monitors and keyboards on a table in front of him. Matching computer towers were under it. Despite the darkness, he had the impression of many shelves filled with electronics.
"Meredith, why is there so much equipment?"
"Ted designs websites for corporations. Sometimes he has three different layouts showing simultaneously."
Kagan felt a spark of hope.
"Then we can access the Internet. We can send e-mails to get help."
"No. Ted put an electronic lock on the Internet access. I don't have the password."
Kagan's excitement turned cold. "Ted thinks of everything."
He saw an iPod connected to a docking station and a set of speakers. That was the source of the music. Now Rosemary Clooney was singing that she might only be able to dream about going home for Christmas. When he turned off the speakers, the house became silent, except for the crackle of embers in the fireplace and the faint noise of the television in Cole's bedroom down the hallway.
At the back of the office, Kagan confirmed that the outside door was locked. The curtains were shut, concealing him as he shoved a table against the window. The table extended partway against the door and provided a barricade. His wounded arm aching, he picked up a chair and set it next to the monitors on the table. Intruders could break the window and get past the obstacles, but not quickly, not without making noise, and not without the risk of injuring themselves.
As Kagan worked, he couldn't keep from worrying that if Meredith still distrusted him, she might use this opportunity to take Cole and run from the house. At this moment, she and the boy might be opening the side door. He leaned from the office and glanced to the right, toward the kitchen, but Meredith's silhouette remained in view. She was looking down at the baby in the hamper.
Maybe she'll do it in a little while, he thought. If I'm out of sight long enough, she might find the nerve to take the boy and run. And the baby--she'll probably take the baby.
He could only pray that she wouldn't surrender to her fears and get all of them killed.
* * *
I COULD do it now, Meredith thought.
In the darkness of the kitchen, the only light came from the flame on the stove and the clock on the microwave oven. She thought of how the stranger had angled the microwave toward the side door, how he'd put two pieces of crumpled tin foil in there along with the tube of quick-drying glue. She still had a vivid mental image of the grotesque, long-barreled gun he'd shoved under his belt.
It made her shiver.
Table legs scraped in Ted's office. For some reason, the stranger was moving the furniture. Blocking the window? she wondered. While he's busy, I can do this. I can get Cole. I can grab the baby. We can run. I don't know anything about this man. Maybe he stole the baby from its parents. Maybe the men looking for him are the police. Maybe whoever shot him was a policeman.
I can do it, she repeated to herself. I can do it now.
Peering down at the baby, she imagined how she could go into the living room and put her finger over her lips to warn Cole to be quiet. She could motion for Cole to follow her. In a rush, she could pick up the baby, open the door, and run with Cole into the night.
There wouldn't be a chance to get coats. In the falling snow, she could hold the baby against her, using the blanket to shield him. She wouldn't be able to risk stopping to ask a neighbor for help. That might give the stranger time to catch them. She and Cole would need to run all the way to the crowd on Canyon Road.
We'd be safe there, she thought. Can Cole run that far? Maybe we won't be able to move quickly enough.
She wondered if the stranger would shoot. The thought made her flinch as she imagined the agony of a bullet slamming into her back. Or maybe she wouldn't feel anything. Maybe the bullet would kill her.
No, she decided. The one thing she knew for certain was that the baby was important to this man. The way he talked about it. The way
"Meredith, why is there so much equipment?"
"Ted designs websites for corporations. Sometimes he has three different layouts showing simultaneously."
Kagan felt a spark of hope.
"Then we can access the Internet. We can send e-mails to get help."
"No. Ted put an electronic lock on the Internet access. I don't have the password."
Kagan's excitement turned cold. "Ted thinks of everything."
He saw an iPod connected to a docking station and a set of speakers. That was the source of the music. Now Rosemary Clooney was singing that she might only be able to dream about going home for Christmas. When he turned off the speakers, the house became silent, except for the crackle of embers in the fireplace and the faint noise of the television in Cole's bedroom down the hallway.
At the back of the office, Kagan confirmed that the outside door was locked. The curtains were shut, concealing him as he shoved a table against the window. The table extended partway against the door and provided a barricade. His wounded arm aching, he picked up a chair and set it next to the monitors on the table. Intruders could break the window and get past the obstacles, but not quickly, not without making noise, and not without the risk of injuring themselves.
As Kagan worked, he couldn't keep from worrying that if Meredith still distrusted him, she might use this opportunity to take Cole and run from the house. At this moment, she and the boy might be opening the side door. He leaned from the office and glanced to the right, toward the kitchen, but Meredith's silhouette remained in view. She was looking down at the baby in the hamper.
Maybe she'll do it in a little while, he thought. If I'm out of sight long enough, she might find the nerve to take the boy and run. And the baby--she'll probably take the baby.
He could only pray that she wouldn't surrender to her fears and get all of them killed.
* * *
I COULD do it now, Meredith thought.
In the darkness of the kitchen, the only light came from the flame on the stove and the clock on the microwave oven. She thought of how the stranger had angled the microwave toward the side door, how he'd put two pieces of crumpled tin foil in there along with the tube of quick-drying glue. She still had a vivid mental image of the grotesque, long-barreled gun he'd shoved under his belt.
It made her shiver.
Table legs scraped in Ted's office. For some reason, the stranger was moving the furniture. Blocking the window? she wondered. While he's busy, I can do this. I can get Cole. I can grab the baby. We can run. I don't know anything about this man. Maybe he stole the baby from its parents. Maybe the men looking for him are the police. Maybe whoever shot him was a policeman.
I can do it, she repeated to herself. I can do it now.
Peering down at the baby, she imagined how she could go into the living room and put her finger over her lips to warn Cole to be quiet. She could motion for Cole to follow her. In a rush, she could pick up the baby, open the door, and run with Cole into the night.
There wouldn't be a chance to get coats. In the falling snow, she could hold the baby against her, using the blanket to shield him. She wouldn't be able to risk stopping to ask a neighbor for help. That might give the stranger time to catch them. She and Cole would need to run all the way to the crowd on Canyon Road.
We'd be safe there, she thought. Can Cole run that far? Maybe we won't be able to move quickly enough.
She wondered if the stranger would shoot. The thought made her flinch as she imagined the agony of a bullet slamming into her back. Or maybe she wouldn't feel anything. Maybe the bullet would kill her.
No, she decided. The one thing she knew for certain was that the baby was important to this man. The way he talked about it. The way
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