Cornered: A Kira Brightwell Novel

Chapter 3

3

Rob paid the cab driver in cash and slipped out the door, easing it shut behind him before the car drove off. He hoisted the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath to steady himself.

He rarely left the apartment he shared with Kira, and never on his own.

He took comfort from the familiar weight of Leia against his side. Even though he didn’t think he would need his precious laptop, he couldn’t imagine attempting this task without her.

Besides, the information she contained from Kira’s investigations into the Procurer was far too valuable to leave lying around the now- empty apartment unattended.

Rob looked up and down the street. All the well-maintained, suburban homes were dark and silent. The only sources of light were the streetlamps overhead and a faint, gray glimmer in the eastern sky. Now that the cab had left, no other cars moved on the residential street.

A cool, early-morning breeze ruffled Rob’s brown, matted curls. He raised the hood of his food-stained sweatshirt. The familiar, chemical-cheese scent of Cheetos teased his nostrils. He inhaled deeply. He preferred it to the scent of fresh air.

He pulled a key from the pocket of his jeans and approached his target.

The house was similar to the others that surrounded it. The hedges were evenly trimmed and the garden tended with care. He skirted the side of the brick structure to approach the painted gate that led to the backyard.

His palms itched with sweat. He reached over the fence to lift the latch. The gate opened with a soft click. He slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

The backyard looked just as he remembered it, even though he couldn’t really say when he had seen it last. He had never been an outside person. A flagstone patio filled most of the space, dominated by a large, white metal table and matching chairs. The yellow umbrella that rose from the center of the table was closed. Flowered gardens surrounded the edges of the yard, providing a screen of privacy from the neighbors and filling the air with their scent. A large patio door led inside the house.

Rob walked past it in favor of a windowed door around the corner. His sneakers made no sound against the flagstones.

He hesitated at the door with the key clutched in his hand. Its metal ridges cut into his fingers.

No one knew he was here.

He knew he probably should have told Kira. After all, they told each other everything.

…Almost everything, anyway.

But Kira was off with Trevor, getting patched up and completely focused on finding something that might connect Simon Reid to the Procurer.

Rob’s stomach tightened with a pang of guilt. He knew he should be back at the apartment right now, using his considerable computer skills to try to hack or uncover something useful.

He shook his head.

He was already here. No sense in turning back now.

He eased the key into the lock, sliding it home. He waited a moment before turning it. He performed the movement as slowly as possible to avoid any telltale sounds.

He felt the bolt slide open.

Rob stood completely still, his heart hammering in his chest. His ears strained for any sign that his intrusion had been detected.

Silence.

He slid his key free and twisted the doorknob. It moved easily beneath his hand. The door swung open, revealing the shadowy outline of a washer and dryer, accompanied by the scent of fabric softener. Both machines were silent.

Rob darted inside and closed the door. He gave his laptop bag another pat of reassurance.

Getting inside had been the easy part.

The laundry-room door was closed. Rob pressed his ear to it for a moment before easing it open to reveal a linoleum floor hallway. His breath was harsh in his own ears, but the rest of the house remained dark and quiet.

He turned right and headed past the kitchen, ignoring the faint, lingering smells of a traditional, Mexican dinner. He could have found his way in his sleep, but he forced himself to go slow, easing one foot down in front of the other until he reached the stairs that led to the second floor.

He gripped the smooth, wooden railing with a clammy hand.

This would be the tricky part.

He placed the toe of his right foot on the first carpeted step, easing his weight down gently. A barely-audible creak sounded beneath him.

He clenched the railing and kept his gaze focused on the darkened stairway above him. Nothing moved in the shadows.

He forced himself to continue at a snail’s pace, one step at a time with frequent pauses to stop and listen. He knew he didn’t have much time. People would be waking up soon.

He needed to be gone before then.

Yes, he had a ready explanation for his intrusion if he was caught. But it would be far less trouble to get out clean.

An eternity seemed to pass before he reached the top of the stairs. His breathing was labored. Despite his atrocious diet, he wasn’t fat per se, but he wasn’t exactly an active guy. The most exercise he usually got was moving from his personal lair in the living and dining room of his and Kira’s apartment, to the bathroom, which was on the same floor—unless you counted his wrist cardio, which was considerable.

After all, his last dalliance had been with Jeff, and that had been months ago—an incident both he and Kira were eager to forget.

He took a moment to catch his breath before heading for the first door on the left. It opened easily.

His breath caught at the familiar, shadowed outline lying in the bed. Soft, regular breathing reached his ears. Rob listened to it for a moment, his chest tightening.

Light was barely starting to creep around the edges of the frilled curtains that covered the window. Rob blinked and returned to the task at hand.

He slipped a tiny camera lens from the pocket of his hoodie and flipped a switch on the back. A brief pulse of red light flashed before disappearing. Rob pulled out his phone to make sure the connection was working. Sure enough, he saw a darkened image of himself, standing in the bedroom. He secured the camera lens high up on a wooden bookcase that stood in the corner of the room. The angle provided a vantage point of both the bedroom door and the window.

Next, he moved to the bedside table. The sleeper showed no signs of stirring, despite his close proximity. If she woke up now…

God, I hate this.

But he knew he had no choice. Yes, the man that Kira was convinced was the Procurer was currently in police custody, but how long would that last? And what would the Pale Lady do when she learned Kira had moved against her? Rob knew he had to take matters into his own hands.

He picked up the cell phone that lay on the wooden bedside table and turned it on, shielding the glow of the screen with his body.

The phone was unlocked. It was in a recognized, safe location.

It only took Rob a matter of moments to install a hidden tracking app and link it to his own phone. He’d had more than enough practice at it at this point.

He turned off the phone and replaced it on the bedside table.

A familiar, female voice mumbled in her sleep.

Rob held his breath. After a moment, the mumbles returned to regular breathing. He resisted the urge to reach out and tuck the covers.

He gave a single, backward glance before slipping out of the room.

He repeated the process in the next bedroom, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew the longer he stayed, the higher the chance he would be discovered. He managed to complete his task much quicker the second time. He exited the second bedroom and headed back for the stairs.

The sun was rising now. It’s pale, early-winter light was beginning to flood the house. Somewhere in the master bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall, someone was stirring.

Rob did his best to move quietly down the stairs, but he was rushing now. He winced as one of his steps produced an audible squeak. He froze, like a deer in the headlights.

Upstairs, he heard one of the bedroom doors open. Throwing caution to the wind, he hurried down the rest of the steps on light feet.

A familiar voice calling down from upstairs brought him up short.

“Who’s there?” a woman demanded with a trace of a Spanish accent.

Rob wanted to run, but he knew it would only make matters worse. The last thing he needed was a thorough investigation of the house due to a suspected home invasion. He remained motionless in indecision.

“Berto?” the woman’s voice called down with a mix of suspicion and disbelief.

Rob suppressed a groan. The jig was up. At least he had managed to plant his cameras successfully… All he could do now was try to smooth things over.

Not that he was looking forward to it.

He turned around with a weak smile to look up at the tousle-haired woman standing at the top of the stairs in a flannel bathrobe.

“Hi, Mom.”