The door was open a sliver. Light flowing from inside threatened to blind her to anyone hiding in the servant’s stairwell. Approaching cautiously, she peered in without pushing the door. Only part of the right-hand side of the room was visible. A bookcase and part of a rug was all she could see. She would have to commit if she wanted to know who was in there.
She inched closer. Pushing the door slowly and clearing the space to the right, she widened her view with each step.
Her eyes checked all directions as she edged into Eric’s room. It was extra-large and long, originally a library judging from the bookcases lining the walls. Three windows faced the front drive, two faced the greenhouse. Eric Stone lay on the floor, bound and gagged; an overturned chair next to him. Broken window glass surrounded him. Barefoot, he wore light, indoor clothes. The rain swept in the window, drenching him. He shivered.
Pia kept calm and slid in slowly, keeping her back pressed firmly to the wall. It was load-bearing stone, her best bet against surprises. She eased the door shut with her foot. Eric watched her. She assessed the room. His bed was in the middle, a bathroom door beyond it. From there, a sitting area. Basically, a studio apartment while he worked on renovations.
She whispered, “Anyone else in here?”
Eric shook his head.
She moved to him quickly and quietly. Pulling her tactical knife, she sliced through his bindings and brushed off the glass. She gave him a hand and pulled him to standing. A scratching noise made her spin with her 9 mil aimed at the doorway. She held steady; her pistol leveled at the dark.
Nothing.
“Thank you, love,” he whispered. “There are two of them. Arrived shortly before you. One went to the roof. I heard the other one follow you up here just now. He’s gone upstairs to wait for you. But there is another staircase on the other end. It will also take you to the roof. The floor on that level is torn up. He can’t cross to your side, nor you to his. But he’ll not know that.”
More creaking overhead.
“Do you have extra shoes in here?” Pia asked in a whisper.
He looked at her funny. “A few. Why?”
“When I get to the far end, I’ll whistle. You go to the stairs on this end, toss up one shoe at a time. Three should do it. When you hear those creaking floorboards coming toward you, get back in here quickly. Lock your door, go to your bathroom, lock that door, then get in the bathtub. Stay there until I come back.”
He gave her another curious head tilt. “Bathtub?”
“Closest thing to bulletproofing.”
He nodded, a tremble in his frame. “Indeed.”
She started out of the room, clearing the hall to one side.
Headlights swept up the drive. One pair. It drove down the lane toward the green house.
The sniper’s rifle banged away from the rooftop.
Pia ran to the window in time to see a car with a shattered windshield driving an evasive route. More bullets landed in its roof and blew out glass in the doors. The car stopped behind her McLaren. A figure popped out and crouched behind the front wheel. Safest place, using the engine block for cover.
“That’s PC McDonald,” Tania said over the comm link. “You got that sniper yet?”
“You’re still out where you can see him?”
“Maybe.”
“Get back in the office, put the leg up. I’ll take care of the sniper.”
She looked at Eric. Leaning on his cane, he had three shoes in the crook of his free arm, and a fateful look in his eye.
Waiting any longer would work to Mr. Bling’s benefit. She knew the sniper was on the roof, distracted by the new arrival. That meant Mr. Bling waited for her at the top of the servant’s stairs.
She crept silently down the hall toward the opposite end of the house, turning 180 degrees every few steps to check her back. The sensation that Mr. Bling’s pistol was aiming at her head followed her every footfall. The staircase was right where Eric promised. She whistled before taking the stairs. Even using the sides of the treads, a few groaning boards worried her as she made her way up.
She didn’t hear the shoes thud. But she thought she heard Eric’s door close. It was hard to tell in the big house.
Just as she made it to the servant’s floor, lightning flashed through all the windows, illuminating a hall the length of the building. For one brief instant, she saw Mr. Bling’s silhouette. He was leaning forward, pistol aiming down. Presumably, waiting for her to come up the stairs on that side. The shoe trick had worked. She aimed in the dark. Before she squeezed the trigger, another lightning bolt lit up the far end. He was gone.
She rounded the bend and found the stairs to the roof across the hall. She turned the knob easily, but the door didn’t budge when she pulled.
She pulled harder. Still trying to keep the noise level down. It grumbled a quarter inch.
Lightning struck again. He wasn’t where she’d last seen him. Thunder shook the walls. As good a time as any. She tucked her pistol into her waistband and used both hands to yank the door open. It made a louder noise than she wanted. One that Mr. Bling would surely hear. More lightning lit her up.
That’s when she saw him—swinging into a shooting stance and aiming at her.