headache worsened with every step and he felt too lousy to care. "Are you sure you know where you're going?" he asked, shooting his brother a worried glance.

"No, but . . ." Phillip groaned. "There's gotta be another way out of here."

Jamie bit his lip. Unfortunately, their large captor stood watch between them and the only escape route they'd discovered. He was starting to feel like a frantic rat scrambling through a maze, the cheese always around the next turn. "We're wasting time, Phillip," he moaned. "If they don't know we've escaped by now, they will soon."

"Well, if you've got any bright ideas, now's the time for them."

"Maybe . . ." He hesitated. "Maybe we should take the chance and try to slip past Herman."

"You've seen the guy, right?" Phillip shot back. "There's no way we'd get by him. You can barely walk, and I've got Annie on my back."

The little girl tightened her grip around Phillip's neck. "My tummy hurts," she whispered. "I want to go home."

"Me, too, Munchkin." Phillip held her closer. "I've just gotta figure out how to do that. I think we should go this way . . ."

"Phillip, wait." As the hallway turned upside down, Jamie braced himself against the wall. "My stomach doesn't feel so hot, either. I don't think I can . . ." Spots danced behind his eyes, and he took a long, slow breath.

"Jamie . . ." Phillip shook him lightly. "You aren't gonna pass out, are you?"

"I dunno." The spinning subsided momentarily, but his headache pounded and his gut churned. "Maybe you guys should go on without me—"

"Forget it. I'm not leaving you, worm brain, so you'd better just move it." He shifted Annie to one side and took Jamie by the arm, pulling him along.

"Phillip . . ." He panted as his stomach rumbled, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I'm serious here. I've gotta stop. I can't do this."

"Phillip . . ." A small sob escaped Annie's lips. "I'm really scared."

Stifling his own cry, Phillip helplessly scanned the empty hallway. "Maybe you could . . ."

Jamie followed his brother's gaze to a storeroom. "You're right. It's the only way."

"I don't know—"

"I do. There are plenty of places to hide in there. Annie and I will sit tight and wait for you to bring help, won't we, kiddo?"

"I g-guess," she stammered.

"Come on, Phillip" he said as his brother seemed to hesitate, "don't you be a worm brain now. Without us to worry about, slipping by Herman will be a piece of cake."

"Okay, okay," Phillip moaned. "You win. We'll play this your way."

Jamie couldn't help a small, triumphant smile; his brother hated to give in. "Be careful," he whispered, willing his nausea away as Phillip transferred Annie to his arms.

"You, too." Phillip exhaled deeply as he looked at his brother. "I'll come back with the cavalry, I promise."

Jamie struggled to stand straighter, patting Annie's back as she gripped his neck. "Just bring Lee, okay? That'll be more than enough."

Phillip smiled grimly. "I'll do my best."

Scarecrow found himself in a small room that bore little resemblance to the rest of the dirty factory. Every surface was painted white, for one thing, and it contained three slightly rumpled cots, for another.

He frowned. The paint job was an old interrogator's trick to unsettle the mind and throw an opponent off-balance. Presumably the kids had been here at some point, but they appeared to be long gone. Had he led his team into a trap? Was that the piece of the puzzle that he'd been missing?

He let out a long breath as he studied the small room more thoroughly. There was a tray of uneaten food on the middle cot, the bread on the sandwiches hard and stale. It looked as if the boys had known not to touch it. That was a good sign; fear obviously hadn't paralyzed their thinking.

If only he could say the same. Re-centering his mind, he fell back on his earliest training. "When you're scattered and stretched until you can't think, that's the time to move."

"Say again, Extract Leader."

Until the voice sputtered through the com unit, he hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud. "Are you reading me, Extract Team?" he demanded, his voice low and gravelly.

"Loud and clear, Extract Leader."

"And Extract Base?"

"That's a negative. Com lines only appear to be working inside the building."

Scarecrow knew he should find some significance in that, if he only had the time to think about it. "What about Brimstone's soldiers?"

"Negative, Extract Leader. No sign of Brimstone or the cargo."

"Keep looking. Out."

Removing his soggy cap, he combed his fingers through his hair. A combination of rain and sweat had plastered it to his head, giving the term 'hat hair' an entirely new definition. Twisting the brim in his fingers, he surveyed the scene once again. The overturned cot looked as if it had been tampered with—one of the coils was unwound and exposed. Could they possibly have . . .?

He turned to the door lock and ran his fingers along the surface. The minute scratches confirmed that it had indeed been jimmied from the inside. Jamie was perfectly capable of picking a lock, he knew; he'd done it on many occasions, much to Lee's chagrin.

He blew out a long breath. If the kids had managed to escape, where would they go? Jamie's logical mind operated on the same wavelength as his mother's. And Phillip—despite their differences, he reminded Lee of himself at that age. Not a bad combination. The boys would take care of Annie, he knew. Still, they were only kids and they were on their own . . .

"Extract Leader, this is Extract One."

The voice in his ear contained a note of tension that hadn't been there before, and the knot in his stomach tightened. "Go ahead, Extract One."

There was a short pause, then, "Extract Leader, we have a problem here."

As his brother disappeared into the next corridor, Jamie hugged Annie to him and made his way into the storage room.

"I don't like it here, Jamie," Annie whispered. "It's dark."

"But that's good, kiddo," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "It's the perfect place to play hide and seek."

"I guess."

Annie's voice sounded tentative, and he frantically searched the room. He had to find a place where they wouldn't be spotted, and fast; his head was beginning to swim again. "Over here," he said, relief flooding through him as he spied a large, corrugated box. Crawling into the back corner, he settled Annie next to him. "It's perfect. We can wait here for Phillip, and no one will see us."

Annie stirred restlessly. "Is Phillip coming back with Mommy?"

"Of course he is." He simply refused to entertain the thought that Phillip might not return at all; he couldn't afford to.

"Good. I want to see her."

"Yeah," he murmured absently, trying to shake off his dizziness. His headache didn't seem to be as bad, but he wasn't sure if the discomfort was really subsiding or if his weakening grip on consciousness made it appear that way. "You'll see Mommy soon," he whispered shakily. "But right now, we've got to keep playing the game, okay?"

"But when Phillip gets back we can go home, right?"

He sighed deeply. The kid sure had a one-track mind. Not that he blamed her—going home sounded pretty good to him, too. "Don't worry, Annie. Phillip will find Lee, and then he'll come take us both home to Mommy."

He wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to reassure, but he kept on talking anyway. Annie was clearly on the verge of shock, if she wasn't there already, and the sound of his voice seemed to soothe her. "Tell me some more about Michigan," he whispered, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "You and Mom lived by the water, right?"

His efforts were rewarded as the vacant expression in her eyes lessened somewhat. "I go swimming all the time," she whispered back, smiling as if she had a secret. "Even when Mommy says the water's too cold."

"Our house is by the water, too. The ocean. Lee has a really big boat, and we took it out a lot last summer. He taught me how to sail." Jamie shivered and leaned closer to Annie. "I'll bet he could teach you, too," he said, nudging her shoulder.

She stuck out her bottom kip and shook her head. "Mommy won't let me go out in boats yet. When Uncle Brad asked her, she said I was too little."

"She'd let you go sailing with Lee." Another wave of dizziness threatened; he willed it away and pulled Annie into his lap. "You'd like it in Annapolis, Annie. You can see Chesapeake Bay from our backyard. And there's lots of fun things to do, like hiking in Back Creek Park, going to the Maritime Museum . . . the harbor even has water taxis . . ." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Lee's a great dad," he murmured sleepily. "He'd take you to see all that stuff."

Annie's little hand patted his face, and he jerked his head back up. "Is he your daddy?" she asked in a small voice.

"He's your . . ." He stopped and swallowed. "Yeah, Annie. And he'll come to get both of us," his voice roughened, "don't you worry."

"Good." She closed her eyes and pressed herself more tightly against Jamie's chest. "I don't want to play this game anymore."

"Me, neither, Munchkin," he mumbled as he sank down inside himself. "Me, neither."

Giving in to the blackness tugging at him with merciless tentacles, he closed his eyes.