Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

d the six-pack.

A chuckle from Aldrich. "Come on in."

The door closed behind them, taking the conversation with it.

"Can you get around back?" Jack whispered.

I nodded.

"Do that. I'll cover you. Follow if I can."

It took me a while to get around to Aldrich's small rear yard. It took Jack even longer to join me.

"Nothing," I whispered when he found me, crouched between the garden shed and the back deck. "They went downstairs." I gestured to a dimly lit basement window. "Wherever they are, there isn't a window, and they've shut the door. All I can pick up is the TV. Baseball, I think. So now what?"

"Your call."

"I'd like to wait. See if he starts talking about his day."

Jack nodded and we settled in.

The game ended. The volume on the TV dropped enough for me to hear what sounded like preparations to leave. We decided I'd slip around front and see if I could get any photos of the friend.

I got to a hiding place as the friend was coming out the front door. He held it for a second, calling back, "Give me a call tomorrow. No, wait-- Sunday would be better. Got the kids coming by tomorrow." A short laugh. "Val would kill me if I forgot that."

A pause as Aldrich must have replied.

"Sure, I'll do that. Call me Sunday then. Have a good night."

I took my photos as he headed to his car. When he drove off, I returned to Jack.

"The TV is still on," I said as I picked up the sound from the house. "Can you tell where Aldrich is?"

"Downstairs again, seems like."

"Okay, so . . . should we come back later or wait it out?"

"No need to wait."

"Break in while he's watching TV?"

Jack shrugged. "Room doesn't have windows. Door seems closed."

There are gadgets for detecting typical home security systems and even Jack uses one. Aldrich's townhouse wasn't armed. We had lock picks, too, but the rear door was unlocked, the faint smell of burgers suggesting he'd cooked dinner on the grill, then gone inside forgetting to relock the patio door.

I'd argue that the biggest security challenge isn't alarms or locks--it's pets. Even cats can be a pain in the ass. Once during recon a cat yowled for my attention so loudly that I'd taken off before the neighbors decided someone was being murdered. Neither Jack nor I picked up the scent of pets, but we scanned the kitchen for bowls, just in case. There were none.

Aldrich was the kind of housekeeper that gives bachelors a bad name, with a kitchen counter piled with dishes and takeout boxes, and clothing draped everywhere. Even surveying the mess made me twitch, the urge to tidy almost overwhelming.

While Jack was prowling, I headed upstairs. I wanted to look for souvenirs of past crimes. Many sex offenders keep them, and the most obvious place to find them is in the bedroom, which was the advantage to breaking in before Aldrich retired for the night.

At the top of the stairs, I found an office. Compared to the rest of the place, it was surprisingly tidy. Drawers were closed, paper stacked neatly--

A stair creaked. I was backing farther into the office when Jack whispered, "It's me."

He crested the steps. "Just thinking. Someone should watch Aldrich. You want it?"

I nodded and went down to the main level. The basement door was cracked open, the light on. The stairs came out in the laundry room where there was, unsurprisingly, no laundry--it was draped over everything upstairs. The area extended across the back of the house. Along the inside wall were three doors. The middle one was open an inch, and through it, I could see the faint blue glow of the television.