Even Steven (43 page)

The Boss said he had to, and you don't fuck with The Boss. Never.

The risers creaked under his weight, and there were a lot of them. Normally, a staircase had thirteen steps-unlucky thirteen. Jacob had taught him that so he wouldn't trip and fall if he was walking around the house at night. Thirteen steps was standard. That was the word Jacob used. Standard. But standard didn't mean always, because this house had fifteen steps up from the basement. Not thirteen. Fifteen.

He nearly turned around at the top of the climb just to count them out one more time to be sure, but he knew that Jacob would yell if he did. As it was, Samuel spent too much time thinking about shit that didn't matter.

If this place had an alarm, it would probably be hooked to the door at the top of the stairs. People did that sometimes, just to save money. Not that it mattered with the phone lines cut, but he really hated the sound of those attic sirens. He opened the door quickly, just to get it over with, and laughed a little when everything remained quiet.

He lost concentration, though, as he stepped out into the huge kitchen-it looked bigger than his whole house!-and let the door close too quickly behind him. It didn't slam, exactly, but it made a lot more noise than he wanted.

His mouth gaped as he did a slow-motion pirouette there in the breakfast nook, trying his best to take in the hugeness of this place. How was he going to find Justin in a place this big?

People sleep upstairs.

That was true, wasn't it? Chalk up another one for old Jacob. And from the looks of this place, people were certainly asleep. They sure weren't downstairs watching television. But where was upstairs? He followed his light beam around to the right and on into the short hallway that led to the foyer, and there he found it. In the mottled artificial light, the curved stairway seemed to be floating in the air, twisting around to join a bridge-looking thing that likewise seemed to float.

'Wow," he whispered. This was the fanciest house he'd ever seen.

He pointed the automatic up over his head now as he started up the treads, keeping his aim focused at the very top step, where anyone who wanted to stop him would have to appear.

Get the boy. Just get the boy, don't worry about anybody else. Do whatever you have to do.

"I will, okay? Just let me think. Just let me think . . ."

Captain Himler was nodding his head even before Russell had finished with his explanation, and he made a quick phone call the instant he was done. He chatted, nodded, then hung up the telephone. "I can get you six patrol officers if you can wait a couple of minutes."

Russell checked his watch without even seeing the time. "Sure. A couple of minutes can't hurt, and I'd like to have the manpower, just in case."

The footsteps were in the foyer now.

Bobby couldn't believe it. This couldn't be happening. He wanted it to be a dream. He wanted it to be his imagination, but the noise was too rhythmic, too regular, to be anything else but an intruder.

He jostled his wife sharply. "Susan! Wake up!"

Ordinarily, she was slow to rouse, but something in his tone brought her instantly awake. "What?"

"Shh. I think there's somebody in the house."

"What?"

"Quiet. I hear someone walking around downstairs."

"Who is it?" she asked groggily. Then she got it. "There's someone in our house?"

Bobby snatched the telephone off the nightstand to call the police, but it was like listening to an earmuff. "Oh, shit, it's dead. Shit!"

Why hadn't he kept the gun? Why hadn't he bought a gun back when he was single and no one would bitch to him about having it? What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"We've got to get out of the house," he said.

"Why? Let's just lock the door and let them have whatever they want."

"What if they want us, Susan? Suppose this is the cop's buddies coming back for revenge?"

Susan didn't hesitate an instant. Gathering Steven into her arms, she tried to strip the blanket off the bed to keep him warm, but it snagged where it had been tucked under the mattress at the footboard.

"Leave that," Bobby said. "We don't have time." His mind raced to find a solution, but came up only with disasters. If they tried to go out the front windows, they'd fall two stories; out the back, it'd be three. How stupid was that? Why hadn't they thought about that before? Suppose the place was on fire?

The back porch! That was it! They needed to cross the bridge over the foyer, and if they made it to the nursery, they could climb out the back window onto the porch roof, and from there, it was only ten or twelve feet to the ground. They could survive that.

But they had to get there first.

"Come on," he said, leading the way to the bedroom door. "Quickly."

"What are you doing, Bobby? They're out there! I hear them on the steps."

"It's our only chance." Bobby had no intention of turning this into a long discussion. They were dealing with seconds here, if they even had that. It'd be a dead heat as it was getting across the hallway in time to dash into the nursery and lock the door. From there, he didn't know what would happen. It couldn't take long to kick in one of these doors, but it was the only chance they had. That, or fight it out on the stairs. Fat chance.

Susan didn't want to go, but she didn't argue, either. Maybe she was just too drowsy.

Praying silently to whoever might listen, he pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall.

Samuel had just been wondering which room to start in when he heard all the noise. People were talking, moving around quickly. The noise was coming from the set of double doors directly across from the top of the stairs.

He quickened his pace, the gun outstretched.

Remember, no one matters but the kid.

He didn't bother to answer. Too much going on. This had to work. The Boss was waiting, and he was running late. He had to--

Just as he reached for the brass handle, the door flew open.

There in front of him, not five feet away, was the man he remembered from the woods last night, standing in a pair of drawers and nothing else. The man yelled as he saw Samuel, and Samuel yelled back.

For a long moment, they all just seemed to stand there, staring at each other.

Shoot them!

The gun! That's right, he had a gun! Without even really thinking about it, he brought the weapon up. He hesitated, though, when he saw the woman standing right behind the man, holding the little boy he was here to retrieve. It was him! He wasn't going to let The Boss down after all!

He allowed himself a little smile as he pulled the trigger.

Bobby jumped a foot. Susan screamed, and then so did the boy, finally startled out of his sleep.

"Bobby!"

Jesus, he had a fucking gun!

Bobby saw the stranger's arm move, and somehow he knew what was going to happen next. They were all dead.

But his body wasn't so ready to write him off. He launched himself at the burglar, hitting him square in the chest. It was like tackling a wall. For just an instant, he wondered if the explosion that rocked his body was the sound of his bones shattering.

For all his size and strength, the intruder seemed as surprised as Bobby, and off-balance, too. The impact drove him backward toward the railing, and the marble foyer below. The wood of the railing cracked on impact, but it held. Bobby had the momentum, though, and that gave him the upper hand at least until the gunman regained his balance and composure.

Gathering the fabric of the man's jacket into his fists, he hauled him away from the railing and then tried to heave him back toward the same spot on the rail. But the surprise had evaporated by now, and the intruder was having none of it.

"Susan, run!" Bobby yelled, just before a punch to the side of his head left him feeling rattled. He refused to let go. "Go, Susan, go!"

The intruder roared, "I'm not a pussy, goddammit!" And then he hit Bobby with everything he had.

Yes, you are! You're a fucking pussy! You missed, for God's sake! You missed! How the fuck did you miss?

Samuel felt the half-naked guy's grip loosen on the first punch, and on the second, he went reeling across the hallway, letting Samuel regain his balance and move away from that long drop. He brought the pistol up to shoot, but then he saw the woman and the little boy darting down the hallway.

All that mattered was the boy.

Shoot!

"I can't! I'll hit Justin!"

Instead, he charged after them. People were always surprised by his speed. For a big guy, he could move like lightning. He didn't know where they were running to, or why they'd try to get to another room on the same floor, but then again he didn't much care. They never had a chance.

He took the woman off her feet simply by snagging her hair in his fist.

Susan thought for sure he'd ripped her scalp clean away from her skull. She was moving fast, as fast as she knew how, when suddenly her head stopped as her feet kept going. She felt herself going down and hugged Steven in close. They hit hard, and the boy leapt to his feet, screaming.

He turned and started for the stairs.

'I got you!" the intruder yelled, and he made a scooping motion with his arm. He got Steven around the middle, but the boy squirmed like a grounded fish, arms and legs flying, back arching severely. Samuel couldn't hang on. The boy fell to the floor, rolled to his feet, and scrambled for the steps.

He'd nearly made it when Samuel went for an ankle. Again, he missed, but he managed to knock the boy's feet out from under him.

"Leave him alone!" Susan shrieked, and she launched herself at the gunman, snaring his head with her arms, and digging her nails deeply into the flesh of his face.

"What the fungh-" Samuel yelled as the nails slashed his cheeks. He hadn't expected this kind of fight. Jacob was right again. He should have just shot them when he first saw them.

But now, this bitch was on his back, where he couldn't get a shot, and little Justin was going to get away.

Get the kid, goddammit!

"I'm fucking trying!"

But the bitch wouldn't let go. In fact, it seemed that the more he struggled, the tighter her hold became.

Through a haze of tears, Samuel saw the boy nearly at the stairs and he lashed out with his foot.

He was kicking the boy down the steps for Gods sake! Bobby couldn't get his vision to clear completely, but he sure as hell saw Steven teetering at the top step, just as he could hear the screaming from his wife, and the cries of pain from the little boy.

A fall from here would kill him; that's all there was to it.

Bobby scrambled drunkenly across the carpet and snagged the little one's nightie-night-a brand-new one, with Tigger embroidered on the blue blanket material-the very instant he began to topple. For a horrifying instant, Bobby thought that maybe he'd grabbed too hard and actually pushed him over, but both his grip and the material held, and he was able to pull him in close to his body-in close to

safety.

But the boy was hysterical. He kicked, he screamed. All he wanted in the world was to be somewhere else, and Bobby realized with crippling sadness that this was the second such night for this child. That was two of two. What the hell could he have done to deserve this?

"Oh, my God! Bobby!" Susan's shrieks reached a new level, one of sheer panic.

Bobby whirled to see the enormous stranger standing upright again, his massive forearm tucked tightly under Susan's chin, his pistol at her head.

"I will!" he shouted as if someone else were there on the bridge with them. Then, to Bobby: "I only want Justin. I don't want you and I don't want her. I have to take Justin back."

The icy hand returned to Bobby's insides as he realized that he could no longer win this. "Please put the gun down."

"Give Justin back to me, and I will."

Bobby wondered if the man was drunk. His words seemed thick. Not slurred really, just laboured. Drugs maybe? "Who's Justin?" Bobby asked, a play for more time. Time to think.

"You know who he is. Give him to me and I won't hurt her." He pressed the muzzle in harder to emphasize his point.

"Oh, Jesus, don't do that!" Bobby begged.

Susan's eyes burned red and wet. She was terrified. "Let him kill me," she sobbed. "Just let him kill me. I can't lose my baby. Not again."

Bobby's breaths came in quick, short gulps. He looked from his wife to her captor, wondering what to do.

"I'll do it. I'll count to four, and then I'll kill her and I'll kill you, and I'll still get Justin. Let him go."

"No, Bobby! Please."

"One ..."

"I'll do it!" Bobby shouted the words and hurried forward with the boy. "Here, take him. Let her go."

"Bobby, no!"

He ignored her, concentrating his gaze at the intruders eyes. Please don't hurt my wife. This boy is not ours, and we're sorry we got involved in this at all. You have to realize that."

"Bobby!"