The Tower

The door opened slightly and the downstairs gunman showered bullets all over the front of the car door. Jade flattened himself against the ground; as he got ready to return fire, the door slammed shut again.

Peering through the shattered remains of his driver's-side window, Jade noticed a mail slot toward the bottom of the thick oak door. He raised his gun, holding it firmly while he aimed. He fired once. The mail slot pinged open and shut like a throwing game at an amusement park.

Hearing a scream, he rolled from the safety of his car and sprang to his feet. He ran toward the door, firing over his head to keep the gunman upstairs at bay.

As Jade got to the base of the steps leading to the door, he planted his foot on Dave's chest and leaped over the four steps in a single motion.

The gunman lay across Goatee's body, his shoulders propped up by the wall. He was crying silently and holding his knee, his gun on the floor a few feet from him. Dark streams of blood spurted from between his fingers. When Jade kicked open the door, the man scrambled for his gun, but Jade stepped on his hand and fired once into the top of his head. The bullet blew out part of his jaw as it exited.

The foyer was a large room with smooth beige carpeting. A curved staircase swept up to the second floor, which was set off by wood railings. An elaborate chandelier dangled from the high ceiling. Elegant, though slightly rundown, the Lilliputian Day Care building was a converted mansion. It provided day care for the more affluent families in Pacific Heights.

Jade assessed his position: lower location, limited sight-extremely vulnerable. Either turn back or bulldoze ahead. He stepped over the bodies and headed for the staircase.

He made his way up the stairs, holding his gun next to his cheek. His muscles were tensed beneath his clothes. "Shut up, you little shit," he heard as he reached the top step. A child whimpered softly. The noise came from the first room off the wide hallway.

Jade moved slowly toward the room, stepping quietly on the plush Chinese patterned rug. He paused beside the door frame and listened, carefully controlling the sound of his breathing.

"I know you're out there, asshole. Come in," he heard.

Jade dropped to his stomach and peered around the bottom of the door frame. He could see Michael Trapp. He was backed into a corner, one arm locked around a six-year-old girl's neck in a half nelson, a gun pressed to her temple. She dangled in his arms like a rag doll, her button eyes wide with fear. To Trapp's right, two boys knelt side by side, facing the wall.

Jade had studied Trapp's profile inside and out. He was a ransomer who'd never been in a face-off, although he'd killed kids before. Now his partners were dead and he was scared shitless. But Jade knew he wouldn't fire right off the bat. He'd want to negotiate. That's what ransomers did.

Jade stood up and whirled around the corner, his gun pointed. The girl screamed and struggled in Trapp's grip.

"Drop the gun or so help me God I'll-"

Jade fired once and put a bullet right through his mouth. Blood splattered the white wall and the floral painting behind him. Trapp's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, the girl still clutched in his arm. She flailed to get out from under him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally gaining her feet, she ran to Jade, embracing him around his waist.

He placed his hands awkwardly on her shoulders, pushing her away. He walked over to the body to make sure it was dead, laying two fingers on the neck to check for a pulse. There was none. "The real cops'll be here soon to take care of you," he said over his shoulder. He glanced at the two boys. They were shaking badly, still facing the wall. "You can get up now. He's dead."

They didn't move.

Jade released the cartridge so it tapped his palm, then clicked it back into place. He'd collect a twenty-thousand-dollar reward for four days of tracking. Not bad for an FBI dropout. He smiled and ran his hand over the rough stubble on his chin. To his right, the boys continued to quiver. Behind him, the little girl sobbed loudly.

Jade pulled Trapp's wallet out of his pocket and double-checked the driver's license, a formality since he was already positive on the ID. Several hundred-dollar bills stuck out, and Jade pushed them all the way into the billfold and stuck the wallet back in Trapp's pocket. He rose and walked downstairs as he heard the black-and-whites racing up the street, their sirens screaming.

He stepped over the two bodies downstairs, giving Goatee a kick that knocked his head against the wall. Putting his gun in the back of his jeans, Jade stepped through the doorway into daylight. Recognizing him, the cops sighed in relief and lowered their guns.