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“Hello, Howie. May I come in?”

* * *

Barrie stepped out of the Volvo and conscientiously locked the door behind her. As she walked briskly down the sidewalk, she smiled over the irony of protecting the stolen car against car theft. She glanced up at the third floor of the corner building. The shades were down, but lights were on in all the windows of Howie’s apartment. That was reassuring. If Gray was going to do something really ugly, he would do it in the dark, she thought.

She went through the vestibule and started up the staircase. It had the musty smell of antiques stores. She tapped on the door of Howie’s apartment. And waited. No one came to answer. Pressing her ear close to the wood, she listened, but couldn’t hear any conversation coming from the other side. She turned the knob; the door was unlocked.

“Howie? Gray?”

She went in.

The lights went out.

The brightly lit rooms were suddenly plunged into penetrating darkness. The situation called for a scream, but she was too terrified to utter a sound. She felt the vibration of the floor as someone moved quickly toward her across the living room. Spinning around, she groped for the doorknob, found it, but before she could turn it, a hand closed over hers.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Recognizing Gray’s voice, she nearly collapsed with relief. She turned to him. “What’s going on?”

“We’re getting out of here. Now.”

“Wait,” she said, resisting as he tried to open the door. “Where’s Howie? Is he here?”

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“Where? What’d he say?”

He didn’t answer. She couldn’t see him, but she sensed that he was standing rigidly, looking down at her with that unrelenting stare of his. She could feel his breath on her upturned face. “Where’s Howie?”

“Shh.”

Her voice rising along with her panic, she said, “What have you done to him?”

“Be quiet.”

Pushing him aside, she stumbled across the living room.

“Barrie, no!”

She felt air against her arm as he reached for her but missed in the darkness. In Howie’s kitchen, her thigh painfully caught the corner of the dining table. She located the light switch and flipped it several times, but nothing happened. Someone had tampered with the main breaker in the fuse box.

Gray seized her arm. “Come on, Barrie. Now.”

“Let go of me!” she cried, trying to wrench her arm free.

Outwrestling him was hopeless, especially in the dark. She couldn’t get her bearings, but she was at least as well acquainted with Howie’s kitchen as Gray was. She remembered the general layout, and as they struggled, she worked her way toward the window. When she was within reaching distance, she grabbed the bottom of the shade and gave it a hard tug. The old-fashioned shade whooshed up and spun onto the roll with the flapping sound of a million bat wings. The streetlight illuminated the kitchen.

“Dammit!” Gray growled.

With a herculean shove, Barrie pushed him aside. “Howie?” she called out.

And then she saw him, lying in the doorway between his kitchen and his bedroom. He was staring up at her. His mouth was slack and gaping wide. So was the gash that extended from ear to ear across his throat. In the pale bluish light, the blood pooling beneath him looked black.

Before she could scream, Gray covered her mouth with his hand. His lips were directly against her ear. He whispered a single word.

“Spence.”

Chapter Thirty-Four