don’t have one with me.”
“Is it in your truck?” Without waiting for an answer, she headed in that direction, and he fell into step beside her.
“No, it’s not in my truck.”
Seriously? Who didn’t carry a cell phone these days? Or was Joe lying so as not to get involved? “Look, Joe, maybe I was trespassing, but this is a life-or-death emergency. I didn’t just see a gun. It was pointed at my brother-in-law’s head.”
His expression turned even grimmer. “Who is your brother-in-law? Why is he here?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. She wanted to scream with frustration. Her heart was still racing, her stomach sick with fear, as she waited for the report of the gun. She hadn’t seen a silencer on the barrel, so she knew if the trigger was pulled, she would hear the resulting shots. The absence of any such sound so far gave her hope. Maybe the home owner—Sidorov—didn’t intend to kill Trevor. But, at the very least, he’d threatened him, and she’d feel a lot better when her brother-in-law was out of range of that gun and there were cops crawling all over this place.
The whole situation felt surreal, as if things could spin out of control at any moment. She had no idea what was going on in the house, why Trevor had come in the first place. Even if he was released unharmed, a crime had still been committed, and there should be consequences. “The police need to know about this, and I can prove what I saw.” She patted her camera, grateful Savannah had insisted she bring it. “Please, loan me your phone.”
Joe shook his head. “I wish I could help, but Sidorov doesn’t allow outsiders to bring cell phones onto the property. He takes his privacy seriously, and his ban on phones is intended to prevent unauthorized photos of his property and his family.”
This time she believed Joe. She’d have to return to her car, use her own phone and pray the police responded quickly. She hated the idea of leaving the premises—it felt too much as if she was abandoning Trevor—but it was the only way to get the assistance he needed. She quickened her pace, cutting a path across the expansive lawn.
Joe’s long, muscular legs had no trouble keeping up with her. He spoke in a low voice. “There’s a security guard, Latschenko, who patrols the grounds. He’s new and eager to impress his boss. He was down at the tennis courts ten minutes ago, so hopefully you’ll miss him.”
And if she didn’t miss him, she didn’t want to think what kind of trouble would ensue. “Thanks for the warning.” When Joe stopped walking, she broke stride in confusion. “Aren’t you leaving, too?”
“Nah. I need this job. Latschenko likes to talk, so I’ll try to keep him occupied while you make your getaway.” His teeth flashed white in his tanned face, and then he veered off in the opposite direction.
Despite his initial bossy manner, Joe had turned out to be a surprisingly decent guy, she thought as she broke into a run. Her sneakers pounded across the lawn toward the driveway, her breath puffing in and out in controlled bursts. Within minutes, she’d be back at her car and the police would be on the way.
A man suddenly appeared from out of the shadow of the lawn-maintenance truck, looming in front of her and blocking her escape. “Stop,” he ordered, and she had no choice but to obey or plow into him.
The guy was heavyset with acne-scarred cheeks and a fierce scowl. He must be the security guard that Joe had warned her about. She’d expected him to be wearing a uniform, so she was surprised by his black leather jacket, a choice which struck her as masochistic on such a hot summer day. Was that bad-to-the-bone thug style really worth the discomfort? Or was Latschenko dressed like that to conceal a weapon?
She quickly eased her right hand—the one holding the camera—behind her back, and not a moment too soon. The guard’s gaze moved over her in a thorough, head-to-toe survey that made her skin crawl as if he’d touched her. “Who are you? Show me some ID.”
“I don’t have any with me.” She’d left her purse locked in her car, wanting to keep her hands free to take photos.
“How long have you been here?”
“Uh, only a few minutes.”
He pointed a finger at her accusingly. “Put both your hands where I can see them.”
The camera. She pressed it harder against her spine, wishing she could make it disappear.
He unzipped his jacket. “Hands. In front. Now.”
If she’d still been a cop, he wouldn’t be talking to her with such disrespect. Or if he had, she’d have told him to watch his mouth and get out of her way. Unfortunately, she was no longer in a position of authority, and his uptight facial expression and body language told her he wasn’t going to back down until she had complied with his demands.
As she moved her right hand with the camera into view, Latschenko’s eyes bulged in their sockets, and he reached inside his jacket. She knew, with absolute certainty, what would be in his hand when it cleared the black leather, and she was right.
He held a semiautomatic pistol pointed straight at her.
Brooke stared into Latschenko’s cold eyes and remembered another time, another place, when she’d found herself staring into the barrel of a gun. Would today end the same way? With bullets ripping into her flesh? With her collapsing onto the ground and blood trickling out of her like water out of a leaky garden hose?
Latschenko’s gaze shifted downward to the camera, then back to her face. “Damn, I thought that was a gun. What the hell are you doing here, lady?”
Fear clogged her throat like a massive rock, preventing her from uttering a word, a sound or even swallowing. She knew her silence would make this confrontation even more dangerous, but her vocal cords had shut down at the first glimpse of his weapon. She knew the damage it could unleash. She knew the physical agony that came with a gunshot wound and the mental terror of wondering whether it was severe enough to result in death.
He made an impatient gesture with the weapon. “Hand over the camera.”
She told herself she had no choice, that he had the power to take it from her, so there was no point resisting, but anxiety had short-circuited her brain’s signals to her muscles. Her arm wouldn’t budge. She was paralyzed. Helpless. Useless. A complete disgrace to the profession she had once revered.
“Yo, Latschenko.”
The yard-maintenance guy was back from the tennis courts, and his calm voice was at complete odds with the tense situation. Was Joe clueless or cocky, or a mixture of both? Given her current situation, Brooke didn’t care. As she watched his tall, athletic figure stroll across the manicured lawn, she experienced a wave of relief so strong her legs nearly gave out. Surely, Latschenko wouldn’t shoot her in front of a witness.
Joe spoke again. “What’s with the gun? Why are you scaring my girl?”
“Your girl?” Latschenko sputtered. “What are you talking about? What the hell is she doing here?”
Joe continued walking until he stood next to Brooke. The mirrored
