Barry Eisler - Fault line

He dropped down to his knees in front of the cabinet and opened it. It was dark inside. He felt around, his hands shaking. Toilet paper. A bar of soap. A plastic bottle.

He pulled the bottle out and rotated it until he could see the label. Toilet bowl cleaner.

He set it aside, thinking, Come on, come on…

Another bottle. Some kind of scouring powder.

He reached in again, his hands shaking so violently he was terrified he would knock something over and give away his position.

Mildew remover. That meant bleach, right? He tried to read the label but couldn't make out the small print in the dark. He unscrewed the spray cap and sniffed. Immediately he jerked his head away and had to fight back a coughing fit. It smelled like pure bleach.

He stood and looked around the counter for something to put it in. Nothing. Not even a cup. The only thing he ever used this bathroom for was the bath.

A light flashed across the bottom of the door. A flashlight beam, cutting through the dark. He realized closing the door had been stupid. It had exposed where he was.

He felt paralyzed. He couldn't think.

Please, he thought. Please, come on…

He dropped down again and felt inside the cabinet. A scrub brush. More toilet paper…

His fingers touched something cold and hard. He pulled it out. A mug, a big ceramic coffee mug. The maid must have put it there, part of her cleaning supplies, or to rinse the tub or something.

The doorknob rattled.

God, oh God…

He backed away, shivering violently, and somehow managed to get most of the mildew cleaner into the mug. He set down the empty container as quietly as he could and took hold of the wall that divided the bath from the toilet, steadying himself. He held the mug in his right hand at waist level and ground his teeth together to keep them from chattering.

A second went by. Ten. Ten more.

Maybe he's gone. Maybe when he figured out someone was home The lock popped. The door crashed open and slammed into the wall. A dark figure stepped through. Alex saw a flashlight and maybe a gun, and then the light was in his eyes, blinding him. With a wild yell he flung the contents of the mug forward toward the figure's head. A long blob of liquid cut through the beam of the flashlight. The man cried out and stumbled back. Alex shot forward and slammed his shoulder into the man, knocking him on his back. He leaped straight over him and onto the stairs, taking the six steps in another leap. He grabbed his keys from the table in the foyer, yanked open the front door, and went tearing down the flagstone walkway to the driveway, where his car was parked, barefoot, naked, and still dripping from the bath. Somehow he had the presence of mind to hit the unlock button on the fob on the way. He practically dove into the car, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He was shaking so badly he had to use both hands to get the key in the ignition. He pushed the clutch in and turned the key. The engine growled to life. He popped the gearshift into reverse and used every ounce of rational thought he still had to force himself to let the clutch out slowly. He made it out of the driveway, shifted into first, and didn't think to shift again until he was doing forty at the end of the street and the engine was screaming so loudly it sounded like it might tear right through the hood of the car.

He got on 280 and at 120 miles an hour made it to San Jose Police headquarters in under fifteen minutes. By the time he arrived he had calmed down a little and was starting to think. Weirdly, the thing he was most grateful for was that he had a set of workout clothes in the trunk. Otherwise, what the hell would he do, barge into the police station stark naked in the middle of the night?

The parking lot that had been nearly full a day earlier was empty now, and he was able to scurry around to the trunk of the car and dress without anyone seeing him. It couldn't have been more than forty degrees out and he could see his breath fogging. By the time he walked through the lobby doors his teeth were chattering and he was completely broken out in gooseflesh.

He walked up to the information window, rubbing his palms furiously against his arms and shoulders to generate a little friction heat. “I want to report a burglary,” he said. “Someone just broke into my house.”

The woman behind the glass asked, “What is your address, sir?”

Alex gave her his Ladera address. The woman said, “Sir, that's San Mateo. You need the San Mateo County Sheriff's Office.”

Jesus, what had he been thinking? San Jose had just been on his mind because he'd been here recently; he hadn't even thought about the jurisdiction.

“Right,” he said. “Look, I surprised this person in my house. He had a gun and I just ran out. I got confused. Can you… I don't know what to do. Can you call the San Mateo police for me?”

The woman nodded and picked up a phone. She gave Alex's information to someone and hung up.

“Sir, the Sheriff's Office is sending a patrol car to your address right now. They're going to wait for you outside the premises and escort you in when you arrive. They'll ensure the premises are secure, take your statement, and collect any evidence.”

Alex thanked her and went back to his car. When he got home, there was a police car waiting in front. He parked in the driveway and walked over. Two uniformed cops got out, one a tall skinny guy, the other with shoulders as wide as a refrigerator.

“Alex Treven?” the skinny one said.

“Yes, I'm Alex. Thanks for coming.”

“No problem. I'm Officer Randol, and this is Officer Tibaldi. We understand you had an intruder in the house this morning?”

This morning… right, it was morning, technically. “Yes, that's right. I think he had a gun, but I didn't see that well.”

“Okay. We'd like you to wait here while we go in and ensure the house is secure. Once we've done that, we can take your statement inside.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, of course.”

Alex waited while Randol and Tibaldi walked up the path to the front door, which Alex noticed for the first time was closed. He was surprised to see them draw their guns, then realized, of course, they had to assume someone was still in there, no matter how unlikely.

Tibaldi tried the door, then called to Alex, “You're going to have to unlock it.”

Alex walked up and unlocked the door. Tibaldi opened it, waited a moment, then went in, followed by Randol.

The house wasn't huge, and in five minutes they had turned on every light, opened every closet, and looked under every bed. It was empty.

Alex told them exactly what had happened. He showed them the bathroom. The tub was still full of water. They examined the door and the lock, but there was no evidence that it had been picked. The room stank of bleach and the cleaner had gotten all over the walls and floor.

“We ‘re going to check the front door and have a look around,” Randol said. “Why don't you inventory the house and see if anything is missing?”

Alex did. Nothing was gone or even out of place. Even his wallet and cell phone were where he always left them when he was home, on the table in the foyer. He'd been so batshit scared when he ran out that he'd grabbed only his keys and nothing else.

“The front door is intact,” Randol told him. “No sign of forced entry.”

“Well, someone got in here,” Alex said, feeling foolish.

“I can see that. Is anything missing?”

Alex shook his head.

“Do you have any enemies, sir?”

“Enemies?”

“You know, were you doing something that made a husband jealous, or maybe you took something you weren't supposed to from someone you shouldn't have taken it from.”

“No, nothing like that. Nothing. Are you saying this guy was looking for me personally?”