microwave so that it faced the side door.
His parka lay on the counter. He took his gun from the right-hand pocket, the inside of which he'd partially sliced open to accommodate the sound suppressor on the end of his weapon.
Even in the shadows, it was obvious that Meredith stared. Kagan imagined how the gun appeared to her, the cylinder attached to the barrel making the weapon look grotesque.
"You had that with you all the time?" she asked.
"There didn't seem a right moment to tell you."
"You could have killed us whenever you wanted."
"The fact that I didn't threaten you with it ought to tell you there's a big difference between me and the men outside."
"If they're even out there any longer," Meredith said.
Kagan let her take refuge in that thought.
"I don't like guns," she told him.
"I'm not crazy about them, either, but on occasion, they can be helpful. In fact, we could use another one. Does your husband have a hunting rifle or a shotgun?"
"Ted's not a hunter."
"Some people keep a gun in the house in case of a break-in."
"Not us. No guns. Especially with Cole in the house." Meredith started to say something else. "And not with ..."
Kagan imagined what she had almost said-- not with Ted's drinking problem.
He reflexively reached toward the left pocket of his parka, but all he touched was torn fabric. He'd started the night with two spare ammunition magazines in there, but along with his cell phone, they'd fallen out when the pocket had been ripped open during his escape.
All I have is the ammunition in the pistol, he thought. Fifteen rounds in the magazine, plus one in the chamber.
Not much..
"Where are your aerosol cans?" he asked. "Window cleaner, furniture polish, anything like that."
Again, Meredith didn't ask questions. "The cupboard above the refrigerator."
Kagan opened the cupboard and took down four pressurized cans. He set two of them next to the kitchen door.
The baby whimpered.
Holding the two remaining cans, Kagan went over to the laundry hamper and peered down, tensely hoping the baby wouldn't start to cry.
"He's just dreaming," Meredith said.
"Babies dream?"
"Didn't the World Health Organization tell you about that?"
Kagan looked at her.
"Sorry," she said, averting her gaze.
"Humor's always welcome. It's good for morale." Again, Ka- gan peered down at the baby. "Weird how the mind plays tricks."
"Tricks?"
"On Canyon Road, when I was running from the men outside, the baby kicked me from time to time. I was light-headed enough that I almost had the sense he was guiding me, telling me which way to go, like he wanted me to come here."
"As you said, you were light-headed."
In the background, Rosemary Clooney sang, "I'll Be Home for Christmas."
Kagan drew a breath.
"Guess I'd better get to work." He shoved his gun under his belt, stooped, and crept into the living room.
The fireplace was on the left, its Southwestern design similar to one in the lobby of Kagan's hotel. The hearth was a foot off the floor. The firebox had an oval opening and curved sides. The flames in it had dwindled to embers, making it less likely that he'd be seen. His gun digging into his right side, he glanced to the right. In the middle of the shadowy room, a large leather chair faced the window.
"How are you managing, Cole?"
"It's hard staring at something this long." The boy's voice came from the other side of the chair's back. "I still can't get anything on the radio."
"You're doing a great job. I'll take your place soon."
The Christmas tree stood against the far wall. Staying low, Kagan went over and unplugged the lights.
It's late enough, he decided. Turning off the tree won't seem unusual.
The front door was to the right of the window. He crept over and made sure it was locked. Then he set the other two aerosol cans next to it.
He turned toward the rear of the living room. The Rosemary Clooney song came from an open door to the right of the fireplace. Inside an office, he found three computer
His parka lay on the counter. He took his gun from the right-hand pocket, the inside of which he'd partially sliced open to accommodate the sound suppressor on the end of his weapon.
Even in the shadows, it was obvious that Meredith stared. Kagan imagined how the gun appeared to her, the cylinder attached to the barrel making the weapon look grotesque.
"You had that with you all the time?" she asked.
"There didn't seem a right moment to tell you."
"You could have killed us whenever you wanted."
"The fact that I didn't threaten you with it ought to tell you there's a big difference between me and the men outside."
"If they're even out there any longer," Meredith said.
Kagan let her take refuge in that thought.
"I don't like guns," she told him.
"I'm not crazy about them, either, but on occasion, they can be helpful. In fact, we could use another one. Does your husband have a hunting rifle or a shotgun?"
"Ted's not a hunter."
"Some people keep a gun in the house in case of a break-in."
"Not us. No guns. Especially with Cole in the house." Meredith started to say something else. "And not with ..."
Kagan imagined what she had almost said-- not with Ted's drinking problem.
He reflexively reached toward the left pocket of his parka, but all he touched was torn fabric. He'd started the night with two spare ammunition magazines in there, but along with his cell phone, they'd fallen out when the pocket had been ripped open during his escape.
All I have is the ammunition in the pistol, he thought. Fifteen rounds in the magazine, plus one in the chamber.
Not much..
"Where are your aerosol cans?" he asked. "Window cleaner, furniture polish, anything like that."
Again, Meredith didn't ask questions. "The cupboard above the refrigerator."
Kagan opened the cupboard and took down four pressurized cans. He set two of them next to the kitchen door.
The baby whimpered.
Holding the two remaining cans, Kagan went over to the laundry hamper and peered down, tensely hoping the baby wouldn't start to cry.
"He's just dreaming," Meredith said.
"Babies dream?"
"Didn't the World Health Organization tell you about that?"
Kagan looked at her.
"Sorry," she said, averting her gaze.
"Humor's always welcome. It's good for morale." Again, Ka- gan peered down at the baby. "Weird how the mind plays tricks."
"Tricks?"
"On Canyon Road, when I was running from the men outside, the baby kicked me from time to time. I was light-headed enough that I almost had the sense he was guiding me, telling me which way to go, like he wanted me to come here."
"As you said, you were light-headed."
In the background, Rosemary Clooney sang, "I'll Be Home for Christmas."
Kagan drew a breath.
"Guess I'd better get to work." He shoved his gun under his belt, stooped, and crept into the living room.
The fireplace was on the left, its Southwestern design similar to one in the lobby of Kagan's hotel. The hearth was a foot off the floor. The firebox had an oval opening and curved sides. The flames in it had dwindled to embers, making it less likely that he'd be seen. His gun digging into his right side, he glanced to the right. In the middle of the shadowy room, a large leather chair faced the window.
"How are you managing, Cole?"
"It's hard staring at something this long." The boy's voice came from the other side of the chair's back. "I still can't get anything on the radio."
"You're doing a great job. I'll take your place soon."
The Christmas tree stood against the far wall. Staying low, Kagan went over and unplugged the lights.
It's late enough, he decided. Turning off the tree won't seem unusual.
The front door was to the right of the window. He crept over and made sure it was locked. Then he set the other two aerosol cans next to it.
He turned toward the rear of the living room. The Rosemary Clooney song came from an open door to the right of the fireplace. Inside an office, he found three computer
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