Logically he knew that part of the fault was Henry’s. If he’d only identified himself, or even just engaged a little more of his vocal cords, there’s no way that Gus wouldn’t already have been there to help him. But that only made Gus worry more. Henry had been a cop for decades. He knew better than anyone how important it was to identify yourself clearly in an emergency. That meant there was only one reason he didn’t-because he couldn’t. Whatever danger he was facing, it was bigger than anything Gus could imagine.

Gus took his eyes off the road for one second to sneak a glance at Shawn. His best friend was ashen faced as he listened to his father’s voice on the outgoing message.

“Shawn, I’m so sorry,” Gus said for what must have been the hundredth time.

Shawn shook his head tightly. No need for apologies. He knew how much Gus cared about Henry.

Gus yanked the wheel hard and felt the Echo rise up on two wheels as it screamed around a corner. The car slammed back down on all fours and Gus jammed the gas pedal even harder. He could see Henry’s house straight ahead.

Two more seconds and they were out front. The Echo screamed to the curb and Shawn and Gus leapt out, tearing up the walkway to the front door. Shawn twisted the knob. It was locked.

“Stand back,” Shawn said, raising his leg to kick the door in.

“Hey, I just painted that!”

Gus and Shawn wheeled around to see a man emerging from the garage. It took Gus a moment to realize that this was indeed Henry Spencer, because he’d spent the last eight minutes visualizing him covered in blood, his ears and hands cut off, and set on fire. The fact that he was dry, intact, and completely unflamed simply didn’t make sense.