but there was only the soft sound of her breathing to break the early morning silence.
The worst part of the evening had been taking Milo out. They’d let him run in the backyard, both of them watching, and waited while he found the perfect spot to do his business. The whole time Boone been incredibly aware of Christie’s fear. She hadn’t said anything, but man, the vibes pouring off her were palpable.
He’d comforted her as much as he could, but in the end the only thing that had helped was coming back inside. Of course, that was where the real danger lay. If the geek was going to make his move, it would be sometime in the next few hours. Had it been Boone’s operation, he wouldn’t wait too long. The best time would be when the targets were in the REM cycle, about forty-five minutes after they’d first fallen asleep.
He stiffened as he felt Christie move, but realized quickly that she’d simply touched his side with her fingers. He found her hand with his and gave her a squeeze. What he wanted to do was hold her, but he couldn’t take the chance. They had to mimic sleep, get their breathing slow and steady. Holding Christie would make that impossible.
“I can’t stand this,” she whispered, so softly he just made out the words.
“Yes, you can. Just breathe deeply, visualize shooting the target. Go through every motion carefully and slowly.”
She tugged at his fingers and he heard her take in a long breath.
He, on the other hand, didn’t think at all about shooting, but about who it was that had done this to Christie. His vote was for an ex-boyfriend, someone she’d let go. He could understand being upset about that. Christie wasn’t your average woman, and for a man to find he didn’t measure up would be a real blow. The road from hurt to obsession wasn’t long. Given time, desire had morphed into the need for revenge, coloring his whole existence.
And that made this plan the right plan. This man, this sick bastard, wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of someone else taking “his” Christie away. He’d have to do something tonight, before she could be stolen. But how would he get into the house?
The last time, he’d cut open a window. If he did the same tonight, Boone would know it before he finished the first cut. Seth had put sensors on every windowpane in the place including the bathroom, even though the geek would have to be a child’s size to get in there.
If the geek were smart, and he was, he’d try another route. The garage, perhaps. There was only the one door which was locked, but not with a dead bolt. It wouldn’t be that difficult to jimmy the lock, and get in the house. The disadvantage there was his lack of a camera or microphone. He couldn’t know if someone was lying in wait.
He wouldn’t try the front door. The dead bolt, the likelihood of being spotted by a neighbor. The risks were too great. Which left what?
Milo whined, got up, turned in a circle, then lay down in the exact same spot next to the bed. His head went to his paws, then lifted again, looked about, then down. Boone supposed he was feeling Christie’s anxiety, but didn’t know what to do about it. He could just reach far enough to give the old boy a pet.
His hand went over Milo’s head and neck, and the dog snuffled his appreciation. Boone didn’t mind the contact, either. His thoughts turned back to the geek as he let his hand roam idly down Milo’s flank as he eliminated one entry way then another. His finger brushed against something that stopped him cold.
He touched it again. A dart. “Oh, shit,” he said, throwing off the cover and bringing up his gun.
“Too late, Boone. Why don’t you just put that down on the floor before I put my bullet through your brain.”
CHRISTIE FROZE, terror swallowing her whole. He was here. In her house. Afraid to move at all, she did shift her head enough that she could see the end of the hallway. All she could make out was a dark shape, nothing clear, and not enough to figure out who he was.
“All right,” Boone said, in the voice he used to calm her down. “Just cool it. I’m putting down the gun.”
How could this bastard tell that Boone had a gun? Night vision, like in the cameras. Shit, he could see them, but they couldn’t see him. And how had he gotten in?
“Slowly,” the bastard said. “Try anything tricky and I’ll kill you.”
“All right.”
Christie heard a thump as Boone’s gun hit the carpet. Now that she’d heard the voice a second time, there was something familiar about it, but she couldn’t connect it to anyone she knew.
“Now get up. Both of you.”
Boone squeezed her hand quickly, then started to rise to his knees. She knew the bastard meant business, but she couldn’t move. If she kept breathing like she was, she was going to hyperventilate again, and God knows what he’d do to Boone. She longed for her baseball bat, but she had no idea where that was. The gun in her waistband should have been a comfort but she couldn’t figure out how to get it out and aim and shoot when she couldn’t even see him.
“You, too, Christie. On your feet.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, ashamed at how her voice trembled.
“Just get up.”
She tried to move—honestly, she did—but her legs were stiff and the pressure on her chest was too heavy. Bracing herself on the mattress, she pushed herself up and then she remembered the flashlight.
How could she get it when her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her toes? She wanted to be brave, to save the day, to be Sigourney Weaver facing the alien. But she couldn’t even get her hand to move to the side of the mattress.
It was right there.
“You want me to shoot him? Is that what you want, Christie?”
“No,” she said. “I’m just scared, okay? So it’s hard.”
“Scared? You don’t know scared.”
Boone got to his feet, keeping his hands in the air. “I’m going to help her, okay? One hand down.”
“No. She can do it herself.”
It sounded as if he were closer. He’d moved a couple of feet, she thought. More in the living room than in the hall. She took a deep breath, and as she let it out, she moved her left hand those few inches beside the mattress. Her fingers touched the cold metal of the flashlight, and she gripped it so tightly she could feel the switch dig into her skin.
“You,” the bastard said. “Move away. Get off the mattress.”
“Sure,” Boone said. “Whatever you say.”
The bastard laughed. “You think that’s going to work on me? You moron. I’ve seen it all. Everything. You think you found all the cameras?”
“No, I’m sure we didn’t.”
“Just shut up. I don’t want to hear another word from you. Christie, stop
