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There had been kids playing, she remembered. Kids playing two yards down.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “They were wrong. They were wrong about who to watch.”

They’d managed to disrupt an abduction by accident, rather than design.

She threw a desperate look over at Lucia, then at the house where the car had been parked. The front gate was open, still swinging. A neon-pink backpack lay abandoned on the sidewalk, books spilling out of it.

“He’s got her,” Jazz shouted. “Manny, go! Follow him!”

He applied the gas, and they rocketed after the disappearing taillights of the Pontiac.

The idea that Manny Glickman, of all people, was some kind of stunt-car driver was so weird that Jazz couldn’t get her head around it.

Luckily, her belief—or lack thereof—didn’t seem to matter much. Manny drove like a maniac, keeping them within sight of the Pontiac as it dodged and danced in and out of traffic. Lucia got on the phone to the cops and fed them directions and information. Jazz just kept wishing she’d paid more attention to what Simms had been telling her in the prison.If everything we do makes a difference, is this right? Are we doing the right thing? Should Manny be here? Should I have left Borden back there?

You could make yourself crazy, thinking these things.

A turn slid Lucia down the bench seat to collide with her. Lucia muttered an apology and put one hand on the dashboard to anchor herself in place. Jazz belted herself in, not willing to risk it any further. Sure, maybe it was a matter of fate that they wouldn’t wreck and die, but there was no sense tempting it.

Manny rounded a corner with a squeal of rubber, and they all scanned the road ahead. “Not there,” Manny said, slowing. “I think he lost us.”

“Dammit, he turned.” Lucia scanned side streets on the left, while Jazz took the right. “Anything? See anything?”

“Nothing,” Manny said grimly. “There’s no sign of him up there. He must be down one of these side streets.”

It seemed to take forever.

“We’ve lost him,” Manny finally said. “He’s a ghost.”

“No, he’s here, he’s got to be here,” Lucia said. “Back up.”

Manny hit the brakes, shifted gears, and glided the giant SUV backward into shade. A narrow alley stretched on the left. At the end of it was a dilapidated tin shed, some forgotten warehouse that had clearly missed a demolition notice or two.

Jazz saw it first. “Paint.” She pointed to the corner of the alley. There was a fresh-looking scrape on the brick there, and a glitter of electric blue.

“I can’t fit the Hummer down there,” Manny said.

Jazz released her seat belt, popped the door and jumped down, drawing her gun before her feet hit the ground. “Stay here,” she said. Lucia slid out after her.

“Wait!” Manny looked scared out of his mind again, the cool, calm stunt driver entirely gone. “Look in the back. Get whatever you need.”

Lucia sent a questioning look at Jazz, who shrugged and led the way around to the rear of the vehicle. She swung open the gate, and …

Wow.

“Manny,” she said slowly, “someday, we’ve really got to talk about how that therapy thing is going.”

She reached over the racked shotgun, the assault rifle, and the assorted handguns to grab two flak vests, standard black. She handed one to Lucia, who looked it over, eyebrows climbing higher.

“FBI standard issue,” she said. “Only these don’t have insignia. I’m guessing Manny’s friends with the supplier.”

They got into the body armor quickly, sealing the Velcro as they went. Behind them, Jazz heard the snap of locks engaging on the SUV. Manny probably had some kind of stunning electrical field on the damn thing, too. She didn’t put much past him, at this point.

Lucia had taken the shotgun. Jazz stuck with her pistol. Together, they moved slowly down the alley, covering each other, keeping focused on the closed double doors on the tin shack at the end of the alley.

“Careful,” Lucia murmured.

“Screw careful. This guy knows he’s been popped, and he’ll kill her as soon as he has the chance.” Jazz moved faster, reached the end of the alley and paused, looking both ways around the corner.