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“Vetter? Can you hear h the bullhorn

Sweat rolled down es in 7th Heaven depicted a shootout with cops I recalled the i away They had shielded thee

Conklin and I conferred with the SWAT captain, a sandy-haired pro and former US Marine named Pete Bailey, and orked out a plan Conklin and I moved quickly to the Vetter house and flanked the front door, prepared to grab Vetter when he opened it SWAT was positioned to take the kid out if anything rong

As I neared the house, I caught a whiff of smoke

“Is that fire?” I asked Rich “Do you smell it?”

“Yeah Is that stupid fuck burning his house down?”

I could still hear the sound of the TV inside the Vetter house The news announcer was getting a feed fro up with the action on the ground It e And if Rich and I were in the ca

Captain Bailey called toin” But before he could give the order, a woman’s voice cried out from behind the front door

“Don’t shoot I’ out”

“Hold your fire,” I shouted to Bailey “Hostage co out”

The knob turned

The door opened and gray smoke swirled out into the dull, overcast day There was the sound of a well-oiled ray se of a power chair bump and maneuver, then stall on the threshold

The woman in the chair was s yellol draped over her head, fanning out over her shoulders, bunched loosely across her bony knees Her face looked pinched, and diaers of her hand

She turned her frightened blue eyes on me

“Don’t shoot,” she pleaded “Please don’t shoot my son!”