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middle-aged man and woman could ve made it down there from the top story without a
ladder or help.
Cam s gun arm dropped to his side but he didn t holster the pistol. He moved
swiftly to the bedroom door and stepped out in the hallway, peering down over the rail
then up at the ceiling, searching for the telltale outline of a dropdown attic stair. He didn t
find one, nor did he see or hear anything moving around downstairs. Where the hell did
they go? he wondered while moving back down the stairs into the living room.
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He moved around the perimeter of the living room, stopping only long enough to
check out the tiny half bathroom tucked under the stairs. Cam moved to the large French
doors facing the back of the house. He flipped a switch next to the door on the right and
the backyard lit up with an almost blinding clarity. Several floodlights lined the back of
the house and lit a small grassy area that ended at the edge of a stand of Ponderosa pine
trees and untouched forest. Cam opened one door and stepped out into the yard. His head
was immediately surrounded by swarms of hungry mosquitoes that were drawn to the
lights. He reached back inside and flipped the floods off. The mosquitoes remained while
Cam made his way, hugging the wall, toward the carport to his right. He edged his way
toward the corner of the house while silently swearing at the insects and waving his free
hand in front of his face to clear them. When he turned the corner into the carport, he
quickly ascertained that the two cars were still there. He stepped over to each one in turn
and felt the hood for heat. Both were cold to the touch.
Disgusted with the effort and time he d expended in getting this far, only to find
nothing but an empty house and two cold cars, Cam swore, Bloody hell! They must
have left. Maybe they went into town to do a bit of gambling at the pokies. The idea
struck him as possible so he decided to hang around and catch them when they came
home; hopefully, drunk and unable to put up much of a fight.
Cam tucked his gun into the waistband of his shorts and walked to the front door,
tested it, found it open, smiled and shook his head at silly American rich people before
stepping back into the cavernous living room. He decided to cover all his bases and
moved back into the kitchen, searching for a door leading down into a basement. When
he didn t find one, he relaxed completely for the first time in hours. He leaned against the
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tiled workbench and tried to work out what his next move would be if the Nelson s didn t
show. His wandering gaze fastened on the glass front refrigerator, seven feet high and
four feet wide, that snuggled between an equally large six burner stove and a metal
fronted appliance Cam assumed was the matching freezer unit. Suddenly, he noticed his
mouth was parched with a dry, salty taste that was vaguely unpleasant. He dug into his
shorts pocket and pulled out a handful of change. He fingered the metal pieces around on
his palm. Friggin Yank money. And they say our money is hard to figure out, he
murmured while separating the largest coins from the smallest. He chose several quarters
and half dollar pieces and carefully stacked them on the workbench. At least they can t
say I robbed them, he muttered with a smile. He moved to the refrigerator, opened the
door and peeked inside, searching for a beer or a soft drink as a poor substitute if the
Nelsons didn t stock any.
He pulled a green bottle of beer out of a rack full of them and closed the door with
a satisfied nod of his head. He popped the top off effortlessly and resumed his casual seat
against the bench. Cam downed half the bottle and let out a rumbling belch with a sigh of
pleasure close behind it. Ah, Fosters, now that s a decent beer for a change. Maybe these
rich blokes aren t so thick after all, he commented before downing the rest of the bottle
and tossing it into a tall garbage bin.
Something stopped Cam in his tracks when he moved to get another beer. He
froze, tilted his head and listened, puzzled at what it was that had captured his attention
without registering fully. Just when he decided his hearing was playing tricks on him and
had opened the refrigerator, grabbed another bottle of beer and was ready to settle down
and enjoy this one, it came again; a scratching sound from the roof.
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Cam set the beer carefully on the tiles, grabbed his gun and moved quickly to the
living room then the back doors to the dark yard. His heart began to pound in anticipation
while his mind was screaming at him for the oversight of checking everything before
dropping his guard. Stupid thick bugger, he swore at himself as he made his way along
the wall to his right, back toward the cars, where he expected to find the Nelsons
dropping down from the roof and into a car for a getaway.
He waited between the two vehicles, listening to the scratches and scrambling on
the roof as the sounds moved closer to his position. I ve got you now you slimy bastard,
Cam thought while he waited with his gun raised and his gaze scanning the roofline.
Suddenly, two large raccoons dropped down onto the lawn in front of the carport,
turned to snarl at him while simultaneously moving steadily toward Cam s left, toward
the side of the carport. Cam jumped, suppressed an overpowering urge to shoot then
watched the two large animals with curiosity. They moved toward a large trash can, sat
up on hind legs, pushed it open then deftly took the lid off the top before rummaging
around in the garbage.
Shit, Cam swore, trying to steady his nerves and slow the wild hammering of his
heart. Damn wild animals. He glared at the raccoons. What the hell are those things? he
wondered, fleetingly, while moving back toward the front door and away from the
wildlife.
When he stepped back into the living room and threw the bolt on the front door,
Cam took a deep, cleansing breath of air while being aware, and disturbed by it, that he
was shaky, unnerved, sweating like a rookie and that his stomach was tied into knots.
Right. There s a lesson in this Cam, you friggin dickhead. Check everything and do it
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before you let your guard down. He glared at his image in a mirror hanging in the
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