He reached for his phone on the counter, his fingers wet with sweat.

He tapped the screen twice, trying to kill the feed, but his fingers slipped.

The phone slid across the granite, stopping inches from the cast-iron skillet.

“Damn it,” Harris muttered, leaning over the counter to grab it.

I didn’t move.

I kept my eyes on the heavy black handle of the skillet.

“What about the basement?” Julian asked, his voice getting louder. “We can go through the crawl space.”

“The crawl space leads to the storm drain,” Harris said, pausing.

He looked down the dark hallway that led to the basement stairs.

“It’s tight,” Harris said. “But it comes out near the creek.”

“Let’s go,” Julian said, grabbing his arm again.

“What about her?” Harris asked, pointing at me.

“She’s coming with us,” Julian said.

He looked at me, a cold, familiar expression settling over his face.

“She’s our leverage,” Julian said.

The sirens suddenly stopped, replaced by the low, idling rumble of heavy diesel engines.

Car doors slammed in the driveway.

A megaphone crackled, sending a burst of static through the wet air.