Swiftly crossing the dining room, I called out to Angela once more.
Again, she failed to respond.
I wouldn’t call her a third time. If indeed an intruder was in the
house, I would only be revealing my position each time I shouted
Angela’s name.
In the living room, I didn’t pause to switch off the lamp, but I
stepped wide of it and averted my face.
Squinting in the stinging rain of foyer light, I glanced through the
open door to the study. No one was in there.
The powder-room door was ajar. I pushed it all the way open. I didn’t
need to turn on a light to see that no one was in there, either.
Feeling naked without my cap, which I had left on the kitchen table, I
switched off the ceiling fixture in the foyer. Blessed gloom fell.
I peered up at the landing where the shadowy stairs turned back and
disappeared overhead. As far as I could tell, no lights were lit on
the upper floor-which was fine with me. My dark-adapted eyes were my
biggest advantage.
The cellular phone was clipped to my belt. As I started up the stairs,
I considered calling the police.
After my failure to keep our appointment earlier in the evening,
however, Lewis Stevenson might be looking for me. If so, then the
chief himself would answer this call. Maybe the bald man with the
earring would come along for the ride.
Manuel Ramirez couldn’t assist me himself, because he was the duty
officer this evening, restricted to the station. I didn’t feel safe
asking for any other officer. As far as I knew, Chief Stevenson might
not be the only compromised cop in Moonlight Bay; perhaps every member
of the force, except Manuel, was involved in this conspiracy. In fact,
in spite of our friendship, I couldn’t trust Manuel, either, not until
I knew a lot more about this situation.
Climbing the stairs, I gripped the Glock with both hands, ready to
press the laser-sighting switch if someone moved. I kept reminding
myself that playing hero meant trying not to shoot Angela by mistake.
I turned at the landing and saw that the upper flight was darker than
the lower. No ambient light from the living room reached this high. I
ascended quickly and silently.
My heart was doing more than idling; it was revving nicely, but I was
surprised that it wasn’t racing. Only yesterday, I could not have
imagined that I would be able to adapt so rapidly to the prospect of
imminent violence. I was even beginning to recognize within myself a
disconcerting enthusiasm for danger.
Four doors opened off the upstairs hall. Three were closed.
The fourth-the door farthest from the stairs-was ajar, and from the
room beyond came a soft light.
I disliked passing the three closed rooms without confirming that they
were deserted. I would be leaving my back vulnerable.
Given my XP, however, and especially considering how quickly my eyes
would sting and water when exposed to very bright light, I’d be able to
search those spaces only with the pistol in my right hand and the
penlight in my left. This would be awkward, time-consuming, and
dangerous. Each time I stepped into a room, no matter how low I
crouched and how fast I moved, the penlight would instantly pinpoint my
location for any would-be assailant before I found him with the narrow
beam.
My best hope was to play to my strengths, which meant using the
darkness, blending with the shadows. Moving sideways along the hall,
keeping a watch in both directions, I made no sound, and neither did
anyone else in the house.
The second door on the left was open only a crack, and the narrow wedge
of light revealed little of the room beyond. Using the gun barrel, I
pushed the door inward.
The master bedroom. Cozy. The bed was neatly made. A gaily colored
afghan draped one arm of an easy chair, and on the footstool waited a
folded newspaper. On the bureau, a collection of antique perfume
bottles sparkled.
One of the nightstand lamps was aglow. The bulb was not strong, and
the pleated-fabric shade screened most of the rays.