Aaron Flynn’s partner pulled on a ski mask and cut across a yard that backed on the ground-floor garden apartment where Alice Cummings lived. A door at the back of the house opened onto the postage-stamp-size patch of lawn, which was enclosed by a low wood fence. The screen door was unlocked and the lock would not be much of a challenge. The plan was to jimmy the lock and cut the bitch’s throat. To kill or not to kill the kid, that was the question. If he was as fucked up as Flynn said, the brat was probably better off dead.
The door only took a few minutes to open. Flynn’s partner pulled a hunting knife from a sheath and took a step into the apartment.
Alice Cummings sat up in bed. Her clock read 2:13. The house was quiet, but she was certain that a noise had awakened her. Maybe Patrick was having a dream and made the noise in his sleep, because he was quiet now. Alice lay down and closed her eyes. It was always a blessing when Patrick slept. She’d put him down at ten and crashed immediately. Five hours was good. Alice’s eyes opened wide again. She was certain that she’d just heard something. She slipped out of bed and walked to the bedroom door, which she always kept open so she could hear Patrick, and peered into the front room. Nothing seemed out of place. The only part of the apartment she couldn’t see was the kitchen, which was at the back. She edged along the wall. As soon as she turned the corner Alice saw that the back door was open.
The moment Flynn’s partner took a step into Alice Cummings’s apartment, a sixth sense warned her of danger. She was half turned when a damp ether-soaked cloth pressed across her mouth and nose and a muscular arm circled her chest, pinning her arms to her side. She tried to kick free as she was hoisted off her feet. She knew she only had moments before she passed out. In desperation she raised her heel and jammed it down on her attacker’s instep. He swore, but his grip did not weaken. As she was dragged back across the lawn she saw the stars swirling above her, twisting in faster circles.
Alice froze at the entrance to the kitchen. Was someone in her house? Was Patrick safe? She switched on a light as she rushed to his room. His door was open. She stopped at the railing to his crib. He was curled on his side, breathing fitfully but sound asleep. Relieved, Alice checked the rest of the small apartment. When she returned to the kitchen a cold wind swept through the door. She shivered as she pushed it shut. Then she turned the lights off so she could see outside, pressing her nose to the kitchen window to see every inch of the yard and beyond. She saw nothing strange. But someone had definitely tried to get in. Why had they left? Who had they been?