She stared at him for a minute, and then another spitting hiss drew her gaze to the figure on the foot of his bed. It took Pet a moment to recognize that it was a cat, hunched up and glaring, growling and hissing toward the window. Even as she noted that, the moonlight creeping through the open curtains shifted slightly. Pet glanced toward the window and then froze as she spotted the dark figure outside. With the moonlight behind him, it was impossible for her to see anything more than that it was most probably male, and he was trying to open the window.
“How long do you think it will take Mortimer to gather men together to send out here?”
Santo pursed his lips as he considered the question. Every Enforcer who worked under Garrett Mortimer would be out on jobs right now, hunting down rogue immortals who broke their laws. He knew that, because everyone was always out on jobs since Venezuela. At least half of Mortimer’s Enforcers had been sent to the South American country to track down Dr. Dressler, a scientist who had discovered the existence of immortals and started kidnapping them for experimentation. Mortimer still didn’t have all of his Enforcers back. A few had remained on the small island off the coast of Venezuela to help. It left him shorthanded as he tried to deal with the rash of rogue activity that had erupted the minute half his Enforcers had been pulled away. The old saying that “while the cat’s away, the mice will play” had turned out to be true when it came to rogues and Enforcers. It seemed that the absence of Enforcers had been seen as permission for anyone even considering going rogue to do so and cause trouble. They were still cleaning up the mess. Which meant it might take a while for Mortimer to get men together to send here.
Santo turned his gaze out the window again as he opened his mouth to answer, but paused as he caught movement next door. A dark figure was on the second-floor balcony that ran along the back of the Peters’ house. The figure was standing at a window at the far end. He appeared to be trying to open it.
“That’s not the aunt, is it?” Zanipolo said grimly, and Santo glanced to the side to see that his cousin had followed his gaze.
“No,” he said with certainty.
“I’ll get Bricker.” Zani disappeared out the tiny door of the tree house.
It took Santo longer to follow than he would have liked. The tree house was small, and he wasn’t. He had to crawl to the entrance Zani had just disappeared out of, and then twist slightly to get through the tiny opening. Once he did, though, Santo simply leapt from the tree branch to the ground. When he landed and straightened, a glance showed him that Zani was already at the back door to the Caprellis’ house. As he started across the yard at a dead run, Santo saw Zani tug it open and heard him shout that someone was trying to break in next door.
Three
Pet stood frozen in the door, gaping at the figure outside Parker’s window until her nephew suddenly shrieked and sat up in bed. When he grabbed the cat and drew it protectively against his chest, she shook off her shock and began to move. Thrusting the door wide, Pet raced to the bed and scooped up Parker, blankets, cat and all, and then turned to rush out of the room.
Her phone was plugged into a charger in the bathroom, which was also the only room with a lock. Pet took Parker there at a run, set him down abruptly, and snatched her phone off the sink counter.
“Call 911,” she instructed firmly, holding out the phone as she backed toward the door. “I’m going to—”
“No!” Parker shrieked. Clutching the cat closer, he took a step away from the phone as if it were the devil and shook his head frantically. “You can’t leave me! You’re supposed to be looking after me.”
Pet frowned at his panicked expression, and then glanced toward the hall. She wanted to go see that the intruder hadn’t got the window open and actually intruded, but she couldn’t leave Parker like this. Releasing her breath on a sigh, she pushed the bathroom door closed.
“Okay, honey. I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him, locking the door. “See, I’m staying.”
When he just stood staring at her as if still afraid she might disappear, she caught his arm and pulled him to her, then hugged him against her side and raised the phone in her other hand to dial 911.
“There was someone outside my window,” Parker said shakily, obviously overwhelmed by everything.
“Yes, honey, I saw,” Pet murmured, placing the phone to her ear before glancing down at him. She felt her heart squeeze in her chest as she took in his pale and frightened expression.
“What if they get in?” he asked worriedly, absently soothing the still distressed cat.
The animal definitely hadn’t liked whoever was outside, Pet thought, and then wondered where the cat had come from. “Parker, whose cat—?”
The question died in her throat as the ringing stopped and a calm voice said, “911. What’s your emergency?”
Pet quickly explained that there was someone outside trying to get into the house through a window. At least she hoped they were still outside.
Several questions followed, including the address. Pet was responding automatically when Parker said, “That’s your address, Aunt Pet.”
She blinked at him briefly, realizing her mistake. Deciding she must be more rattled than she’d realized, Pet quickly gave her sister’s address instead.
“I’ve dispatched the police. Have you heard the sound of glass breaking, or anything else that might indicate he’s penetrated the house?”
Pet shook her head and then grimaced when she realized the operator couldn’t see that and said, “No. Nothing.”
“Where are you in the house?”
“The upstairs bathroom,” she answered. “It’s the only room with a lock.”
“Your nephew is with you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe there until the police arrive?”
Pet turned to peer at the door. It was a door. Wood, probably not solid wood, though, and the lock was your average bathroom lock—stick a narrow bit of wire or something similar in the hole on the outside and the lock would be undone.
Cursing, she glanced around at the small bathroom and then dropped to sit on the floor and braced her back against the toilet and her feet against the door. She had to slide her butt forward an inch or so to manage it, but hoped that would help keep the door closed if the lock was compromised.
“Ma’am? Are you safe in there?” he repeated.
“I—” Pet paused and turned to look over her shoulder at the window over the tub as shouting erupted outside. It was quickly followed by pounding from somewhere in the house. The noise was muffled by the door. Even so, it didn’t seem close. It sounded like—
“I think someone’s banging on the front door. Could the police be here already?” she asked hopefully.
“Just a minute . . . No. They’re still four minutes out.”
“Oh,” Pet said weakly.
“Is it the police?” Parker asked anxiously, shuffling closer to her until he leaned against her shoulder.
“No, honey,” she said forcing a smile. “But they’re only four minutes away.”
He didn’t look any more reassured than she felt by that news, and Pet urged Parker to sit next to her on the floor. He dropped at once, still holding the cat almost desperately, and she slid her free arm around his small shoulders and tried not to think about how quickly one person could kill another. It took less than a second to pull a trigger if the would-be intruder was armed. Wishing she had a gun, Pet began to chew on the inside of her mouth as the pounding sounded again and then was followed by a crash.
“What was that?” the man on the phone asked with concern. She wasn’t surprised he’d heard the noise, it had been a damned loud crash. Like wood splintering and slamming to the floor.
“I think we’ve been penetrated,” she said grimly, using his word from earlier, and then closed her eyes briefly as she heard it come out of her mouth. Penetrated? It really just sounded wrong.
“The police are almost there,” the 911 operator said soothingly. “Just stay calm.”
Pet almost snorted at the advice. The man was miles away, safe in some cubicle somewhere with a headset on, or a phone to his ear. It was easy for him to say stay calm. She had a frightened eight-year-old on her hands, a cat who was suddenly trying to claw his way up on top of the kid’s head, and a ridiculously thin bathroom door between them and some lunatic who peeped in windows and broke down doors. She’d like to see him switch places and “stay calm,” Pet thought as she grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and dropped it back onto Parker’s lap. Her nephew immediately wrapped the blankets around the animal, trapping its legs to prevent it clawing its way out again.
“Petronella? Parker? Are you okay?”
Pet stiffened at that call from downstairs. It was female, and familiar, but it wasn’t until she heard a deep, rumbling male voice with an Italian accent say, “Upstairs. The bedrooms,” that she realized the woman must be Marguerite, because she was quite sure that low growl of a voice that had followed was Santo.
“Oh, I do hope they are all right. You say you heard two screams?” Marguerite’s voice was drawing nearer. Pet presumed that meant they were climbing the stairs.
“Sì.”
“That does not sound good at all. Petronella? Parker?”
“In here!” Parker shouted and launched himself to his feet to hurry to the door.
“Is it someone you know?” the 911 operator asked, obviously having heard the voices.
“The neighbors,” Pet answered, scrambling to her feet as well. “I think—Parker, wait!” she barked as he unlocked and started to open the door. She leapt toward him but was too late and came to a shuddering halt behind him as he stepped into the hall and the lights suddenly came on.
Blinking against the blinding light, she lifted her gaze to the couple in front of Parker. Marguerite and Santo—she in a long white silk nightgown, and he still in the black jeans and T-shirt from earlier.