Кей Хупер - Hiding in the Shadows

"I guess not. But..."

They were in the bedroom, and Dinah turned to her suddenly. "Faith, you have to wake up."

"But I want to talk to you."

"Listen to me. You have to wake up."

"But.."

"Faith, someone's trying to get in your window."

Faith opened her eyes and was instantly wide awake.

The music from the living room had ceased, and the apartment was filled with a predawn quiet that was peculiarly heavy.

Almost still. Almost, but not quite, silent.

Something was scratching at one of the bedroom windows.

Someone.

Feeling her heart thudding against her ribs, Faith turned her head slowly on the pillow and stared across the room. She could make out the dark square of the window against the pale walls, but the drapes made it impossible for her to see anything else.

We're on the fifth floor, and there's no balcony. A sudden, distinct click from the window made her stop worrying about how someone could be out there.

Obviously, someone was. And it was unlikely to be a friendly visit. Moving as quietly as possible, Faith pushed back the covers and slid from the bed. She worked her way cautiously across the room, her eyes fixed on the window, terrified she'd see the drapes move and a blackgloved hand reach in. She eased open the door and slipped through, leaving it ajar. Only then did she watch where she was going as she hurried to the living room.

The room was dark except for the low fire burning in the gas fireplace, but Kane was still awake. He sat in a chair, stumped, his unseeing gaze fixed on the flames, and Faith had to say his name twice before he stirred and looked at her.

"What is it?" he asked, terribly polite. He didn't seem at all surprised to see her standing there shivering in a sheer green nightgown.

"Kane..."

"You should go back to bed. It's late."

She glanced over her shoulder toward the bedroom, wondering only then why she hadn't knocked on Bishop's door and awakened the agent, who probably had a gun. And who was not locked away in some private hell of grief, unreachable and untouchable. Keeping her voice low, she said, "Someone's trying to get in my window."

Strange how calm she sounded,when her every sense seemed to be quivering in alarm.

"You were dreaming," he said.

I certainly was.

But Faith wasn't about to tell him about that.

"Kane, someone is trying to get in. I swear to you, I didn't dream this. I didn't imagine it. Some one is outside the window trying to get in. I could hear him."

Kane rose and moved unhurriedly toward the hallway. He had, either deliberately or unconsciously, chosen the route that would take him past her at the greatest possible distance, but Faith told herself that didn't matter. Not now. Not until she could think about it.

"Be careful," she urged.

He paused and looked back at her with lifeless eyes. "There's no one out there, Faith. There are two security guards posted front and back of the building. And we're on the fifth floor."

Steadily, she said, "Someone is out there. Please be careful."

This time she made no attempt to lower her voice, even raised it. She hoped she woke Bishop, hoped the intruder had his head inside the window and heard her. She was far less concerned with catching whoever it was than in making sure Kane didn't walk uncaringly into a bullet.

He shook his head and took a step into the hallway. The force of the explosion knocked him back into the living room; he landed almost at her feet.

"The only real point in the bomb's favor is that the blast was contained pretty much in the bedroom."

Detective Nolan, in charge of the bomb squad, continued to describe the explosion.

"Not much fire to speak of and actually very little structural damage. In fact, even though it blew the hall door almost into the living-room. It didn't even breach the closet door. Your bed's only a memory though, I'm afraid."

Richardson, who had arrived with Nolan, didn't wait for Kane to respond.

"So it was a focused blast?" He was bright-eyed despite the early hour, and only the colorful hem of pajama hot-toms visible under his pants indicated he'd been pulled from his own bed by Kane's phone call.

For some reason, Faith was surprised the detective wore pajamas.

"Oh, very focused," Nolan answered. "I'd say the guy knew he would catch his target in bed, and aimed to get just that."

"Why?" Richardson demanded. "Wouldn't it have been more certain if he'd tried to gut the entire room?"

"Maybe, but if Mr. Macgregor and Miss Parker are right about how little time passed between the time he gained entry and the explosion..."

"It couldn't have been more than a minute or two," Faith insisted. "I don't think he'd gotten the window open when I slipped out of the room, or just barely."

Nolan nodded. "Then I'd say he had two problems in planning. First, to deliver the device quietly and carefully enough so his target didn't awaken before it could go off, and second to get his ass back up the rope to the roof before it blew."

"He definitely came down from the roof?" Bishop asked.

Richardson said, "One of my people found a rope mark on the edge of the roof, and it looks like the rope was fastened to a pipe up there. In fact, we found a smear of blood on a rusty bolt, so I'd say the guy cut or scraped himself because he was in such a hurry to get the rope unfastened. The roof access door was open, so we're pretty sure he got out through that service stairwell. Probably the same way he got up to the roof."

Bishop nodded.

Nolan resumed his report. "From what we found, the explosive looks like a fairly simple sort with a plain burning fuse, a short one. I'd guess he made a little bomb rather than a big one so he'd still be able to get to the roof if it blew prematurely, as homemade bombs frequently do. Anything more powerful and he ran the risk it would have taken him out as well."

"Amateur night," Bishop muttered.

Nolan nodded again, this time enthusiastically.

"I'd say. No timer, nothing fancy. A bit of dynamite in some kind of metal container to concentrate the blast is my guess. I have to say, the M.O. doesn't match up with any of our known arsonists or weekend bombers, and since he kept it simple I'm betting we won't be able to trace him through what's left of the bomb. Maybe we'll get lucky and pick up a fingerprint..."

"He wore gloves," Faith murmured.

Richardson turned to her. "I thought you never saw him."

"I didn't. Not really, I mean." She avoided Nolan's interested stare and shrugged at Richardson. "You know."

A look of enlightenment dawned. "Ali. Another of your dreams?"

"Something like that. I think he wore gloves. Black gloves. That he was dressed all in black."

"They mostly are," Nolan said practically. "At I night, I mean. Helps them disappear."

Richardson asked, "When will you know for sure if this bastard is in our files?"

"Probably by afternoon. Nothing much going on right now, so I can give this priority."

"Thanks." As soon as Nolan left, Richardson looked at Kane. "Dandy idea, your reward," he said sourly.

Kane returned the stare but said nothing. He had said very little since the police and fire department had arrived, and hardly more before that. Picking himself up from the floor, asking Faith if she was all right, making sure Bishop was okay, calling the police — he had done it all as if by rote and without visible emotion.

Faith said, "That couldn't be the cause, surely? I mean so quickly? Besides, how could the bomber have known I was in that particular bedroom?"

"Maybe he didn't," Richardson suggested. "Maybe the intent was to remove Kane — and the threat of that reward. I doubt his estate would have paid it."