The Empty Chair

lives here.” He’d called in the address of the house. “Pete Hallburton. Anybody know him?”
    “Think so,” said Trey Williams. “Married. No connection to Garrett that I know of.”
    “They have kids?”
    Trey shrugged. “Think they might. Seem to recall a soccer game last year . . .”
    “It’s summer. The youngsters might be home,” Frank muttered. “Garrett might’ve taken ’em hostage inside.”
    “Maybe,” Lucy said. “But the triangulation on Amelia’s phone signal placed them in the barn, not the house. They could’ve gone inside but I don’t know . . . I can’t see ’em takin’ hostages. Mason’s right, I think: They’re just hiding out here until they think it’s safe to get up to Hobeth for that rental car.”
    “Whatta we do?” Frank asked. “Block the drive with our cars?”
    “We pull up, do that, they’ll hear us,” Jesse said.
    Lucy nodded. “I think we should just hit the barn on foot—fast—from two directions.”
    “I’ve got CS gas,” Mason said. CS-38—a powerful military tear gas kept under lock and key in the Sheriff’s Department. Bell hadn’t distributed any and Lucy wondered how Mason had gotten his hands on some.
    “No, no,” Jesse protested. “Might make ’em panic.”
    Lucy believed that wasn’t his concern at all. She bet he didn’t want to expose his new girlfriend to the vicious gas. Still, she agreed, feeling that, since the deputies didn’t have masks, gas might work against them. “No gas,” she said. “I’ll go in the front. Trey, you take the—”
    “No,” Mason said evenly. “I go in the front.”
    Lucy hesitated then said, “Okay. I’ll go in the side door. Trey and Frank, you’re on the back and far side.” She looked at Jesse. “I want you and Ned to keep an eye on the front and back doors of the house. There.”
    “Got it,” Jesse said.
    “And the windows,” Mason said sternly to Ned. “I don’t want anybody sighting down on our backs from inside.”
    Lucy said, “If they come out driving, just take out the tires or if you’ve got a Magnum like Frank there aim for the engine block. Don’t shoot Garrett or Amelia unless you have to. You all know the rules of engagement.” She was looking at Mason when she said this, thinking of his sniper attack at the mill. But the deputy seemed not to hear her. She called in on her Handi-talkie and told Jim Bell they were about to storm the barn.
    “I’ve got the ambulance standing by,” he said.
    “This isn’t a SWAT operation,” Jesse said, overhearing the transmission. “We’ve gotta be damn careful about any shooting.”
    Lucy clicked off the radio. She nodded toward the building. “Let’s move out.”
    They ran, crouching, using the oaks and pine for cover.Her eyes were fastened on the dark windows of the barn. Twice she was sure she saw movement inside. It might have been the reflection of trees and clouds as she ran but she couldn’t be sure. As they approached she paused and switched her gun to her left hand, wiped her palm. Took the weapon once more in her shooting hand.
    The deputies clustered at the windowless back of the barn. Lucy was thinking that she’d never done anything like this.
    This isn’t a SWAT operation. . . .
    But you’re wrong, Jesse—that’s exactly what it is.
    Dear Lord, give me one clear shot at my Judas.
    A fat dragonfly strafed her. She brushed it away with her left hand. It returned and hovered nearby ominously, as if Garrett had sent the creature out to distract her.
    Stupid thought, she told herself. Then swatted furiously at the bug again.
    The Insect Boy . . .
    You’re going down, Lucy thought—the message meant for both fugitives.
    “I’m not going to say anything,” Mason said. “I’m just going in. When you hear me kick in the door, Lucy, you go through the side.”
    She nodded. And as concerned as she was about Mason being too eager, as desirous as she was to get Amelia Sachs, she was still happy to share some of the burden of this hard job.
    “Let me make sure the side door’s open,” she whispered.
    They dispersed, jogging into position. Lucy ducked under one of the windows and hurried to the side door. It wasn’t locked and was open a crack. She nodded to Mason, who stood at the corner, watching her. He nodded back and held up ten fingers, meaning, she assumed, to count the seconds down until he went through the door, and then disappeared.
    Ten, nine, eight . . .
    She turned to the