Dead Ringer (29 page)
T
HE KITCHEN LIGHTS FLASHED
on. Gerhard immediately tensed, afraid of being caught in the light from the window. But then realized McRae would be looking from light to dark, making it impossible to see him. Especially since the Dumpster shielded him from the streetlights. The charred door between the garage and kitchen had been hastily replaced with one large sheet of plywood, so McRae couldn’t come out that way and surprise him.
More relaxed now, he settled in again to wait.
S
MILING, LUCAS SAT AT
the desk reading Wong’s email that came in while he was downstairs. Wong had shipped the DVDs via DHL to his home address with a scheduled delivery time between eleven and noon the next day. Maybe knowing they would be here in less than sixteen hours would help lessen the anxiety eating away at him. He upended the scotch and shut down the laptop, picked up the gun and moved to the easy chair next to the window.
G
ERHARD SAW THE UPSTAIRS
window go dark and checked his watch. On average, a person took twenty minutes to fall asleep. In this case he’d be conservative and allow McRae at least thirty minutes before entering the house.
G
ERHARD SLID THE KEY
into the front door lock and rotated it until it caught and clicked. He paused to listen for any response inside. Every second out here on the porch risked notice by a neighbor, in spite of it being so late. On the other hand, he needed to be cautious and avoid making any noise that might wake McRae. He couldn’t afford to leave signs of a struggle.
He heard no sounds from inside.
Then he was through the door, leaving it ajar an inch in case he needed to escape in a hurry. He didn’t expect that, but you never knew. Better to be prepared than not.
At the bottom of the stairs to the second floor, he again listened for any movement but heard only the hum of a fan. He placed his right foot on the first stair and slowly applied weight.
T
HE SCOTCH DIDN
’
T DO
much more than round off the edges of Lucas’s anxiety. He considered going downstairs for another, but he didn’t want his senses blunted, just in case. Again he looked at the gun in his hand. Never before had he kept a firearm in the house. He didn’t like it. The sight of it fueled more anxiety in his gut. He feared pistols, having
seen too many fatal accidents roll through the ER year after year. He made sure the barrel pointed away from him toward the wall.
Something creaked.
Jesus, what was that?
Sitting up, head cocked, he concentrated on the stillness in the house. Had he imagined it? He started to reach for the lamp but thought better of it. Slowly he stood up, not wanting to cause a sound.
Heart hammering his chest, he gripped the gun tighter and listened hard.
Another creak.
Someone was coming up the stairs. It was a sound so familiar it wasn’t easily mistaken.
With the gun in his right hand, Lucas reached the door in five strides. He took hold of the doorknob with his left hand, thumbed off the safety, slowly turned the knob.
W
ENDY AWOKE, REALIZED SHE
’
D
nodded off. How long? Couldn’t say for sure because she hadn’t noted the time earlier. She glanced around, but things looked exactly like they had before she nodded off.
Go home and get a good night’s sleep? Hmmm … might be a worthwhile idea.
Or perhaps go search for a coffee shop that was open and come back with a supply of caffeine.
A
S GERHARD PUT WEIGHT
on the second step it creaked.
Fuck!
Sounded like a megaton nuclear blast.
One hand on the railing, he stared intently up the darkened stairwell, waiting for any sign of movement. From somewhere above came a muffled click, like a door latch opening. He aimed the gun at the top of the stairs where someone might stand, his finger on the trigger, ready to fire in case McRae turned on the light and blinded him. If so, the gun would already be aimed at where he’d be standing.
L
UCAS PEERED THROUGH THE
crack between the door and jamb, into the dim outlines in the hall. There wasn’t much detail to be seen in what little streetlight filtered through the windows. It was more like he
knew
where borders and spaces should be and was scanning for something out of place.
Everything appeared normal. No shadows moved.
More confident now, he widened the opening enough to squeeze his body into the hall while keeping his back against the wall. He stopped, listening for any faint sound but heard only the hammering of his heart, his mouth bone dry. He squeezed the pistol grip tighter and moved his finger from the guard to the trigger.
Creak
. This time Lucas was certain the sound was the stairs.
One more long step and he was positioned to where, if he leaned forward, he could see down the stairs to the front hall. A second later he recognized a shadow that shouldn’t be there. Another second, and he knew a person was crouching on the stairs.
G
ERHARD SHIFTED WEIGHT, RAISED
his left foot and planted it on the next stair. The closer he was, the less likely to miss was that really someone up there, or was his mind fucking with him? Aiming at the same spot as a moment ago, he moved up one more step, his finger tightening on the trigger.
S
OMETHING WAS REALLY THERE
. Not just his imagination. Lucas aimed the gun and started to squeeze the trigger. Or was it?
The form at the bottom of the stairs spun around and started down.
Lucas squeezed off a round, the explosion deafening him. The form vanished.
S
UDDENLY WENDY WAS WIDE
awake, aware a shot was just fired, and rolled out the door, moving fast, Glock in hand. Up ahead, the McRae house. She saw the door open and a figure run out.
“Freeze, police!”
The figure—a man?—turned and raised an arm. She saw a muzzle flash, heard the detonation, dropped flat on the parking strip, rolled to her left, went prone, and raised the Glock, the front sight dot glowing in the darkness. No figure now, no sounds other than her rapid breathing. She squinted at the shadows along the hedge forming the south border of McRae’s property. Nothing but shadows.
“Wendy?”
She glanced at McRae’s house, saw a figure in the doorway. Felt a rush of relief. He hadn’t been shot.
She yelled, “Stay inside.”