Lock, Stock and Secret Baby

In the doorway to the kitchen, she froze.

Two men, dressed in suits and neckties, stood between the sink and the refrigerator. Except for their sunglasses, they looked like businessmen at a sales meeting. She desperately wanted to believe that there was a logical reason for them to be here.

Holding her purse in front of her like a shield, she asked, “Who are you? How did you get into my house?”

“The back door was open.”

That was probably true. She often forgot to lock up after leaving food for the feral cats that lived in the alley. Still, an unlocked door didn’t constitute an invitation to enter. “What do you want?”

“Our employer wants to meet with you.”

Were they talking about Prentice? “Who do you work for?”

With a cool smile, the taller man took a step toward her. If he lunged, he could grab her easily. That was when the reality of the situation hit her. These men were a threat.

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Liar! She was in severe danger, and she knew it. Her panicked instincts told her to run, but the men were bigger than she was. Faster. Stronger.

She had to be smarter.

Her mind cleared. She saw the problem as a geometric equation. Her kitchen was a rectangle with the two men in the center. She stood one step inside the doorway. To her left was a table and chairs. To her right, a cabinet jutted into the room. The distance between the corner of the cabinet and the corner of the kitchen table was approximately three feet. If she could block that space, she’d create an obstacle which would slow their pursuit and allow her to escape.

“Come with us, Eve.” The tall man spoke in silky tones. “Everything will be explained to your satisfaction.”

It took all her self-control to play along with his false civility. “This isn’t convenient. Perhaps your employer could call me and make an appointment.”

The second man drew a gun from a holster inside his jacket. “Enough playing around. Get over here.”

A gun. Oh, God, he had a gun. “Don’t shoot me.”

Abruptly, she raised one hand over her head. When she lifted the other hand, she swung her arm wide. The tall man was forced to step back or be smacked by her purse. As he shifted his weight, she dropped both hands and yanked a chair from the table to block the three-foot space.

She pivoted and ran. Though she hadn’t planned to scream, she heard herself wailing like a siren. Logic told her that she couldn’t go faster than a bullet. Would they start shooting? Were they coming after her? She whipped open the front door—fortunately unlocked—and dashed outside. One step from the front stoop, she ran smack into Blake.

Though she was sprinting at full speed, she didn’t knock him over. He staggered as he absorbed her velocity. “Are you all right?”

“Two men. One has a gun,” she blurted. “We’ve got to get away.”

He reacted forcefully. His left arm wrapped around her midsection, and he yanked her along with him. They were moving back toward the front door. Wrong way! They should be fleeing.

“He has a gun,” she repeated.

“Heard you the first time.”

His calm tone reminded her that he was a commando— specially trained to face danger. She could trust him. Though her pulse pounded and her nerve endings sizzled with fear, she forced herself to stand beside him on the porch instead of running willy-nilly toward her car. “What’s next?” she asked.

“Stay.”

“You mean, stay here?” She pointed to the concrete of the stoop. “Right here?”

Ignoring her, he was already on the move. He tore open the door to her house and charged inside, directly into the line of fire. His aggressive approach shocked her. He didn’t have a weapon. How did he intend to overcome a man with a gun? He’s Special Forces, she reminded herself. His aggressive assault must be some sort of tactic.

She pressed her back against the wall beside the mailbox and clutched her purse against her chest. Stay. It was a simple, unambiguous command. But what if the men in suits left her kitchen and circled around to the front? What if Blake was shot? What if …

Oh, damn. She darted into the house behind him. In her clunky sandals, there was no way she could move stealthily, but she tried not to plod like a rhino. She went right—toward the bookshelves beside the fireplace where she grabbed a poker to use as a weapon. Then she hid behind her wingback reading chair. Peering around the arm, she saw no one. She heard no gunfire.

When Blake entered from the kitchen, his movements were as swift and efficient as a mountain lion on the prowl.

She popped up. “Are they gone?”

He went into attack mode. For a moment, she thought he was going to launch himself at her like a missile. Instead, he waved her toward him. “Come with me. Hurry.”

Another quick command, spoken with authority. She jumped to obey. “I couldn’t stay on the porch because—”

He grasped her arm and propelled her through the front door, off the porch and across the yard toward a station wagon. He ran around to the driver’s side. “Get in.”

She barely had time to fasten her seat belt before he was behind the wheel. He flipped the key in the ignition, and the station wagon roared down her quiet residential street like a tank.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Look for a black SUV with tinted windows.”

“Where were they parked?”

“In the alley behind your house. I saw them pull away.”

They were safe. She exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the tension that clenched every muscle in her body. That brief encounter in her kitchen might have been the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. Though the confrontation only lasted eight minutes, it had felt like hours. According to Einstein, time was relative. Her fear made everything move in slow motion.

She reached into her purse and took out her cell phone. “I should call 911.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “Getting the cops involved is a waste of time.”

Though she had no prior experience with intruders or guns being pointed at her, she was pretty sure he was wrong. “This is a job for the police.”

“Did the intruders steal anything?”

“They weren’t robbers.”

“How do you know?”

“They knew my name and asked me to come with them.”

“Not typical of burglars,” he said.

“And they were wearing suits and neckties.” She shuddered at the memory. “And gloves. The kind of throwaway latex gloves we wear in the lab if we’re handling sensitive material.”

“Did they break in?”

She frowned. “It wasn’t exactly breaking and entering because my back door was unlocked, but they could be charged with … entering.”