Private Gold

Chapter 8

Isobel discovered the lounge window had made the crashing noise. Loose in its frame, it had slammed so hard that a pane of glass had fallen out and smashed on the floor. The wind was howling through the gap, billowing out the dirty net curtain and sending rain spattering over the tiles.

“Hell!” Isobel pushed the bedroom door wide and ran over to the disaster zone. The thin soles of her trainers crunched on broken glass. Reaching for the window, she found she couldn’t close it properly; the wooden frame had warped, and she was unable to pull it hard enough. The wind snatched it right out of her grasp and slammed it again. There were five panes left in the window, one had cracked, and another two looked loose.

“Oh, damn it!” Isobel shouted. She needed to do some urgent damage control. What would happen if the window broke completely? Scenarios spun through her head, each more chilling than the last, underpinned by the fear that she might have to spend the night here alone.

Perhaps pushing the window back into its frame from the outside would be easier than pulling from the inside. Isobel rushed back into the bedroom, unzipped her suitcase, and grabbed the colorful red-and-white floral raincoat that Dave had given her for Christmas. Like all of Dave’s gifts, it was top-of-the-line, a designer garment. Hastily, she pulled it on.

She unlocked the front door and stepped into the gusting rain. Turning, she locked it behind her. It felt like a paranoid action, considering she was only going to be in the garden for a few minutes, but she couldn’t risk leaving it open. The warning from the woman at the baggage reclaim kept playing in her head. “These robbers watch the homes closely. They wait for a chance, and then they attack. All it takes is one careless moment.”

Better to be careful, especially with her instincts prickling. Isobel pocketed the key and sprinted around the house.

She grabbed the window frame to steady herself. The rain hammered on the tin roof, streaming off its edge and splattering directly onto her head. Shaking it away, she focused on the task at hand. Lifting the window would fit it back into the frame, and then she could wedge it all the way shut. Of course, the unwelcome truth was that it would be just as easy to force open again, especially with one missing pane. But if she closed it tightly enough, maybe she could find some wire or twine to secure it from the inside.

Isobel grasped the window and lifted it, pressing her face against the murky pane as she maneuvered the frame into place. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought she saw movement inside the room. She drew in a fast breath, blinking water out of her eyes and telling herself not to be stupid. It was nothing more than the rain on glass, which was also causing the optical illusion that light was coming in through the closed front door.

The window slotted back into place with a bang, but horror gripped her as she stared into the house.

No illusion, no mistake. Impossibly, her fears had become reality.

The front door was open, and a tall, lean man was moving stealthily toward the bedroom. He was dressed in black, wearing a beanie. He must have heard the sound the window made, because he turned to face her. It was then Isobel saw the unmistakable shape of the gun in his hand.