Rather than step on the brand-new pine stair treads with his work boots, Sam Goodman decides to walk around to the back of the house and enter the kitchen through the back door.
“You gotta learn to lock the door,” he whispers to himself as he enters the big country kitchen, flipping up the wall-mounted light switch.
For a brief moment, he stands there, staring at the big round table, at the wood cabinets and countertops, at the stainless steel covered sink and gas oven he recently installed himself. He senses that’s he’s alone, but at the same time, he feels as if someone or something else has been here in his absence, and the sensation is enough to raise the short hairs on the back of his thick neck.
Instinct kicks in, and he draws his semi-automatic, the same way he’d draw his side
