If there was danger here-and I couldn’t imagine what that danger might be or what form it might take-I didn’t want to give it a heads-up with a shining flashlight. That had been the whole point of parking and sneaking up, right?
I flashed back to being trapped in the back of that van. I had no qualms about what I’d been forced to do to escape-I would do it again, of course, a thousand times over-but there was also no doubt that Otto’s final moments would haunt my sleep until the day I died. I would always hear the wet crack of that neck snapping, would always remember the feel of bone and cartilage giving way, ending a life. I had killed someone. I had snuffed out a human being.
Then my thoughts turned to Bob.
I slowed my step. What did Bob do after I escaped down the hill? He must have gotten back in his van, driven away, probably dumped Otto’s body someplace, and then…
Would he maybe try to find me again?
I thought about the strain in Cookie’s voice. What did she want to tell me? And why was it suddenly so urgent? Why call me up here now, late at night, not giving me a chance to think it all through?
I was on Cookie’s block now. Small lights were on in a few of the windows, giving the houses a spooky, jack-o’-lantern glow. The house at the end of the cul-de-sac had more lights on than the others.
Cookie’s.
I moved to the left to stay out of sight. Her front porch lights were on, so that wouldn’t be the way to approach. Not if I wanted to stay unseen. The house was a sprawling one-level, unnaturally long and slightly uneven, as though additions had been stuck on without much forethought. Staying low, I circled toward the side of the house. I tried to stay in the dark. I literally crawled the last ten yards toward the window with the brightest light.
Now what?
I was under the window on all fours. I stayed still and tried to listen. Nothing. There is silence, and then there is rural silence, silence you could feel and reach out and touch, silence with texture and distance. That was what surrounded me now. Real, true, rural silence.
I shifted my weight slightly. My knees cracked, the sound seemingly screaming through the stillness. I got my feet beneath me, my knees deeply bent, my hands on my thighs. I readied to push myself up like a human piston, so that I could take a peek in the window.
Keeping most of my face out of sight, I rose toward the corner of the window so that only one eye and the top right quadrant of my face would be exposed. I blinked in the sudden light and looked into the room.
Cookie was there.
She sat on the couch. Cookie’s back was ramrod straight. Her mouth was set. Denise, her partner, sat next to her. They were holding hands, but their faces were pale and drawn. The tension came off them in waves.
You didn’t have to be an expert in body language to see that they were nervous about something. It took me a few more moments to realize what that something was.
A man sat in the chair across from them.
His back was to me so that at first I could only see the top of his head.
My first thought was a panicked one: Could it be Bob?
I raised myself up a few more inches, trying to get a better look at the man. No luck. The chair was big and plush. The man sank deep into it, vanishing from view. I moved to the other side of the window, changing my exposed face quadrant to the upper left. Now I could see the hair was salt-and-pepper curly.
Not Bob. Definitely not Bob.
The man was speaking. The two women listened intently, nodding in unison to whatever he was saying. I turned and pressed my ear against the window. The glass was cold. I tried to make out what the man was saying, but it was still too muffled. I glanced back into the room. The man in the chair leaned a little forward, trying to make a point. Then he tilted his chin just enough so I could see his profile.
I may have gasped out loud.
The man had a beard. That was the key. That was how I was able to recognize him-the beard and the curly hair. I flashed back again to that very first time I saw Natalie, sitting in the chair with her sunglasses on. And next to her, seated to her right, had been a man with a beard and curly hair.
This man.
What the…?
The bearded guy rose out of the plush chair. He started to pace, gesturing wildly. Cookie and Denise tensed up. They held hands so tightly I swore that I could see their knuckles whiten. That was when I noticed something else that sent me reeling-something that made me realize with a stunning thud the importance of running this little reconnaissance mission before walking blindly into the situation.
The bearded man had a gun.
I froze in my half squat. My legs started to shake, from fear or exertion, I wasn’t sure which. I lowered myself back down. Now what?
Flee, dopey.
Yep, that seemed the best play. Flee back to my car. Call the cops. Let them handle it. I tried to picture how that scenario would play out. First off, how long would it take the cops to get here? Wait, would they even believe me? Would they call Cookie and Denise first? Would a SWAT team come out? And now that I really thought about it, what was happening here exactly? Did Beardy kidnap Cookie or Denise and make them call me-or were they all in cahoots together? And if they were in cahoots, what would happen after I called? The cops would show up, and Cookie and Denise would deny everything. Beardy would hide his gun and claim ignorance.
Then again, what was the alternative? I had to bring in the cops, right?
Beardy continued to pace. The tension in the room made it pound out like a heart. Beardy checked his watch. He took out his mobile phone and held it in a walkie-talkie manner. He barked something into it.
Who was he talking to?
Whoa, I thought. What if there were others? It was time to go. Call the cops, don’t call the cops, whatever. That guy was armed. I wasn’t.
Hasta luego, mofos.
I was taking one last look through the window when I heard the dog bark come from behind me. I froze at the sound. Beardy did not. His head snapped toward the barking-and by extension, me-as though pulled on a string.
Our eyes locked through the window. I saw his widen in surprise. For the briefest of moments-a hundredth of a second, maybe two of them-neither of us moved. We just stared in shock, unsure of what to make of each other, until Beardy raised the gun, pointed it at me, and pulled the trigger.
I fell backward as the bullet crashed through the window.
I dropped to the ground. Shards of glass rained down on me. The dog kept barking. I rolled over, cutting myself on the glass, and got to my feet.
“Stop!”
It was another man’s voice coming from my left. I didn’t recognize the voice, but the guy was outside. Oh man, I had to get out of there. No time to think or hesitate. I ran full throttle in the other direction. I turned the corner, legs pumping, nearly in the clear.
Or so I thought.
Earlier I had credited my attuned Spidey senses with gifting me the premonition of danger. If that was the case, those same senses had just failed me miserably.
Another man was standing right around the corner. He’d been waiting for me, baseball bat at the ready. I managed to stop my legs, but there was no time for anything else. The meat of the bat came toward me. No chance for me to react. No chance for me to do anything but stand there stupidly. The blow landed flush on my forehead.