The Bone Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 1)

"Stay up there," she said to the ESU trooper. "Don't spook 'em."

Sachs drew targets but didn't fire. She could kill two or three but the others might panic and grab the girl. One was big enough to snap her neck with a single flip of its scarred, mangy head.

"Is he down there?" the ESU cop asked.

"Don't know. Get a medic here. To the top of the stairs. Nobody come down."

"Roger."

Her weapon sights floating from one animal to another, Sachs slowly started forward. One by one the dogs became aware of her and turned away from Pammy. The little girl was merely food; Sachs was a predator. They growled and snarled, front legs quivering as their hindquarters tensed, ready to jump.

"I'm ascared," Pammy said shrilly, drawing their attention again.

"Shhhh, honey," Sachs cooed. "Don't say anything. Be quiet."

"Mommy. I want my mommy!" Her abrasive howl set the dogs off. They danced in place, and swung their battered noses from right to left, growling.

"Easy, easy . . ."

Sachs moved to the left. The dogs were facing her now, glancing from her eyes to her outstretched hand and the gun. They separated into two packs. One stayed close to Pammy. The other moved around Sachs, trying to flank her.

She eased between the little girl and the three dogs closest to her.

The Glock swinging back and forth, a pendulum. Their black eyes on the black gun.

One dog, with a scabby yellow coat, snarled and stepped forward on Sachs's right.

The little girl was whimpering, "Mommy . . ."

Sachs moved slowly. She leaned down, clamped her hand on the child's sweatshirt and dragged Pammy behind her. The yellow dog moved closer.

"Shoo," Sachs said.

Closer still.

"Go away!"

The dogs behind the yellow one tensed as he bared cracked brown teeth.

"Get the fuck outa here!" Sachs snarled and slammed the barrel of the Glock onto his nose. The dog blinked in dismay, yelped, skittered up the stairs.

Pammy screamed, sending the others into a frenzy. They started fighting among themselves, a whirlwind of snapping teeth and slaver. A scarred Rottweiler tossed a dustmop of a mutt to the floor in front of Sachs. She stamped her foot beside the scrawny brown thing and he skittered to his feet, raced up the stairs. The others chased him like greyhounds after a rabbit.

Pammy began to sob. Sachs crouched beside her and swept the basement again with her light. No sign of the unsub.

"It's okay, honey. We'll have you home soon. You'll be all right. That man here? You remember him?"

She nodded.

"Did he leave?"

"I don't know. I want my mommy."

She heard the other officers call in. The first and second floors were secure. "The car and taxi?" Sachs asked. "Any sign?"

A trooper transmitted, "They're gone. He's probably left."

He's not there, Amelia. That would be illogical.