BRIGHT MOONLIGHT FLOODED THE hilly terrain, casting long shadows that fooled the eye into believing chasms were opening up underfoot. I stuck to the brush at the side of the road, rounding the clearing until I arrived at the blind side of the house on higher ground.
An upscale SUV was parked beside the house next to a plain wooden doorway. The doorknob turned easily in my hand, and the door swung open into a mudroom.
I groped my way in the dark, advanced into a spacious kitchen. From there, I entered a high-ceilinged great room, luminous with moon glow.
I kept to the walls, skirting the long leather sofas and large pots of palms and pampas grass. I looked up in time to see a flashlight beam disappear at the top of a staircase.
I drew my gun and loped up the carpeted staircase, taking two steps at a time, crouching at the top landing.
I listened over the sound of my own breathing and heard soft murmurs coming from the room at the end of the hall.
Then a high-pitched scream shattered the air. I ran to a doorway, turned the knob, kicked open the door.
I strafed the scene with my eyes. There was a king-size bed, a woman sitting with her back against the headboard. A figure dressed in black held a knife to the woman’s throat.
“Hands in the air,” I yelled. “Drop the knife now!”
“It’s too late,” said a voice. “Just turn around and get the hell out of here.”
I reached for the wall switch and flicked on the light.
What I saw was shocking, horrifying, unbelievable.
The intruder with the knife was Carolee Brown.
Chapter 139
CAROLEE WAS ABOUT TO commit murder. My brain stalled as I tried to assimilate the unimaginable. When it kicked back into gear, I acted, barking out a command at the top of my voice.
“Back away from her, Carolee. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Lindsay,” she said in a maddeningly reasonable tone. “I’m asking you to please go. She’s a dead woman no matter what. You can’t stop me.”
“Last chance,” I said, pulling back the hammer. “Put that knife down or I’m going to kill you.”
The woman in the bed whimpered as Carolee measured the distance between us with her eyes and calculated how long it would take to slash the woman’s throat before I put a bullet through her brain.
I was making the same calculations.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Carolee said with regret. “I’m the good guy, Lindsay. This thing you see here, this Melissa Farley, is complete trash.”
“Toss the knife over here very carefully,” I said, grasping my Glock so hard that my knuckles were white. Could I shoot Carolee if I had to? I really didn’t know.
“You aren’t going to shoot me,” she said then.
“I think you’ve forgotten who I am.”
Carolee started to speak again, but the resolve gripping my face stopped her. I would shoot her, and she was smart enough to get it. She smiled wanly. Then she tossed the knife underhand onto the carpet at our feet.
I kicked the knife under a bureau, then I ordered Carolee to the floor.
“On your knees!” I shouted. “Hands in front of you!”
I took her down to the ground, told her to lace her hands behind her neck and cross her ankles, frisked her, and found nothing but a thin leather belt around her waist.
Then I darted my eyes to the woman on the bed.
“Melissa? Are you okay? Call nine-one-one. Tell them that a violent crime is in progress and a cop needs assistance.”