handle this. She’s the PI, not you. I’d about talked myself into giving up, but stopped in front of Tony’s house, bent down—ostensibly to tie my shoe—and touched the sidewalk.
My fingers didn’t find anything useful—too much scattered input for a clear image of anything to register in my mind’s eye. I shook out my fingers and tucked my hands in my back pockets. Stupid. This was such a bad idea, but now I was too embarrassed to just give up. I strolled along the walkway to the front door, hoping that to any casual observer it looked like I was “visiting.” I covered my fingers with the edge of my t-shirt and brushed them against the wood.
Something? The outline of an image, maybe? I tried again, letting my fingertips slide around the doorknob. There. Shadows began to form in my mind, not clear, but I could make out the body shapes of Shaved Head and Pudgy. And then it snapped into view: a clear picture of Tony’s expression when he answered the door. Not welcoming, but not surprised either. He’d expected these guys, but for just an instant fear burned behind his eyes. Looked like he knew there were possible consequences to letting them into his house.
Why’d he let them in? The need to know was gnawing at my stomach. I rubbed the sore spot on my abdomen while I circled to the side of the house, casually glancing in the windows, just wondering if anyone was home. Right. Like I’m any kind of actress.
Tony’s bedroom window loomed on my left. Don’t know how I knew it was his bedroom, or why I couldn’t take another step. It was like running into a steel door. I could not move. I had to get into that room. The need beat in my brain, timed to the thuds of my heartbeats.
Whoa.
Nope. No way was I breaking into Tony’s house again. Aliens had obviously taken over my common sense. I gently touched the window. No images popped up, so I did the next best thing—shuffled common sense into the oblivion of my subconscious. Whatever evil force had taken possession of me zipped into movement. I was getting in that bedroom one way or another. And if I got caught…well, I’d blame it on the aliens. Made more sense than the truth.
From the break-in with Violet, I knew the house didn’t have a security system, so it wouldn’t set off an alarm if I pried the window open. I pushed up against the sash. Futile hope pounded in my chest that it would open easily, that Tony didn’t bother to lock his windows. A grating, creaking sound cut through the quiet of the night, skittered along my nerves, and had me sinking into the shadows beneath the window. I listened for curious neighbors, holding my breath until it burned to escape from my lungs.
Quiet. Except for the chattering of my teeth.
Crooking my head, I eyed the window. The musty, closed-in odor of Tony’s house filtered down, gagging me. I ruthlessly squashed all thoughts of spewing my dinner and focused on the window. It had gotten stuck part way up, but I guesstimated there was enough room for me to slide through without causing any serious damage to delicate body parts. Note to self: cut down on the chocolate consumption if you intend to pursue a life of crime.
I scanned the area. No barking dogs. No traffic. Not even the sound of a distant television drifted through the night, so I went with it, got on with the entering now that I’d done the breaking.
The window ledge angled enough so I was able to ease my body over the sill without the use of gymnastics. I eyeballed the room, taking mental notes on what to touch, my heart doing double back-flips in my chest. I avoided the bed. Nothing there I wanted to know anything about. Ever.
My gaze came to rest on a table sitting along the far wall. I tiptoed toward it, closed my eyes, and opened to any vibes it gave off. Fear slammed into me, snaked through my body, and left behind watery knees and lungs struggling for oxygen. Okay, then. A frantic couple of minutes of later, when my ability to think
My fingers didn’t find anything useful—too much scattered input for a clear image of anything to register in my mind’s eye. I shook out my fingers and tucked my hands in my back pockets. Stupid. This was such a bad idea, but now I was too embarrassed to just give up. I strolled along the walkway to the front door, hoping that to any casual observer it looked like I was “visiting.” I covered my fingers with the edge of my t-shirt and brushed them against the wood.
Something? The outline of an image, maybe? I tried again, letting my fingertips slide around the doorknob. There. Shadows began to form in my mind, not clear, but I could make out the body shapes of Shaved Head and Pudgy. And then it snapped into view: a clear picture of Tony’s expression when he answered the door. Not welcoming, but not surprised either. He’d expected these guys, but for just an instant fear burned behind his eyes. Looked like he knew there were possible consequences to letting them into his house.
Why’d he let them in? The need to know was gnawing at my stomach. I rubbed the sore spot on my abdomen while I circled to the side of the house, casually glancing in the windows, just wondering if anyone was home. Right. Like I’m any kind of actress.
Tony’s bedroom window loomed on my left. Don’t know how I knew it was his bedroom, or why I couldn’t take another step. It was like running into a steel door. I could not move. I had to get into that room. The need beat in my brain, timed to the thuds of my heartbeats.
Whoa.
Nope. No way was I breaking into Tony’s house again. Aliens had obviously taken over my common sense. I gently touched the window. No images popped up, so I did the next best thing—shuffled common sense into the oblivion of my subconscious. Whatever evil force had taken possession of me zipped into movement. I was getting in that bedroom one way or another. And if I got caught…well, I’d blame it on the aliens. Made more sense than the truth.
From the break-in with Violet, I knew the house didn’t have a security system, so it wouldn’t set off an alarm if I pried the window open. I pushed up against the sash. Futile hope pounded in my chest that it would open easily, that Tony didn’t bother to lock his windows. A grating, creaking sound cut through the quiet of the night, skittered along my nerves, and had me sinking into the shadows beneath the window. I listened for curious neighbors, holding my breath until it burned to escape from my lungs.
Quiet. Except for the chattering of my teeth.
Crooking my head, I eyed the window. The musty, closed-in odor of Tony’s house filtered down, gagging me. I ruthlessly squashed all thoughts of spewing my dinner and focused on the window. It had gotten stuck part way up, but I guesstimated there was enough room for me to slide through without causing any serious damage to delicate body parts. Note to self: cut down on the chocolate consumption if you intend to pursue a life of crime.
I scanned the area. No barking dogs. No traffic. Not even the sound of a distant television drifted through the night, so I went with it, got on with the entering now that I’d done the breaking.
The window ledge angled enough so I was able to ease my body over the sill without the use of gymnastics. I eyeballed the room, taking mental notes on what to touch, my heart doing double back-flips in my chest. I avoided the bed. Nothing there I wanted to know anything about. Ever.
My gaze came to rest on a table sitting along the far wall. I tiptoed toward it, closed my eyes, and opened to any vibes it gave off. Fear slammed into me, snaked through my body, and left behind watery knees and lungs struggling for oxygen. Okay, then. A frantic couple of minutes of later, when my ability to think
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