A sigh wafted over the phone. “Good. Look, I’m planning a surprise party for his birthday, and I really need to talk to you.”
“Now? Bo’s birthday is weeks away.”
A pause, and then, “I need to do this now. Like, right now.”
Something was going on, and he’d bet good money it wasn’t a surprise party. “Where?”
“Umm… You know where I live, right?”
“Yes.” Or rather, he knew how to find out.
“Can you be here, in say, an hour?”
“Sure.” He tried to sound enthusiastic. There went his leisurely evening. “But tell me this, is something wrong?”
Lisa paused, and, voice taking on a cheerful note, she said, “Great, can’t wait to see you.”
“Should I call the cops?”
She let out a strained giggle. “No, that’s all right. I have plenty of wine.”
What the fuck? She hung up before he could ask more. Her voice hadn’t sounded drunk, but she sure did.
Or rather, she sounded like a woman putting on a performance for someone else. She didn’t want the cops, but she did want Lucky.
Strange.
Lucky dashed into the house and grabbed his laptop. He checked the company file for Lisa’s address, and checked the Internet for satellite images.
Best not go in blind.
***
Lucky parked at a grocery store a half mile away and jogged to Lisa’s neighborhood. Her car and her husband’s truck sat in the driveway. The same cars filled the neighbors’ driveways as of the last satellite check.
He eased into the woods, black clothing—still stained with paintball spatters—hiding him in the shadows. Slowly, slowly, he slunk up to the back of the house. Good thing Lisa didn’t own a dog. Moose would be barking his fool head off by now.
Lights shone from the front windows. Upstairs, blueish dimness gave a soft glow in the front bedroom window. Lucky’s insides gave a twist. The baby’s room, most likely. Whatever made Lisa nervous better not mess with the kid.
Or Lisa.
Oh, hell. Might as well toss in the husband too while in a save the world mood.
Lucky circled the house, pulse throbbing in his ears and Glock at the ready. Not as sturdy and reassuring as his .38, but lighter, easier to conceal, and plenty of stopping power. An overcast evening created early nightfall, helping him avoid detection. Not many people milled about on a Saturday night when thunder rumbled in the distance.
In his younger days he might’ve shimmied up the downspout. He’d put his body through too many beatings in the past few years. Instead he shoved the gun into his shoulder holster and climbed an oak tree with limbs spreading way too close to the upstairs window. He’d have to tell Lisa to get someone in here to remove the easy access to her house.
A partially opened window beckoned. Even if there were security system contacts in place, the open window meant it was deactivated. He listened at the window. Not a sound. He wriggled through. No noises, though the scent of tomato sauce and spices drifted up from the kitchen.
The room he stood in housed toys, a rocking horse, and a playpen, but no crib. A playroom then. If and when Lucky and Bo had kids, they might want to consider a setup like this.
He crept across the room in semidarkness, avoiding squeaky toys and any other items prone to giving away his presence. Lisa likely expected him to pull up in the driveway, and ten minutes remained on the hour she’d allowed for him to arrive.
He inched out to the landing, back against the wall, studying each shadow. Lights from down below illuminated the living room, and shadows across the floor marked the passage of at least two people. Straining his ears revealed three voices: Lisa’s, her husband’s, and someone else’s.
No extra car in the driveway.
Had he been called into a hostage situation?
