He sees that with a glance, without slowing his pace, as he looks for the back door. The pool is glinting blue in the sunlight, large hot tub at a higher level, and water flowing into the larger pool down a stony slope. Nice.
The back of the house is full of windows, too, but he is sure a house like this has an alarm system and is reluctant to fool with anything, unsure what he will set off. Some of the rich folks have alarms that sound right at the police station, he has heard, though probably that is bull.
There is a back door that leads into a kitchen area. He can see in through frilly, translucent curtains that hang from the corners of the windows. The pool circulation down the slope is making the gurgling sounds water makes running over stone. The back yard is huge and extends way back beyond the pool to a pool house. He could fit 10 of his houses on this lot. He slips on a pair of super lightweight gloves he had brought from the house. Just in case.
He eases up to the back door and rattles the knob. Locked. He looks around. What now? He could bust a window and get in, but probably an alarm will be going off somewhere. He looks farther down the side of the house and sees sliding glass doors that look like they lead into another bedroom. Maybe a place for guests when they swim. Heads down and pulls on the handles. Locked also. He sighs again. Looks like nut-cutting time. Put up or shut up. He has the .22 Mag in his pocket too. That would make it armed burglary or some such, he is sure. The back yard is full of bushes, and he rolls over behind one and stuffs the gun up into the branches. He stands back and checks if he can see it. The holster he carries it in covers most of the metallic gleam, and the leaves are thick and … bushy, and you can't see the .22 at all. He steps back, looks again. The only person who would ever be likely to see that gun would be a gardener trimming hedges. And his chances wouldn't be that good.
He is getting ready to move back toward the house and take his shot when he hears a car engine, and he barely has time enough to dive back behind the bushes and get out of sight when the Beamer comes roaring up the drive and pulls to a halt next to the garage. The big man gets out and looks toward the yard, and Blaine holds his breath hoping that all parts of him are removed from view. But the big man only looks for a second then grabs a bag from the passenger seat and heads for the back entrance, where Blaine watches as he opens the door, punches his security code into the pad on the wall next to it, and disappears into the house.
Chapter 34
The sun arcs across the sky as Blaine waits. And waits. A couple of hours go by. He is about to go ahead and ease on up to the side of the house again when the back door opens, and Sketch comes out and heads for the Beamer. Blaine wonders if the Miata is stored in the garage. Probably are several vehicles in it, anyway. It is big enough. He gets in and backs the car down the drive, without a glance in Blaine's direction.
Blaine takes a deep breath. Now or never. He thinks about his gun stuck up in the branches. Leave it behind now when he really might need it? Screw that. He reaches up and grabs it, sticks it back in his pocket. In for a nickel, in for the pot. He gets up and moves swiftly towards the back door, takes a little lock pick that had come in useful before for him from his pocket and jiggles it in the lock. The lock is just an ordinary one, and he has it open in seconds. It had been quick when he saw Sketch punch the code. He hopes what he thinks he saw is right. He tries it. The systems always give you a few seconds to punch in the code before going off. The alarm indicator pulses green. Nothing else shrieks or buzzes or goes off. He is in. He shuts the door and resets the alarm with the same code in case Sketch returns.
The inside décor matches the money of the house. Stainless steel freezer, refrigerator. Huge kitchen island. Granite counters. He sees all this in glances as he races through the rooms. The main living area is huge, light and airy with 20 foot ceilings and windows. Stone fireplace the size of an elephant. He moves on toward the back. Bedroom, another, laundry room, game room with a pool table. Nothing out of place: all neat like just cleaned.
He makes his way back to the large wooden staircase and starts up. At the top of the stairs is a hallway that runs the length of the house. He goes right. The first room is Sketch's office at home, it looks like, with two expensive computers and a large mahogany desk. Then another bedroom. Finally, at that end an exercise room with a full assortment of treadmills, weights, elliptical trainers. Nothing else. Blaine is starting to think this had been a fool's errand all along. The cops would have been here if they had any serious suspicions, wouldn't they? It is only idiot citizens like himself who so underestimate them.
He turns and heads back down the hall to the other end of the house. Another bedroom. A room that looks like it could be where a maid works, with an ironing board and cleaning equipment. The other end and a final bedroom with a huge gun safe set against one wall. How many bedrooms does one son of a bitch need? He checks the handle on the safe. Locked, of course. Nothing else out of the ordinary. What now?
He stops, considers briefly. His heart is thudding in his chest, and he is breathing like he has been running. The only places he hasn't looked are the closets. He starts where he is and backtracks through each and every room opening closet doors. Nothing. Nothing. More nothing. Pauses again to listen when he thinks he hears something, realizes it must have been his own breath rasping through his throat. Then he hears it again. He is sure of it. It is a thump. He slides along the wall of the hallway trying to figure out where it came from. Is Sketch back in the house?
He peers out through the tall window that overlooks the drive but doesn't see the Beamer, thinks his nerves must be going on him. Remembers the nights he has heard stuff in his own house and gone racing to investigate, gun in hand. Wooden houses creak and moan all the time, especially when you are running the heat or AC. The AC is droning quietly in the background now. It had been running in the background since he entered.
Then he hears it again. He is sure of it. Some kind of thumping noise. Very faint. It doesn't sound that far off. He looks back down the hall trying to place exactly where it is coming from. But he has looked at everything down that way. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe a pipe thumping in the wall.
He hears it again, from the same general area, and he walks down the hall in that direction. Hears it again, closer. He goes in one bedroom and hears it again. It sounds like it is coming from the next room, the one with the cleaning equipment and ironing board. He races back to that room. Hears it again. Now it sounds like it is coming from the first room. He races back that way, checks the closet again. Nothing. He walks back into the hallway, puzzled, about to put it down to those creaking house eccentricities he had been thinking about, when he suddenly realizes that the distance between the two rooms appears larger than it should. He looks down the hall at one door, back at the other then goes to the entrance of the first trying to gauge the distance. If he's thinking right there is a gap of around eight feet or so between these rooms that he is not seeing in the way they look. He races back to the first, looks again. He has the terrible feeling he is running out of time.
Thump. Thump.
He opens the door to the walk-in closet again. Notices that clothing and suitcases and odds and ends are stored to the left and right, but there is a bit of a gap in the center. There are strips of paneling running up the walls, a style of wainscoting, it looks like. Decorative.
But on closer inspection, he can see that on one set of strips and directly on the bottom of the closet shelf there is a crack that runs into the wall. He runs his hand along those strips, probing and tugging. Finally, at one spot he tugs and it gives, and that area of wall swings open. Beneath is the outline of a door. Only five feet tall and maybe two feet wide but definitely some form of door.
Thump.
It sounds like it is coming from right in front of him. Suddenly he hears a noise from down below, the sound of a door closing. Sketch is back. Blaine hastily shuts the hidden door and puts the closet back the way it had been, looks for someplace to hide. He hadn't seen the
way into whatever the hidden door led into. Maybe it was computer- controlled or remote-controlled in some fashion. He pokes his head into the hallway, hears noise down below and darts into the room across the hall. Looks for something to hide behind. Seeing nothing that looks possible except the closet, he eases the door open and looks in. Another walk-in. Plenty of room. He steps in and eases the door shut behind him.
This closet has those doors that look like blinds, with tiny cracks that run between them. He can see out in a limited fashion. His breath sounds like thunder in his own ears, and he wills himself to calm. Gradually the thunder subsides somewhat, and he can hear the house around him again. He hears the clatter of silver and a refrigerator door thump shut, drawers open and close. Sketch must be making himself something to eat.
He briefly considers making a move to get out of the house, discards that option almost as soon as he has the thought. If it weren't for the thumping noises and the door, that would be the thing to do. Maybe the noises and the door are innocent, but he does not believe that. His gut and his heart are telling him that Renee is there somewhere behind that door. Getting out is not an option now. He feels the reassuring metal of the Mag in his pocket. Only one way to go now and that is forward. If she is behind that door, he cannot leave her alone with Sketch again. No telling what that bastard will do, or has done. Thinking of what he may have done already briefly sickens him. He swallows, his throat dry. He cannot bear the thought. If Sketch has hurt her, he is a dead man. No matter what the consequences are. His blood is roaring in his ears again and he wills himself to calm. No, the only way he is leaving here now is with a look inside that room. He takes the gun out of his pocket, holds it loosely in his hand. Sketch may have laughed at it down on the sand, but he will be laughing another way if Blaine has to use it this time.
Chapter 35
The blood must have really been roaring in his ears, because he is caught completely by surprise when the closet door swings open, and he is staring down the barrel of a Desert Eagle .45.
"Just drop it," Sketch says. "One wrong move with the hand it's in and I will splash your brains all over the walls."
He knows he could get a shot off, but figures he will get hit also. If he takes a hit off that gun he will be done, and then who will help Renee? He loosens his hold and the .22 slides from his grasp and lands on the carpet with a dull thud.
"Smart move," Sketch says. "You weren't going to do any damage with that thing anyway. Why don't you buy yourself a real gun?"
"You know what they say about guys that need a big gun?" Blaine says. He's watching Sketch, hoping for a mistake.
"I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before," the big man says. "You're beginning to bore me, Blaine." He steps back a couple of steps and waves the gun for Blaine to come out of the closet. "About time you came out of the closet, my friend."
Blaine comes out and forward a few steps, looking for an inch of opportunity, but the big man sees it in his eyes and backs off a bit more. He has the coldest blue eyes that Blaine has ever seen. He gestures for Blaine to move to the right, and stoops and picks up the .22, slips it into his pocket.
"I thought you believed what I said out on the sand," the big man says. "I was hoping I was done with you."
"I actually did believe it," Blaine says. "You're a hell of a liar, if it was a lie. I just didn't have anywhere else to look."
"Thank you," Sketch smiles. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Where is Renee?"
"Who?" the big man asks. "I don't know any Renee. Just a poor, brain-injured son of a bitch who has lost touch with reality, and broke into my house searching for God knows what. A prowler I had to shoot." Blaine moves forward a hair, and the big man straightens his arm, ready to fire. "Don't get tricky. Stay back."
"If you shoot me, you're going to get some heat," Blaine says. "Nielson knows I'm looking for you. Your little house of cards here will come tumbling down."
Sketch eyes him quizzically, thinking about that, shaking his head as he does, but Blaine can see the wheels turning as the big man weighs alternatives. "You believe everything you see and hear?" he finally asks and smiles at Blaine with those large, white teeth. After a second, Blaine links that back to his computer, but keeps his face impassive. He thinks about letting Sketch know he knows about his secret room. Maybe he would stick him in there with Renee. At least they would be together. He decides against it for now, just on the general principle that the more your enemy doesn't know you know, the better, though he can't see any use for that information right off the bat. Maybe if the big man thought he didn't know anything, he would relax his guard some.
"So why don't we just call it even," Blaine says. "I had you under the gun once, now you've had me that way once." He forces a smile. "Call it square, call it a draw. Hell, everybody's entitled to be wrong once."
"That's not quite the way I see it," the big man says. "I didn't follow you out of some club, pull a gun on you on the beach, or break into your house."
"Maybe you've got a point," Blaine says. "But I've looked around and haven't found anything. Maybe it's time to admit I was wrong and just let the cops handle it. Unless you've got something that you need to tell me," he says, staring at the big man intently.
But those porcelain blue eyes never even waver. The big man stares back like a land shark. "Turn around," he says.
Blaine tenses, wondering if this is it, if he should make his move, and the big man reads him like a billboard. "I'm not going to kill you," he says. "I just want to secure your hands so I don't need to worry about you every second. Besides, you don't think I want to mess up the entire room with blood splatter, do you?"
Blaine gets a chill, but turns and puts his hand out behind him, and a moment later he feels a plastic loop slide over them and tighten. "That's better," big man says, and gives them an extra little tug to snug them up. "I don't think you'll give me too much trouble like that." Blaine can hear the smile in his voice and sees it when he turns around. He's standing there, apparently helpless, with his hands secured behind him with what feels to be something similar to those plastic cuffs the cops use, but he actually almost feels better. Overconfident is how he wants the big man. Much rather have him that way than tense and jumpy. With overconfidence, at least he has a chance.
But that feeling goes away when the big man slaps him. Not hard enough to draw blood, but plenty hard enough to hurt. Blaine stumbles back, and the big man stalks him, hits him with another open hand. Blaine sees the enjoyment in his eyes as he sets up, drills him with one more.
"Thought you were pretty cute out on the beach, didn't you?" Sketch says. "Shoe's on the other foot now, isn't it? What you didn't realize was, I was holding back some out there. You really think I was that easy to whip?"
"Take these things off my hands," Blaine says, "and we'll see how tough a guy you are." He has backed off into the corner facing Sketch, crouched down to be a harder target to hit. "The cops find these markings on my wrist they won't buy your prowler story anyway."
Why not?" the big man says, "I was trying to restrain a prowler who got loose and attacked. I'm just a homeowner protecting my property. You don't think this is my first dance, do you? I've been taking care of business for a while, Blaine. Though what I really am is a ladies' man," he says, with that cold smile again, and Blaine can't help himself, all thought flees, and he launches himself forward head-first at the big man, trying for the head butt, but Sketch backs a step, shifts to the right and slaps him easily to the side. Blaine tilts back the other way and runs at him again. Again the big man slaps him to the side then laughs. "This is kind of enjoyable," he says, then sweeps in, shoves Blaine while kicking his feet out from under him. Blaine lands hard on his side on the floor, struggles to get up to his knees as the big man watches, laughing. "Not that easy without your hands, is it?" he says and knocks Blaine down again.
Blaine is breathing hard and trying to think of some way to turn things around, even the odds
up, when he hears a splintering thud of a sound from downstairs, like wood being cracked, and he sees the big man's eyes go wide and knows he hears it too.
Suddenly, the butt of the Desert Eagle smashes into his head, and all goes dark.
He has only been out for a second, he thinks, when his eyes blink open again. Big man is gone, and he moves to try and rise, but his feet will not obey him, and when he looks down he sees another of the plastic strips has been used to secure his legs. Damn, he thinks, and wonders what the noise had been. Then he remembers the knife he always keeps in his back pocket. Knives come in handy in so very many ways that he never travels without it. It is a just a small pocket knife but sharp. He moves his hands over to his pocket, and strains, gets the fingers of one on the knife and draws it out. Getting it open is not that difficult, but positioning it to cut the plastic is a bitch. Finally, he puts it on the plastic and begins drawing it back and forth, trying to gain purchase on it. He had flexed his hands when Sketch snugged them up, and there is some slack. He feels the knife begin to cut in, but a small bit of play is all he has, and it is slow going. He saws. He saws. Then he feels the plastic give, and his hands are free! They are not numb, and he wastes no time and goes straight to work on his feet. The plastic is tighter on them. Strips his little gloves off and stuffs them in his pocket. He is not sure where big man has gone or what he is up to. He needs every chance he can get. He cuts through the tie and stands up, eagle eye on the door, hopping and clasping his hands to restore good circulation. Where is Sketch?
Chapter 36
Then Blaine hears a crash and more noises coming from downstairs. He races for the stairway, and when he is halfway down, he takes in the back door hanging open and Sketch on top of somebody on the ground, butt of the Desert Eagle raised and pummeling the person below him. It is Todd below him!
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