Cruel World(23)

The Springfield XDM was heavy as he drew it into the light. Its black polymer grip and forty-five-caliber bore gave it an intimidating look that had impressed him years before when targeting with his father. Now the handgun shook as he pulled back the slide, barely remembering how the weapon functioned. There was a round in the chamber and the safeties were on the trigger and grip. The small flashlight attached below the barrel came on, shining against the wall, and he flinched. He’d triggered it by toggling a small pad beneath his thumb. Hitting the little switch again, he turned the light off.

Quinn snapped the lock box shut, storing it away in the drawer and moved to the office window. The entire room vibrated around him with each heartbeat. The truck was parked directly before the front door. It was a vibrant red with mud flung up its fenders in brown arcs. Its doors were open but there was no one in sight.

“Oh God,” Quinn breathed, and walked into the hallway. At the doorway to the kitchen, he stopped and peered around the corner.

There were two men holding shotguns moving up the walk to the kitchen door. They were both tall and broad-shouldered, wearing stained jeans and camouflage hunting jackets. One of them wore a black bandanna over his mouth and nose, his eyes flitting to the right and left above it.

Quinn backed away from the corner and reached blindly behind him for the bannister leading upstairs. The first man came up the steps and stopped before the door. He looked over his shoulder and cocked his head to one side as if he were listening to something. Quinn’s hand found the railing and he began to sidle up the stairs as his eyes landed on the drinking glass he’d used that morning. It sat in the middle of the counter, the leftover milk still wet at its bottom.

The man at the door reared back and threw a kick at the lock. The door shuddered in its frame.

Quinn ran.

He flew up the steps as the second kick hit the door and the sound of cracking wood filled the lower level. He turned in a stupid circle on the landing before opening his bedroom door. There was nowhere to hide. They would be sure to find him beneath the bed or in the closet. Another kick from the kitchen and then the sound of the door banging open against the wall.

They were inside.

Shaking, he shut his bedroom door and started for his father’s room, then turned to Teresa’s. Both of them were laid out the same as his own. Whispers came from the kitchen, floating up to him as if he were in a dream. The XDM almost slipped from his sweaty hand and his vision wavered. Footsteps came quietly into the hall and headed toward the office. Quinn retreated to the end of the landing and crouched, bringing up the handgun. The sights wobbled as he aimed at the head of the stairs. Squeeze the trigger, never jerk it, otherwise you’ll miss every time. His father’s voice spoke within his mind, calm, assuring. His finger tightened on the trigger as he heard one of the men speak.

“Check upstairs; I’ll look around the garage.”

Quinn’s vision teared up, and he blinked as his eyes landed on the linen closet door beside him. Without a sound, he stood and turned the knob, slipping inside and closing the door as he heard the man climb onto the landing and move into his father’s bedroom.

In the utter darkness of the linen closet, he ran his hands over the wide shelving. Rags and cleaning supplies on the lowest shelf, sheets and bedding next, extra towels and pillows near the ceiling. Quinn tucked the handgun into his pocket and found the rear of the closet and began to climb. In the hallway, the man cursed the smell and moved closer, blasting Teresa’s door open with a kick. Quinn gripped the topmost shelf and blindly began to shove stacks of towels to either side. With a heave, he flattened himself onto the shelf, pulling his legs up and over a column of pillows. The gun scraped against the board beneath him and he winced, listening. Footsteps crossed the hallway outside the door and entered his room. His breathing the loudest sound in the world, he rearranged the pillows and towels before him, trying to straighten them the best he could in the dark. He laid with his back against the wall, his legs straight out, stiffening as his bed was overturned in the next room. With a final movement, he picked up a towel and flung it toward his feet, feeling it cover part of his legs, but stopping short of his toes.

The closet door opened, flooding light inside as he drew the gun out of his pocket. Between two stacks of towels, he saw the man with the bandanna step inside and flip the switch on. The light bulb directly in front of where Quinn lay remained dark, and the intruder laughed quietly behind the handkerchief before stepping inside. The man’s head and shoulders were all he could see from the angle of the top shelf. Bandanna moved closer, and Quinn lost him from view completely. The man rummaged the shelves below, knocking cleaning supplies to the floor as he turned in a half-circle.