No Safe House by Linwood Barclay Page A

held the flashlight over my shoulder and angled it to shine light through them and into the house.
    It worked. I was looking at the kitchen. There was a large granite-topped island, a fridge on the far wall.
    “Can you see anything?” Grace asked.
    Problem was, from my angle I couldn’t see below the level of the countertops. If someone was on the floor, I wasn’t going to be able to tell from out here.
    “Not really,” I said.
    There was one obvious solution, of course: call the Milford Police. They’d be able to get into this house without going through a basement window. They’d know how to contact the security firm that monitored the house. They’d know how to handle things properly.
    They’d also have questions for Grace. About her and her boyfriend’s plan to steal a Porsche. About breaking into this house.
    On the off chance that things were not as bad as they seemed, I wanted to keep the police out of this mess as long as possible. Preferably forever. I had a feeling Grace would accept whatever punishment her mother and I dished out if it meant she wasn’t spending time behind bars.
    Stop going there
.
    I lowered the flashlight and backed away from the house a couple of steps. “I really can’t see anything,” I said. “And that’sjust the kitchen. Maybe whatever you heard happened someplace else.”
    I had to make a decision. Call the police, or—
    “I’m gonna have to go in,” I said, glancing over at the open basement window.
    “I can’t,” Grace said, eyes wide with fear. “I can’t go in there.”
    “I’m not asking you to. You stay by the window. Better yet, call me on your cell. We’ll be connected the whole time I’m in there.”
    We both got out our phones. I instructed her to mute the ring, and I did the same. Grace dialed mine, it buzzed in my hand, and I accepted the call.
    “Okay. If there’s a problem out here, you just give me a shout.”
    She nodded as I slipped the phone into my shirt pocket. Close enough that if she called out to me, I’d hear her.
    I got down on my hands and knees and worked my way back through the open basement window.

FIFTEEN
    CYNTHIA Archer was pissed.
    Why wouldn’t Terry let her pick up Grace? Why did he insist on doing it? He had to know it was important to her. He had to know that she wanted her daughter to know that even though she was taking a break away, she still loved Grace and wanted to be there for her.
    Even for something as simple as a lift home.
    Was Terry angry with her? Was this about the beer? About her being rude? Did it have anything to do with Nathaniel? Did Terry pick up some kind of vibe from him, even in the few seconds they’d spoken? Maybe Terry wasn’t upset about anything that had happened today, but just generally fed up about the whole time-out.
    Or maybe it was something else.
    Maybe it was something to do with Grace. Maybe Terry didn’t want Cynthia picking up Grace because the girl was in some kind of trouble. Not necessarily something big, just big enough that it might set Cynthia off.
    Was that how they saw her? she wondered. Like she was dynamite? Handled incorrectly and she’d explode?
    It depressed her.
    Terry and Grace were always trying to protect Cynthia, shield her from anything that might raise her anxiety level. Well, really, it was just Terry trying to protect her. Grace was probably more interested in protecting herself whenever she kept something from her mother.
    The problem was, the more they tried to keep her from worrying, the more she worried. When she suspected this was what they were up to, Cynthia couldn’t stop thinking about what it was they were hiding. Was Grace having trouble at school? Was she skipping classes? Failing to turn in her assignments? Staying out too late? Getting into trouble with boys? Smoking? Drinking? Drugs?
    Sex?
    There was no end of things to make yourself crazy about when it came to teenage girls.
    Cynthia knew better than anyone. She was willing to concede she