Page 22 of The 9th Man

She whispered in his ear, “Kitchen’s through this door. We swing right, then another right, and we’re in the hallway. The stairs up to the bedrooms will be on our left.”

He nodded, recalling that part of the house from the previous night, only in reverse order.

She eased open the door and they slipped inside, cleared the kitchen, then turned down the hallway. At the stairs Jillian peeled off and pressed herself against the wall. Luke kept going, checking the room on his right before veering left.

First space empty.

At the second, a figure emerged. Fast.

But not unexpected.

Luke reacted instantly, lashing out with the butt of his gun and popping the man behind the ear. The body went immediately limp and he caught it under the arms to prevent a thud. But the deadweight dropped him to his knees with the body draped across his thighs.

Jillian hadn’t moved.

She gave him a nod.

He disentangled himself from the limp form and finished clearing the last room. All good to their sides and flank. Back in the hall he stacked up behind her, then placed a hand on her shoulder signaling he was ready to proceed.

Up the stairs they went.

At the landing she made the turn and continued toward the loft. He stopped halfway up with his head level with the upper floor, staring through the spindles. He motioned that she should proceed on and he’d cover her. She nodded and continued up the stairs and into a bedroom directly across from his position, a narrow hall running perpendicular in between. He noticed some gray plastic bins stacked a little way down emblazoned with the wordsGENAPPEPOLITIE. The police had been busy accumulating evidence, but obviously had not finished yet. A night-light burned in the loft and cast enough of a glow for him to see Jillian sweep the bedroom for any hostiles. He’d sent her in reasoning that whoever was here was expecting her, not him. He stayed on the steps, peering through the spindles, eyes keeping watch ahead and below.

“If you move, I will shoot you,” a disembodied male voice said.

Jillian froze.

“Say yes if you understand,” the voice commanded.

Luke zeroed in. The voice was coming from under the bed.

“I understand,” she said.

“Turn to face the bathroom.”

“Okay, relax,” she said. “I’m unarmed.”

The narration was for the moron under the bed’s benefit, but she did as instructed.

“Stay still,” the man said.

He heard a rustling sound and saw the man worm his way out from under the bed, standing about six feet behind Jillian, a gun trained on her. Close enough that he couldn’t miss, but beyond her arm’s reach. Luke saw the guy was Caucasian, his English faintly accented.

Israeli?

“Please, please, don’t kill me,” she said, feigning fear. “All I want is a box of my grandfather’s army medals so he can be buried in them. The police refused, so here I am, like a thief in his house, come to get them.”

Perfect. Keep him guessing.

“You came to retrieve some medals?”

“Just let me get them and I’ll go.”

“You’re Jillian Stein,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

“Did your grandfather have a safe place to keep things. Old things. Like those medals you’re talking about. Or maybe a rifle?”