The Dark Hours (Harry Bosch #23)(101)

The man wore black synthetic gloves and a green ski mask that had been rolled up off his face because he did not expect anyone to be in the house. He would pull it down when Hannah Stovall came back from her walk. He had a fanny pack strapped around the coveralls, with the pouch in front. His eyebrows and sideburns revealed that he had red hair.

“Okay, I’m in,” he said. “Any sign of her?”

Ballard froze. He was talking to someone. She then saw the white earbud in his right ear. There was no cord. It was a Blue-tooth connection to a phone held in a runner’s armband on his upper right arm.

Ballard hadn’t planned for that — that they would be in constant communication. Another flaw in a very flawed plan.

“Okay,” the man said. “I’ll take a look around. Let me know when you see her.”

The man moved out of the sliver of view Ballard had of the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator open and then close. She then heard footsteps on the wood flooring and could tell he had moved into the living room. She also heard a sound she could not identify. It was a slapping sound that was spaced at various intervals. She heard his voice again but it was farther away this time.

“Bitch has almost no food in the fucking fridge.”

He crossed in front of the hallway in the living room and she saw that he was tossing up and down one of the apples she had put in the refrigerator, making the slapping sound as he caught it. She had to think. If the redhead was in constant communication with his partner, she had to figure out a way to take him down without the partner realizing and possibly fleeing.

She wanted them both.

The footsteps grew louder and she knew he was heading to the hallway. She quickly and quietly moved to the blind side of the file cabinet and slid down the wall to a crouching position. She held the gun in a two-handed grip between her knees.

The steps paused and the overhead lights flicked on. Then the man spoke again.

“We’ve got a home office. Double monitors. Man, she doin’ some bidness up in here, y’all … Might need to take one of these for my own setup.”

The lights went out and the steps continued down the hallway. Ballard heard the man report what he saw in the hall bathroom, the guest room, and then the master suite. Their MO had obviously changed, possibly because of the exposure in the media, or dictated by Stovall’s stay-at-home schedule. Either way, the break-in came much earlier than in the three prior cases. She knew that this most likely meant they would not wait several hours in hiding, until Stovall went to sleep. Ballard believed the plan was now to move quickly, incapacitate and control Stovall, and then bring in the second man. The master suite was probably out as a hiding place, because that would be where Stovall went after her walk. That left the spare bedroom, the office, and the hall bathroom. Ballard believed the office was the best bet. The desk was set against one wall and the closet was directly opposite, meaning that if Stovall sat at her desk, her back would be to the closet door. The redhead would be able to surprise her from behind — if she went back to work after returning to the house.

Ballard waited, rehearsing in her mind the moves she would make when he returned to the office. One move if he saw her, and one move if he walked by without noticing her on his way to check out the closet.

“Hey, dude, she’s got a safe room in her damn closet. The guy didn’t tell us about that.”

There was silence while Ballard considered what that second sentence meant.

“Okay, okay, I’m looking. You said there was no sign of her yet.”

Silence.

“All right, then.”

The words almost made Ballard flinch. They were closer. The redhead was coming back to the office.

“I’m thinking the office is going to be the spot.”

As he said it, he entered the room, and the ceiling lights came back on. He passed by the file cabinet without noticing Ballard and moved directly to the closet. Ballard didn’t hesitate. She sprang from her crouch and moved toward his back. He was opening the closet door as she reached up to his right ear and grabbed the earbud out. At the same time she brought the gun up with her left and held the muzzle against the base of his skull. Holding the earbud cupped tightly in her palm, she whispered, “You want to live, don’t say a fucking word.”

Ballard put the earbud in her pocket, grabbed the man by the back of the collar, and jerked him backward, holding the gun against him the whole time and continuing to whisper.

“Down, get on your knees.”

He did so and now was holding his hands up shoulder height to show his compliance. Ballard pulled the phone out of the man’s armband. The screen showed a call connection to someone only identified as Stewart. Ballard put the phone on speaker.

“ … happened? Hey, you there?”

She hit the mute button, then held the phone to the man’s face.

“Now, I’m going to take this off mute and you’re going to tell him that everything’s fine and that you just tripped over a box in the closet. You got that? You say anything else and it will be the last thing you ever say.”

“What are you, a cop?”

Ballard thumbed back the hammer on the gun. Its distinctive click sent the message.

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him.”

“Go.”

She took the phone off mute and held it to the man’s mouth.