Paramedics rushed into the house and took over the care of Mr. Fleming. Relieved of his medical duties, Agent Nyler drew out a knife and sliced Mrs. Fleming's bonds apart.
"Where's Zach?" he asked, eyes darting across the kitchen and dining room.
Mrs. Fleming, her face white, nodded behind Nyler. "Bathroom," she said weakly.
Agent Nyler went to the door—it was closed, but askew. Someone had forced it open; the frame was splintered apart near the knob. "Zach," he announced, "it's Agent Nyler. I'm coming in to check on you, son."
Nudging the door aside, he found the boy huddled against the back of the tub, gulping down air in quick swallows. He stared at Nyler with panicked eyes, like some injured animal. He was injured—a streak of blood smeared the left side of his forehead and face.
Nyler stepped toward him, and the boy flinched. The agent hesitated, then moved back to the door. "Paws? Here, Paws!" he clapped.
At his name, Paws, resting his head on Mr. Fleming's legs, perked up and trotted over to Agent Nyler. "Good boy," Nyler praised him, leading him into the bathroom. The dog noticed Zach and climbed into the tub beside him to lick his face. The boy took Paws' head in both hands and hugged him close, breathing more deeply.
Nyler examined the boy's wound without touching him, then reached for a wash cloth and soaked it in cold water. "Here," he told Zach, placing the cloth in the boy's hand. He lifted the hand and pressed it and the cloth against the gash in the boy's forehead. "Hold that against the cut until the paramedics look at it." The boy didn't acknowledge him, but he kept the cloth against his head, so Nyler left him alone and returned to the entryway.
"Zach?" Mr. Fleming groaned as the paramedics tended to him.
"He's okay," Nyler reported. "Just needs a minute to collect himself." Mr. Fleming closed his eyes in reply.
With a nod to the paramedics, Nyler hurried out the front door and into the rain. Somewhere in the neighborhood, there was a fugitive he intended to apprehend.