“All right, Galactic Commander. Get back to shooting Play-Doh or whatever those purple things are.”
Rachel went to leave but paused. There was a gentle thumping noise coming from outside his window. It sounded like someone rapping on a glass door. Not a gentle tap, though. Determined. Eric appeared to notice it too. He got up and looked out the window.
He leaned forward, a confused look on his face. Then the confusion turned quickly to alarm.
“What is it?” Rachel said. She joined him at the window and looked down. Her breath caught in her chest when she saw what he was looking at.
“Um, Mom?” Eric said. “Why is there a man with a gun standing outside our living room window? Is he . . . trying to get in?”
Before Rachel could answer, a gunshot rang out, and the window shattered. Eric screamed. Then a man with a gun climbed through the broken window and into their home.
CHAPTER 13
Rachel heard three things simultaneously:
The sound of glass crunching on linoleum. Meaning the gunman was in the kitchen.
The sound of Eric screaming beside her.
The home alarm system blaring.
The alarm was hardwired to notify the local monitoring station. They would then call Rachel’s cell phone and, if she didn’t pick up, immediately dial out to 911. The gunshot had definitely come from a 9 mm handgun. But she didn’t know if that was the intruder’s only weapon.
“Stay right here!” Rachel shouted to Eric. She sprinted toward Megan’s room just as her cell phone began to ring. She pressed accept.
“This is Rachel Marin. We have an armed intruder in our home. Dial 911 immediately.”
She hung up. Response time would be anywhere from three to six minutes, depending on the proximity of the nearest law enforcement officers. Rachel heard the sound of crunching glass on wood.
He was in the dining room.
Three minutes would be an eternity. Six might be too long.
Rachel flung open the door to Megan’s room and found her daughter huddled under her desk, whimpering.
“What’s happening?” she asked, eyes wide, terrified.
“Just come with me, baby.” Rachel took Megan’s hand and led her down the hall toward Eric’s room.
“Mom?” Eric said. He was breathing fast, eyes wide with terror. Rachel brought Megan over to Eric. Megan took her brother’s hand.
“You two stay together,” she whispered. “Take your shoes off, Eric.”
“But the broken glass downstairs . . .”
“You’re not going downstairs. Follow me. And stay quiet.”
Eric removed his shoes. Rachel took his hand, and they tiptoed down the hallway. Rachel could hear footsteps on the first floor and the sounds of someone mumbling imperceptibly. She’d bought the two story in part for this very reason. In case of an intruder, the perpetrator wouldn’t be on the same floor as the children’s bedrooms.
Rachel had only one option. They couldn’t flee via the roof. They’d be sitting ducks, and she still didn’t know what other weapons the gunman might have. There was one way to definitively keep her children safe. She’d have to answer a lot of questions after it was over. But at least they would be safe, and at least there would definitely be an after for them.
Rachel led Eric and Megan to a door at the end of the second floor hallway. It was locked by a keypad. Rachel typed in the numbers 824703. The red light turned green.
She’d paid a great deal of money to build a staircase that led to the basement from the second floor. She’d done it hoping a moment like this would never come.
“Go downstairs,” Rachel said softly but urgently. “Stay there. Nobody will be able to hear you, and nobody will be able to get down there. The police will be here soon. There’s a phone down there. It goes to an outside line. If for any reason I don’t come down to get you in eight minutes, use that phone to dial 911. Tell them you’re in the basement. Tell them the man inside our house is armed with a nine millimeter handgun and possibly more.”
Eric looked confused. “I thought you said the basement was locked because of asbestos. That we couldn’t go down there or we’d get sick.”
“I lied,” Rachel said. “I’ll explain later. The code for the door at the bottom of the stairs is your father’s birthday. It’s six digits: year, then month, then day. Eric, do you remember his birthday?”
Eric nodded.
“Once I close the door behind you, the light will come on. Do not come back upstairs until either I come get you or the police arrive. Promise me. Promise me.”
“We promise,” both children said in unison.
She opened the doorway, revealing a carpeted staircase. A single recessed overhead light flickered on. Eric and Megan hesitated. Rachel leaned down and kissed them both.
“It’ll be OK. Now go!”
“Why aren’t you coming with us?” Megan said, eyes wide. She was scared but trying to be strong. Eric was shaking, holding back a scream. She recognized the look of terror on his face. She’d seen it before, seven years ago, on their front porch.
“Because I don’t want this one getting away.”
“Like Harwood Greene,” Eric said. Rachel kissed her son’s forehead.
“Like Harwood Greene.”
He nodded. “Go get him, Mom.”
Rachel gathered them both together, hugged them quickly, and then pushed them toward the open door.
The children crept downstairs, the carpet muffling their steps.
She gently closed the door behind them.
Rachel was alone with whoever was inside her house.
She walked swiftly to her bedroom, opened the closet, and pushed aside several hanging dresses to reveal the metal safe. Rachel plugged in the code. The lock slid open. She opened the thick metal door, removed her Mossberg 500 shotgun, and poured half a dozen extra buckshot shells into her pocket.
Rachel then went to the hallway and opened the metal box containing the circuit breakers. She pulled each breaker switch up. Immediately, the house was shrouded in darkness. She’d cut the power. The basement circuits were separate from the main domicile, so Eric and Megan would still be able to see.
She switched on the gun’s flashlight mount and moved to the bedroom door. She pressed her back against the wall and listened.
The house was pitch black except for the soda can–thick beam of light emanating from the shotgun. Rachel heard a crash downstairs and stopped moving. The gunman was muttering something indecipherable under his breath.
Bizarre. Whoever was inside their home was clearly an amateur. They weren’t even trying to remain stealthy. But they’d have to know that the initial gunshot would have raised an alarm. Neighbors would call 911. His carelessness worried Rachel. The intruder was clearly not of sound mind, which made him unpredictable. Thieves were predictable. Get in, get out. This man wasn’t a thief. The realization made her blood run cold. It meant he was there for her.
Rachel removed her shoes and slowly moved to the top of the stairs. She switched the gun light off, not wanting to give away her position. Then she listened. She heard footsteps.
Crouching, she eased down the stairs one step at a time, stopping on each one to listen. The noises stopped. Rachel waited.
Then she heard a voice. He was in the living room.