by Katie Ruggle
Turning his back on his glowering lieutenant, Theo walked to the world’s ugliest couch. Since he knew calling Viggy wouldn’t work, he crouched down next to the sofa. Viggy, who’d mashed his too-thin body into the space between the back of the couch and the wall, panted nervously.
“C’mon, Vig.” By reaching his arm as far as he could into the narrow gap, Theo was able to hook his index finger around the leash and draw it toward him. The sight of the crouched animal—the dog that, just two months ago, was brimming with confidence and eagerness to work—sent a spike of sorrow into Theo’s heart. “Let’s go home, Officer.”
Viggy raised his head at the word “home,” his expression alert for the first time in two months. Instantly, Theo felt like an enormous dick. To Viggy, “home” was Don. There was no way for Theo to deliver on what he’d just promised.
Sorrow coursed through him, even as he wanted to punch a hole in Schwartz’s drywall. With an audible exhale, Theo stood and pulled Viggy out of his hiding spot.
A thump and the sound of running boots made him jerk around and reach for his gun. Blessard was already in the hall, shouting, “Police! Romanowski, stop and drop your weapon!”
Feet pounded up the stairs as the lieutenant ran after Romanowski, and a half dozen other officers followed. Theo was halfway to the door, determined to give chase, when a jerk on his arm brought him to an abrupt halt.
Viggy. He stared at the crouched dog, all his instincts and training shouting at him to back up his fellow officers. Looking at Viggy, Theo knew he couldn’t do it, couldn’t force the dog into the line of fire. Viggy was already traumatized. It wouldn’t take much more to break him beyond repair…if he wasn’t already.
A movement in his peripheral made Theo snap his head around to see Gordon slinking toward the hall, a pistol in his hand.
“No.” Theo dropped the leash and moved to block Gordon’s path. Grabbing the barrel of the other man’s gun, Theo disarmed him with a quick, upward twist before Schwartz realized what was happening.
“You can’t take my gun.” Gordon’s eyes bulged with fury. “It’s my constitutional right to carry that gun. You can’t take it away.”
Dropping the magazine into his hand and opening the slide by feel, Theo kept his eyes on Schwartz. “I’m not taking it.” He tucked the pistol in one cargo pocket of his BDUs and the magazine in another. “I’m just holding onto it for you. You’ll get it back when we leave.” If all the paperwork checks out, Theo thought. “Take a seat.”
Although his mutinous expression didn’t lighten, Gordon sank down on an overstuffed recliner. Theo stayed by the door, in a spot where he could keep an eye on Gordon and another on the hall. More cops, including Hugh, thundered past the doorway. While the rest dashed up the stairs, Hugh paused when he spotted Theo.
“You good?” Hugh’s eyes swept the room. “Where’s Vig.”
“Behind the couch. I’ve got this. Go.”
With a short nod, Hugh ran up the stairs.
“Is there anything up there we should be worried about?” Theo asked, trying to channel Hugh’s negotiator skills. He was pretty sure he failed, judging by the way Gordon jerked back in his seat. “Guns? Bombs? Knives?”
“Everything’s locked up,” Gordon said. “And nothing’s live.”
When Theo looked at him steadily, Gordon scowled. “Why would I blow up my own home?”
“Romanowski can’t access anything, then?” Theo relaxed slightly. Maybe his and Viggy’s complete failure of a search wouldn’t be an issue.
“I told you,” Gordon snapped. “Everything’s locked up. All but the…” His face turned a pasty green color.
“What?” Theo barked, all thoughts of diplomacy gone. “All but what?”
A loud boom shook the house. Dust and small chunks of drywall rained down on top of Theo, and he staggered to keep his balance. There was a sudden silence, a complete stillness, before all hell broke loose. Shouts and running feet came from above, and more debris fell from the ceiling. From his spot behind the couch, Viggy’s whine slid into a howl.
Theo ran to the doorway, taking the stairs four at a time, terror and guilt accelerating his steps. He’d caused this. It was his fault. If he hadn’t failed so dismally—failed the search, failed Vig, failed Don—then this wouldn’t be happening. How many cops were hurt? How many were killed?
Officers started streaming past him, running down as he ran up. Theo scanned them quickly, looking for blood, but everyone looked uninjured.
“Hey!” one of them called to him. “LT wants everyone out. That blast could’ve damaged the structure.”
Ignoring him, Theo tore down the second-floor hall, running toward the sound of loud voices. The air was thick with smoke and dust, tightening his lungs.
“Bosco!” Except for a layer of soot and dirt covering him, the lieutenant didn’t look injured. “Get out of here!”
“Anyone injured?” Theo asked, his gaze raking the officers passing them. “Where’s Hugh?”
Before Blessard could answer, Hugh emerged from the doorway at the end of the hall, supporting a cuffed and dazed-looking Romanowski on one side, while another officer held his other arm.
“Out!” the lieutenant bellowed. “Everyone out!”
Now that he’d seen that no one was obviously injured, Theo remembered Viggy. He’d left him alone with Gordon Schwartz. Flying down the stairs as quickly as he’d run up them, Theo hurried into the living room to find Gordon, still white-faced, sitting where Theo had left him.
“That wasn’t my fault,” Gordon said as soon as Theo rushed through the doorway. “If someone’s hurt, it’s not on me.”
“Get outside. The house isn’t safe.” Theo scanned the room, vaguely registering that Gordon had followed his command. All his attention was fixed on finding Viggy. He spotted the end of the leash protruding from behind the couch. “It’s over, Vig,” Theo said quietly, crouching next to the sofa. Viggy was shaking so hard that the couch vibrated. “Let’s go.”
The dog didn’t move. Dust sifted from the ceiling; they needed to get out. He pulled on the leash, sliding a resisting Viggy across the floor until Theo could reach him.
Theo knew there was no way that Viggy would walk out of the house on his own. Wrapping his arms around the dog, Theo lifted him. Viggy stiffened as his paws left the ground.
“Shh,” Theo soothed. “I’ve got you.”
After a moment, Viggy went limp. Theo carried him out of the house and through the gates.
“Is Vig okay?” Hugh called from where he stood by the lieutenant.
No. He’s not okay. We’re not okay. “He’s not hurt,” Theo answered, his voice rough.
Everyone else was quiet, subdued, as Theo carried Viggy through the crowd of officers toward his squad car. Theo kept his gaze locked in front of him, and let the numbness take over.
Chapter 8
Four Days Earlier
The cliffs towered above them to the left and dropped away to the right. Jules tapped a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel, hating that she was going twenty-five miles under the speed limit because the curvy mountain road into town completely freaked her out. At least the sun was high in the sky, so everything was well-lit. The scenery was beautiful—the craggy mountains surrounding them furred with evergreens and aspens until the bare blue-gray peaks stuck out above the tree line. Jules couldn’t appreciate the scenery, though. All she could do was concentrate on not driving her entire family off a cliff. There was a line of four or five cars behind them, so Jules steered into a pull-out and stopped to let them pass before entering the west-bound lane again. To add to her humiliation, one of the vehicles that passed her was an extra-long RV. Another was a semi.
Ty snorted. “You’re driving even slower than—”
“I know, Ty. Thanks,” she said dryly, trying not to snap. Her sleepless night and driving ma
rathon, capped by this treacherous mountain road, drained her reservoir of good-natured comebacks and robbed her of her patience. Once she passed through a gap in the rocks barely wide enough for the two-lane road, houses and shops appeared, and the speed limit dropped to a much more tolerable twenty.
The kids were quiet as they looked around. “It’s small,” Ty said in a neutral voice.
“The last census put Monroe’s population at 18,538.”
Silence filled the SUV after Tio’s factoid, until Jules asked, “Is small good or bad?”
There was a silence as he—and possibly the other kids—considered the question. “I haven’t’ decided yet,” Tio finally said, and the others made sounds of agreement.
“Fair enough.” Jules was too tired and, at the same time, too wired to have any kind of first impression of their new town. “Sam, could you be my navigator?”
Sam picked up the handwritten directions. “T-turn right on B-B-Bridesw-well.”
“We passed Brideswell several blocks ago,” Tio said.
With a sigh, Jules turned on her right turn signal so she could go around the block and head back toward Brideswell. She was pretty sure this road trip would never end.
After that first false start, however, the directions were clear, and they found the right street number attached to a crooked mailbox. The deeply rutted driveway seemed to go on forever, twisting this way and that, the pine trees reaching their branches to brush against the Pathfinder. The closeness of the evergreens dimmed the sunny morning, and Jules’s simmering anxiety rose to a boil.
As she turned left, avoiding exposed tree roots and rocks that threatened to grab the tires, the trees thinned and the house came into view. The place had been white a long, long time ago, but all the exterior paint had faded to a wind-stripped gray. The front porch looked a little cockeyed, and the area in front of the house resembled a sparse hayfield rather than a lawn. A small, lopsided barn stood a short distance from the house.
Dez sucked in a breath. “There’s a barn, Jules. Can I get a horse?”
“Uh…” The question barely penetrated as she tried to take in the huge amount of work the house would require. Going from a shoebox of an apartment to this…there was no way. She wasn’t handy enough for this house.
“Can I?” Judging from the increased excitement in her little sister’s voice, she’d taken Jules’ hesitation for actual consideration.
“Let’s try to keep ourselves alive for a while, D, before we start adding dependents, okay?” Parking in front of the sagging porch, Jules braced herself and got out. It was warm but dry—nothing like Florida had been. She slapped at a stray fly, managing to smack her own ear but miss the bug. As her siblings piled out of the SUV, she circled to the rear hatch. Movement helped. If she’d stood staring at the wreck of a house, she would’ve sat on the ground and burst into tears.
Tossing the computer bag strap over her shoulder, she passed the backpacks to their rightful owners, the weight of Tio’s bag almost taking her down. Sam reached past her to grab her suitcase, and she gave him a smile of thanks.
“I thought you said no computers.” Ty frowned at the case resting against her hip.
“This is just the bag,” Jules explained. “And instead of a laptop, it holds all our brand-new paperwork, plus”—she dug out a key ring and dangled it in front of him—“the house keys.”
Ty snatched the keys from her hand and ran to the porch steps, Tio close behind.
“Careful!” she called out, cringing as their shoes clomped noisily on the aged wood. “That doesn’t look too stable.” To her surprise, neither boy fell through the porch floor as they grappled to see who would be first inside the house. After watching to make sure the porch could hold her brothers, Dez made her careful way up the steps after them.
Sam kept pace with Jules, and she turned to him with a smile that was only partially forced. Dilapidated as it was, the house was theirs—hers and her family’s. This had always been her dream, and she wasn’t going to let a few loose shingles ruin the moment. “Ready to see the inside?”
His doubting look was enough to make her laugh. Always-conscientious Dez had closed the door behind her when she entered the house, so Jules grabbed the doorknob. Straightening her shoulders, she patted the laptop bag holding their new identities and pushed open the door. The interior was dim after the bright late-morning sunshine, and the kids’ excited voices echoed off the walls deep inside the house.
Taking a deep breath, Jules stepped into their new life.
* * *
The house was a wreck—and yet gorgeous at the same time. Jules took a step farther into the entry and tripped when her toe caught on an uneven floorboard. Unbalanced, she grabbed the ornate railing that edged the staircase, steadying herself. Voices and alarmingly loud squeaks from overhead told Jules that the three younger kids had made their way upstairs.
The dated wallpaper was peeling and gouged in spots, revealing sections of an even-more-dated pattern. Cobwebs and dust covered every surface, and dead leaves and corpses of miller moths were piled in corners. Through a wide, arched doorway, she could see what was most likely a living room, although the age of the house made her want to refer to it as a parlor. Living rooms were in modern homes, places for televisions and wall-to-wall carpet. This looked more like a room where they’d gather around the fireplace and knit.
Jules snorted. She’d never held knitting needles in her life. Glancing at her brother’s impassive face, she quickly sobered. “What do you think, Sam-I-Am?”
Instead of answering, he made his way down the hall, silently glancing through doorways as they passed a wood-paneled, shelf-lined room that Jules mentally dubbed “the library,” a bathroom with an honest-to-God claw-foot tub, and a room she assumed was the dining room, judging by its proximity to the kitchen.
She followed Sam into the expansive room that bore no resemblance to her apartment’s tiny galley kitchen. There were numerous cupboards, although several of the doors were hanging cockeyed or missing altogether. To her relief, the appliances, as ancient as they appeared, did not appear to require firewood or hand-cranking or whatever else century-old appliances had needed to operate. The room was large enough to hold a good-sized table and chairs.
Her attention left the nicked and worn wood counters as she focused on Sam. “We can fix it up.” Pushing away the doubting voices in her head that were screaming at her, telling her that she had no clue how to even start, Jules tried to fake optimism. “A little paint, some…um, nails? It’ll be like…well, maybe not new exactly, but better. Definitely better.”
“Juju.” To her surprise, the corners of Sam’s mouth were twitching up again. “It’s p-perfect.”
No amount of fake cheer could keep her forehead from wrinkling in confusion as she glanced around the battered kitchen. “Perfect?”
“Yeah.” His smile grew, loosening the permanent knot in her stomach just a little. “Come on. We’d b-b-better get upst-st-st…up there b-before the kids claim the g-g-good b-bedrooms.”
She couldn’t stop herself. Rushing forward, she caught her brother in a hug. As soon as she felt him stiffen in her hold, she released him. “You’re the best, Sam-I-Am.”
His face flushed, he motioned her toward the hallway. “Yeah, yeah.”
* * *
There really were no “good” bedrooms. The upstairs was chopped into oddly shaped spaces with no apparent rhyme or reason. Several had slanted ceilings following the angle of the roof, creating areas where Jules, as petite as she was, couldn’t even stand upright. What they lacked in quality and size, however, they made up for in quantity. She counted six rooms—but no second-floor bathrooms, to her dismay. Sam followed the twins’ voices down the hall, disappearing into one room as Dez popped out of another and ran toward Jules.
“Jules,” Dez breathed, her face glowing. “There’s another upstai
rs. And you know how you get there?”
“How?”
“A secret staircase!” Her dramatic whisper increased to a shriek by the end. Grabbing Jules’s hand, Dez hauled her to what appeared to be a linen closet. When Dez yanked open the door, there was an impossibly narrow stairway. “See?”
“I see.” Jules peered through the gloom that covered all but the bottom few steps. A shiver ran through her as she thought of all the things that could be lurking in the ancient attic—mice and bats and skeletons. Possibly serial killers. She fumbled just inside the doorframe. “Is there a light switch?”
“Is there electricity?” Tio’s voice asked from behind them. Turning toward him a little too enthusiastically, Jules was thankful that she could delay exploring the mysteries of the third floor—at least for a minute or two.
“Oh!” Her happy moment faded as the implications of his question sunk in. “Do you mean ‘is the electricity turned on’ or ‘is there any electrical wiring in this house’?”
“There’s electricity,” Dez answered for him as she reached to where Jules had been fumbling before. “See? It’s buttons, though, not switches.” The skinny staircase was illuminated by the harsh yet dim glare of a bare bulb. Jules exhaled with relief. At least there was power in this old wreck of a house. Dennis must be paying the bill. Would he expect her to change the bill over to her name? If so, it’d be the first test of her fake identity. Her throat felt like it was closing. Reaching up, she tugged at the V-neck of her shirt and coughed, trying to clear the imaginary impediment.
“W-what’s wr-wr-wr…” Sam’s huff of an exhale was short and impatient. “W-what’s the matter?”
Too late, she dropped her hand to her side. “Nothing.”
