"Oh crap," I muttered, suddenly feeling very naked – and not in a fun way – without my purse and everything it contained, my phone in particular. I glanced toward the quiet stairway and considered the timeframe.
It was still relatively early. If I knew Lawton, he'd be awake in an hour or two and ready to make up for lost time. Now was probably the perfect time to make a quick dash back to the house. I could grab my purse, maybe throw in some laundry, and be back before Lawton even noticed I was gone.
A minute later, I was lacing up my tennis shoes and shrugging into my jacket. I grabbed Lawton's spare house key, along with my own small ring of keys, and shoved them into the front pocket of my jeans.
I walked out Lawton's front door, feeling happier than I had in forever. My job stunk, and my career was going nowhere, not to mention my house sitting troubles. But somehow, I was having a hard time caring. All that stuff, I'd work it out somehow.
Walking down the quiet street, I thought of how much had changed, not just today, but over the past few months. No matter what, I vowed, I was going to be myself from now on. If people didn't like it, well, then that was their problem, not mine.
I was still smiling when I opened the front door and went inside the darkened house. I turned toward the side table and reached for the lamp.
From somewhere in the darkness, an unfamiliar male voice said, "Touch that light, and you're dead."
With a gasp, I whirled toward the sound and spotted what I should've seen earlier. The hulking figure of a man, standing near the far wall of the front room.
I couldn't make out his features, just his clothing. Black pants, black jacket, black shoes. Or maybe it all just seemed black in the shadows. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I noticed what I should've noticed earlier. Upended plants and bare walls where the shadows of framed artwork should have been.
Slowly, I backed up until my backside hit the easy chair near the front window. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
"Where's our money?" he said.
My heart raced, and my hands grew clammy. In a strangled voice, I said, "What money?"
"The money you owe us, bitch."
"I don't owe you any money."
The hulking figure moved closer. I looked wildly around. I needed a weapon. A baseball bat, a lamp, something.
And then I heard it, the click of a gun.
Shit.
Chapter 70
From somewhere near the kitchen, I heard a crash and a thud.
"Hey!" the man called over his shoulder. "You break anything good, and it's coming out of your ass!"
Oh God, how many people were in here, anyway?
"Whoever you are," I said in a far too shaky voice, "you've got the wrong house."
"Well, Louise," he said, "that's where you're wrong."
Louise? As in Louise Parker?
"Because," he continued, "we haveexactlythe right house. And you haveexactlyone minute to start talking, or we're gonna break more than some vase or whatever the fuck that was."
"But I'm not Louise," I said, "She's not here."
"Sure." He chuckled, a deep, ominous sound that echoed oddly in the quiet house. "I believe you."
"It's true," I stammered. "I can give her a message if–"
"Shut the fuck up," the guy said.
"But I’m not Louise. I don't even–"
