Page 142 of The List

Hank drew closer.

Brent tensed. “What now?”

“We have unfinished business.”

“Don’t be foolish. Remember what I have.”

“We’ll take our chances.”

“That could be really stupid.”

“You know, I remember another time when I was out on Eagle Lake. About two years ago, I believe. August. A little better weather than tonight, but hot as hell. It was right after dawn. Perhaps you recall the result of that visit?”

Red-hot anger flashed through him. “You no-good piece of crap. Come take me on, De Florio. Man-to-man. You and me. Face-to-face. You got the guts for that?”

“Let’s find out,” De Florio said.

The call ended.

THE PHONE INFRANKBARNARD’S POCKET VIBRATED.

He fished it out and answered.

“Proceed precisely as planned,” De Florio said in his ear.

“Understood.”

He beeped the phone off and turned to Victor Jacks. “Mr. De Florio says go.”

Jacks yanked the telephone wire from the junction box.

He then switched on the jammer to prevent any possible cell calls from the house and they both advanced out into the rain.

BRENT STARED ATHANK TRYING TO CALM DOWN.

Finally, Hank said, “What do we do now?”

“What we should have done hours ago.” He lifted the handset and punched in 911. Nothing happened. He tried again but it only confirmed the line was dead. It had just worked.

Dammit.

What once seemed like a safe haven now felt like a cage.

A loud crack shattered the silence.

The front window splintered as something flew into the room and struck the far wall. They dove to the floor, using the sofa for protection. On the way down Brent raked the lamp off the table, bursting the bulb, plunging everything into darkness. Two more somethings came through the windows and more glass shattered. A blast of rain and wind roared inside.

“What was that,” Hank asked.

“I didn’t hear any shots. All I know is De Florio’s out there somewhere.” He was trying to stay calm. He felt his pocket for the key to the Mustang. “Stay here. I’m going to the car. Maybe I can get them to go after me.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Listen, Hank, we don’t have a chance together. We’re like fish in a barrel here. Separately, one of us might make it. Once I’m away you head out back. Use the boat down on the dock or swim if you have to. Now stay here till I’m gone.”

Before Hank could object he belly-crawled forward, slithering out of the great room and down a short hall toward the bedrooms. At the front door he stopped momentarily and checked the knob. Locked. At least they couldn’t burst right in. He noticed a brass stand next to the door. Two umbrellas protruded along with what looked like a baseball bat. He crawled closer. It was a bat. Metal. It might come in handy, so he gripped the stem and resumed his crawl.

He found one of the bedrooms, stood, and approached a solitary window. Shoving the night table away, he unlocked the sash, popped out the screen, and, without giving himself time to be scared, leaped out onto the soaked ground. The rain drenched him like a warm shower. He hoped his exit had gone unnoticed. Luckily, the window faced dense woods on the side of the house. He crouched low and used the thorny brush to cover his path backtoward the front of the house and the Mustang. No more glass had broken. But with all the thunder and rain it was hard to know for sure.