mall in a stroller!”
Cindi sighed. “It broke my heart when we had to leave him in that park.”
“It didn’t break your heart. Our kind aren’t capable of any such emotion.”
“All right, but it pissed me off.”
“Don’t I know it. Okay, so we go in there, we knock them down, tie them up, then you drive around to the back of the house, and we load ‘em like cordwood.”
Studying the O’Connor house, Cindi said, “It does look slick, doesn’t it.”
“It looks totally slick. In and out in five minutes. Let’s go.”
Chapter 62
When they came through the back door with shot guns slung from their shoulders, Vicky whispered urgently, “He’s in the house.”
Pulling open a drawer, withdrawing a pair of scissors, Carson whispered, “Who?”
“Some creep.
As Michael caught the scissors, Carson crossed to the inner doorway.
Vicky whispered, “He’s looking for Arnie.”
As Carson checked the hall, Michael made two cuts in the bindings and put the scissors down. “You can do the rest, Vic.”
The hallway was deserted, a lamp on in the living room at the farther end.
“He have a gun?” Carson asked.
Vicky said, “No.”
Michael indicated that he wanted to lead.
This was Carson’s house. She went first, carrying the shotgun for hip fire.
She cleared the coat closet. Nothing in there but coats.
The creep wasn’t in the living room. Carson moved to the right, Michael to the left, until they were two targets instead of one, and halted.
Decision time. Farther to the right, beyond the living room, was Carson’s suite, bedroom and bath. To the left lay the front door and the stairs to the second floor.
The door to Carson’s room was closed. No one was on the first flight of stairs.
With his eyes, Michael indicated
She agreed. For some reason the creep was looking for Arnie, and Arnie was on the second floor.
Staying close to the wall, where the stairs were less likely to creak, Carson ascended first, shotgun in both hands.
Michael followed, climbing backward, covering the room below them.
She didn’t dare think about Arnie, what might be happening to him. Fear for your life sharpens your edge. Dread dulls it. Think about the creep instead, stopping him.
So silent, the house. Like the Christmas poem. Not even a mouse.
No one on the second flight, either. Light in the upstairs hall. No shadows moving.
When she reached the top, she heard a stranger’s voice coming from Arnie’s room. Arriving at the open door, she saw her brother in his wheeled office chair, his attention on the Lego-block castle.
The intruder was maybe eighteen, nineteen, solidly put together. He stood facing Arnie, only a few feet from him, his back to Carson.
If it came to shooting, she didn’t have a clear shot. The slug from the Urban Sniper might punch clean through the creep and hammer Arnie.
She didn’t know who the guy was. More important, she didn’t know
The intruder was saying, “Randal thought he could share. But now the castle, a home, ice cream, Mother — Randal wants it for himself.”
Carson edged to the left of the doorway as she sensed Michael in the hall behind her.
“Randal isn’t Abel. Randal is Cain. Randal isn’t Six anymore. From now on… Randal
Still moving, circling, Carson said, “What’re you doing here?”
The intruder turned smoothly, so fast, like a dancer, or like something that had been… well engineered. “Carson.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I am Randal. You will be Randal’s sister.”
“Down on your knees,” she told him. “Down on your knees, then flat on the floor, facedown on the floor.”
“Randal doesn’t like loud talk. Don’t shout at Randal like Victor does.”
Michael said, “Sonofabitch,” and Carson said, “Arnie, roll your chair back, roll away on your chair.”
Although Arnie didn’t move, Randal did. He took a step toward Carson. “Are you a good sister?”
“Don’t come any closer. Get on your knees.
“Or are you a bad, loud sister who talks too fast?” Randal asked.
She edged farther to her right, changing her line of fire to get Arnie out of it. “You think I don’t know you have two hearts?” she said. “You think I can’t take them out with one round from this bull killer?”
“You are a bad, bad sister,” Randal said, and closed on her.
He was so fast that he almost got his hand on the gun. The boom rattled windows, the stink of gunfire blew in her face, blood burst from the exit wound in his back and sprayed the castle.
Randal should have been rocked back on his feet or staggered. He should have dropped.
She had aimed too low, missed one heart or both. But at this close range, she had to have
He seized the barrel of the shotgun, thrust it upward as she squeezed the trigger, and the second round punched a hole in the ceiling.
When she tried to hold on to the shotgun, he pulled her to him, almost had her before she let go, dropped, rolled.
She had given Michael a clean shot. He took two.
The reports were so loud, her ears rang and kept ringing as she rolled against a wall, looked up, saw Randal down — thank God,
Getting to her feet, she pulled the.50 Magnum from the scabbard on her left hip, certain she wouldn’t need it, but Randal was still alive. Not in great condition, down and staying down, but alive after three point-blank torso shots from an Urban Sniper.
He raised his head, looked wonderingly around the room, rolled onto his back, blinked at the ceiling, said, “Home,” and was gone.
Chapter 63
The back door was open. Benny and Cindi hesitated, but then he went through boldly, and fast, and she followed.
An Asian woman stood in the kitchen, next to the table, untying a length of torn cloth from her left wrist. She blinked at them and said, “Shit—”
Cindi was quick. The stream of chloroform splashed nose-on. The woman gasped, choked, spluttered, and fell to the floor.
They could deal with her later. She would be unconscious for perhaps fifteen minutes, maybe longer.
