Mortal Pursuit

8

Crawling again, dragging the duffel bag, Cain approached the front door.

Through the bay window he could see Charles Kent, having returned to the dining area, serving coffee to his guests. A well-dressed man, Mr. Kent, tanned and urbane.

Nearly time to strike. By now the others must be ready.

Tyler and Lilith were at the northwest corner of the house, where a side door opened onto an east-west hallway. The hall led past the cellar door and the laundry nook, into the kitchen.

Blair was on the patio. Via the back door he would enter a rear hallway which fed into the dining area. Gage would join him when it was time to go in.

That left only Cain himself. He would use the front door at the house’s southwest corner. It opened on a small foyer that would permit him to enter without being seen.

Kitchen, rear hall, foyer-the only exits from the living room and dining area.

Each escape route soon would be cut off.

His radio buzzed. It was Gage. “She’s on the phone.”

Cain needed a moment to register the information.

She. Barbara Kent, of course. On the phone. There was a phone in the kitchen.

Calling the police. Hell, was she calling the police

The telephone line always had been a weak link in the operation. Cutting it would have been a sound tactical move. But if the phone service was interrupted for any reason, an alarm automatically would be triggered at the security system’s central monitoring station.

“What do we do now” Gage asked.

Cain didn’t hesitate. “We’re committed. No going back.”

“If she got a look at Gage”-the demurring voice was Blair’s-“she might’ve called for a squad car.”

A gnat whined close to Cain’s ear. He caught it in a gloved hand, snuffed it between thumb and forefinger.

“We can handle a squad car,” he said coolly.

No one disagreed.