floor. “I could ask Harlan to do me the honor of making sure you really can’t get at that combination.” He aimed a smile at her, empty as a sunny sky. “Harlan has a way of helping people remember things they think they forgot.”
Sandy pressed her lips together.
“Harlan.”
Harlan took a few halting steps forward.
The man nodded sagely at the other’s slow progress. “This will be easier than the alternative…”
Instantly, Sandy knew which alternative he meant. It was carried by the dark gleam in his eyes, a tilt of his lips that said he had a taste for destruction. And so Sandy also knew that she couldn’t allow this idea—which was going to involve searching the house for the combination to the safe—to be fully formulated. Because somehow, through intuition or smarts or sheer blind luck, Ivy had so far kept her presence unknown. These men didn’t know about her. Ivy must have Mac with her, too; their dog would never have remained on his own. Which meant there was a chance that both Sandy’s daughter and their dog would find something in the house to help them. Maybe they’d even get out.
Any bravery she had felt receded in a wave.
Sandy had no problem looking terrified as Harlan covered the distance to her, even though it wasn’t the prospect of his information extraction skills that scared her.
She hardly felt her hands wrapping around the legs of the chair; sensation had been blocked as if by a trivet or thick gloves. Her fingers dug into the wood and she calmly registered the split of a splinter.
At any second Ivy would realize she was hungry or bored or, God help her, sorry about before. And then she would bound downstairs and—
The ceiling over Sandy’s head, the floor that lay between her and her daughter, felt like it contained fathoms of water, its pressure unbearable.
“Zero-zero, seventy-six, seventy-four,” she burst out.
The man raised one hand, and Harlan stopped walking. The floorboards vibrated, accepting his weight.
The other man leaned close.
He was going to make sense of those numbers, Sandy thought with a lightning strike of fear. The combination was their birth years—it occurred to her only now how startlingly, appallingly unoriginal that was of them—and so this man would realize there must be another member of the family. Sandy’s whole world, everything she loved, contained in a measly handful of digits.
But the man merely rose from his crouch. “I’ll get the guns,” he said. “Harlan will never be able to remember the combination.”
Sandy sat back, her breath coming in a ragged hitch.
The man added something as he reached the basement door, and it made the big man start forward again. “Harlan can decide what to do about your lying.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he first thing Ivy did was look around for Mac. She knew he wouldn’t have gone far, but she had lost sight of him in the immediate aftermath of her fright.
As soon as she spotted her dog, Ivy set to work on her next task. Wheeling around, ever-so-carefully, a centimeter at a time, so that her back was to the wall instead of the opening into the kitchen. She didn’t think she had been seen. Seen by who? A giant had come to their house, for reasons Ivy couldn’t imagine, but one thing she felt sure of: it had nothing to do with her. The scary-big guy seemed totally focused on her mother.
Mommy
.
The word was a whimper in her head, bitten back, swallowed down, a cry that would make Darcy laugh for sure, although even she would have to admit that Ivy had been right to skulk around her house like a character out of a movie.
Thank God she hadn’t just run downstairs and barreled into the kitchen.
Ivy reached out a hand, placing it on Mac’s furry head. The dog stayed as still and silent as she. Of course, making noise had never been what Mac was known for.
Still, Ivy mouthed,
Good boy
, the praise rolling up her throat on a sob, threatening to make a noise in the hushed cavern of the
Sandy pressed her lips together.
“Harlan.”
Harlan took a few halting steps forward.
The man nodded sagely at the other’s slow progress. “This will be easier than the alternative…”
Instantly, Sandy knew which alternative he meant. It was carried by the dark gleam in his eyes, a tilt of his lips that said he had a taste for destruction. And so Sandy also knew that she couldn’t allow this idea—which was going to involve searching the house for the combination to the safe—to be fully formulated. Because somehow, through intuition or smarts or sheer blind luck, Ivy had so far kept her presence unknown. These men didn’t know about her. Ivy must have Mac with her, too; their dog would never have remained on his own. Which meant there was a chance that both Sandy’s daughter and their dog would find something in the house to help them. Maybe they’d even get out.
Any bravery she had felt receded in a wave.
Sandy had no problem looking terrified as Harlan covered the distance to her, even though it wasn’t the prospect of his information extraction skills that scared her.
She hardly felt her hands wrapping around the legs of the chair; sensation had been blocked as if by a trivet or thick gloves. Her fingers dug into the wood and she calmly registered the split of a splinter.
At any second Ivy would realize she was hungry or bored or, God help her, sorry about before. And then she would bound downstairs and—
The ceiling over Sandy’s head, the floor that lay between her and her daughter, felt like it contained fathoms of water, its pressure unbearable.
“Zero-zero, seventy-six, seventy-four,” she burst out.
The man raised one hand, and Harlan stopped walking. The floorboards vibrated, accepting his weight.
The other man leaned close.
He was going to make sense of those numbers, Sandy thought with a lightning strike of fear. The combination was their birth years—it occurred to her only now how startlingly, appallingly unoriginal that was of them—and so this man would realize there must be another member of the family. Sandy’s whole world, everything she loved, contained in a measly handful of digits.
But the man merely rose from his crouch. “I’ll get the guns,” he said. “Harlan will never be able to remember the combination.”
Sandy sat back, her breath coming in a ragged hitch.
The man added something as he reached the basement door, and it made the big man start forward again. “Harlan can decide what to do about your lying.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he first thing Ivy did was look around for Mac. She knew he wouldn’t have gone far, but she had lost sight of him in the immediate aftermath of her fright.
As soon as she spotted her dog, Ivy set to work on her next task. Wheeling around, ever-so-carefully, a centimeter at a time, so that her back was to the wall instead of the opening into the kitchen. She didn’t think she had been seen. Seen by who? A giant had come to their house, for reasons Ivy couldn’t imagine, but one thing she felt sure of: it had nothing to do with her. The scary-big guy seemed totally focused on her mother.
Mommy
.
The word was a whimper in her head, bitten back, swallowed down, a cry that would make Darcy laugh for sure, although even she would have to admit that Ivy had been right to skulk around her house like a character out of a movie.
Thank God she hadn’t just run downstairs and barreled into the kitchen.
Ivy reached out a hand, placing it on Mac’s furry head. The dog stayed as still and silent as she. Of course, making noise had never been what Mac was known for.
Still, Ivy mouthed,
Good boy
, the praise rolling up her throat on a sob, threatening to make a noise in the hushed cavern of the
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