Erik was all over that. “Name it.”
Myron started walking back toward the path, cursing himself. He was still rusty. He should have never let that show. The last thing he needed was Erik going off half-cocked. He needed to hash it out without Erik.
“Are you good with a computer?”
Erik frowned. “I guess so.”
“I need you to go online. I need you to put all the addresses on this street into a search engine. We need a list of who lives here. I need you to go home right away and do that for me.”
“But shouldn’t we do something now?” Erik asked.
“Like what?”
“Knock on doors.”
“And say what? Do what?”
“Maybe someone is holding her hostage right here, right on this very block.”
“Very, very doubtful. And even so, knocking on doors will probably get them to panic. And once we knock on one door at this hour, that person will call the police. The neighbors will be warned. Listen to me, Erik. We need to figure out what’s what first. This could all be a dead end. Aimee might not have taken that path.”
“You said you thought she did.”
“Thought. That doesn’t mean much. Plus maybe she walked five blocks after that. We can’t just stumble around. If you want to help, go home. Look those addresses up. Get me some names.”
They were through the path now. They moved past the gate and walked back to their cars.
“What are you going to do?” Erik asked.
“I have a few other leads I want to follow up on.”
Erik wanted to ask more, but Myron’s tone and body language cut him off. “I’ll call you as soon as I’ve finished the search,” Erik said.
They both got in their cars. Myron watched Erik drive off. Then he picked up the cell phone and hit Win’s speed dial.
“Articulate.”
“I need you to break into a house.”
“Goody. Please explain.”
“I found a path where I dropped Aimee off. It leads to another cul-de-sac.”
“Ah. Do we have a thought then about where she ended up?”
“Sixteen Fernlake Court.”
“You sound fairly certain.”
“There’s a car in the driveway. On the back windshield is a sticker. It’s for teacher parking at Livingston High School.”
“On my way.”
CHAPTER 26
Myron and Win met up three blocks away near an elementary school. A parked car here would be less conspicuous. Win was dressed in black, including a black skull cap that hid his blond locks.
“I didn’t see an alarm system,” Myron said.
Win nodded. Alarms were minor nuisances anyway, not deal breakers. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
He was. On the dot.
“The girl isn’t inside the house. Two teachers live there. His name is Harry Davis. He teaches English at Livingston High School. His wife is Lois. She teaches at a middle school in Glen Rock. They have two daughters, college age, judging by the pictures and the fact that they weren’t home.”
“This can’t be a coincidence.”
“I put a GPS tracker on both cars. Davis also has a well-worn briefcase, stuffed with term papers and lesson plans. I put one on that too. You go home, get some sleep. I’ll let you know when he wakes up and starts to move. I’ll follow. And then we’ll be on him.”
Myron crawled into bed. He figured sleep would never come to him. But it did. He slept deep until he heard a metallic click coming from downstairs.
His father had been a light sleeper. In his youth, Myron would wake up at night and try to walk past his parents’ room without stirring Dad. He had never made it. His father did not wake up slowly either. He woke with a start, like someone had poured ice water down his drawstring bottoms.
So that was how it was when he heard the click. He shot up in the bed. The gun was on the night table. He grabbed it. His cell phone was there too. He hit Win’s speed dial, the line that rang for Win to mute and eavesdrop.
Myron sat very still and listened.
The front door opened.
Whoever it was, they were trying to keep quiet. Myron crept to the wall next to his bedroom door. He waited, listened some more. The intruder had gone through the front door. That was odd. The lock was old. It could be picked. But to be that silent about it — just one quick click — it meant whoever it was, or whoever they were, they were good.
He waited.
Footsteps.
They were light. Myron pressed his back against the wall. The gun tightened in his hand. His leg ached from the bite. His head pounded. He tried to swim through it, tried to focus.
He calculated the best place to stand. Pressed against the wall next to the door, where he was now — that was good for listening, but it wouldn’t be ideal, despite what you see in the movies, if someone entered his room. In the first place, if the guy was good, he’d be looking for that. In the second place, if there were more than one of them, jumping someone from behind the door would be the worst place to be. You’re forced to attack right away and thus expose your location. You might nail the first guy, but the second one would lay you to waste.
Myron padded toward the bathroom door. He stood behind it, kept low, the door almost closed. He had a perfect angle. He could see the intruder enter. He could shoot or call out — and if he did shoot, he’d still be in a good position if someone else either charged in or retreated.
The footsteps stopped outside his bedroom door.
He waited. His breath rang in his ears. Win was good at this, the patience part. That had never been Myron’s forte. But he calmed himself. He kept his breathing deep. His eyes stayed on the open doorway.
He saw a shadow.
Myron aimed his gun at the middle of it. Win might go for the head, but Myron zeroed in on the center of the chest, the most forgiving target.
When the intruder stepped through the doorway and into a bit of light, Myron nearly gasped out loud. He stepped out from the behind the door, still holding the gun.
“Well, well,” the intruder said. “After seven years, is that a gun in your hand or are you just happy to see me?”
Myron did not move.
Seven years. After seven years. And within seconds, it was like those seven years had never happened.
Jessica Culver, his former soul mate, was back.
CHAPTER 27
They were downstairs in the kitchen.
Jessica opened up the refrigerator. “No Yoo-hoo?”
