John Sneeden: The Hades Conspiracy

While the first floor seemed more utilitarian, he decided to clear it before heading up. Hearing no sound, he crossed the foyer and entered the hallway. Thankfully, the floor was covered with commercial-grade carpet, which allowed him to move without sound. The hallway eventually turned right, with rooms opening off the left-hand side. Zane stopped at each one and flicked the light on briefly. Just as he’d expected, most were used for storage. The one at the end contained a washer and dryer.

Finding nothing of interest, he returned to the stairs and began a careful ascent. About three-quarters of the way up, he paused and listened. There was still no sound, so he continued. The room at the top of the stairs took up half of the second floor. Ambient light spilled in through the blinds, allowing him to see. The decor was modern and minimalist: a white leather sectional, a sculpted rug, and a smattering of contemporary tables and lamps. Ancient vases, stone bowls, and oil lamps rested on the surfaces. It wasn’t hard to tell this was the home of an archaeologist.

Zane quickly cleared the other two rooms on the floor: a kitchen and a formal dining area. At this point, the only thing that seemed suspicious was the obsessive neatness of the home. It was almost too sterile — too neat. Had someone come and sanitized a crime scene? Perhaps. Then again, maybe Pauling just had a good maid.

Returning to the stairs, Zane climbed to the third floor, where he found another large room, this one filled with a half dozen rows of shelves and three tables. The shelves were filled with hardcover books of various sizes. It was a private library of immense proportions and would probably be a good place to start their search.

Zane moved to the left and found a hallway leading to the rest of the floor. Since he hadn’t seen any bedrooms yet, he guessed the living quarters were somewhere down the corridor. Interestingly, that was where Carmen had seen the light.

As he continued forward, Zane heard the faint clink of metal from somewhere down the hall. He froze in place, but the noise didn’t repeat. To his trained ears, it sounded like two clothes hangers tapping against one another. And if that was correct, it meant someone was hiding in one of the bedrooms, waiting for him to come down. But who? Was it the people responsible for Pauling’s disappearance?

An idea surfaced. Returning to the stairs, he descended slowly, stepping hard enough to be heard and yet not so hard as to be obvious. When he reached the landing between the floors, he stopped, turned around, and retraced his steps, this time without making a sound. He returned to the library and ducked behind one of the tables in front of the shelves. He removed his Glock and waited.

Despite waiting for several minutes, no sound reached his ears. Zane clenched his jaw in frustration. Maybe he hadn’t stepped hard enough. Or maybe the intruder heard the sound but wasn’t buying the ruse.

Just as he was about to give up, Zane heard the clink of hangers once again, followed by the sound of footfalls coming down the hall. He crouched lower and looked through the table legs. Seconds later, a figure appeared in the doorway.

His heart thumping, Zane lifted his head slightly above the tabletop. It was a risky move, one that would get him caught if the person happened to be looking in that direction. Someone stood at the corner, looking toward the stairs. As the details sharpened, Zane realized it was the silhouette of a woman.

After remaining still for a moment, she moved, forcing Zane to make a decision. Should he stay or follow? Acting on instinct, he stood and fell in behind her. Thankfully, the heat blowing through the vents masked the sound of his steps. As he drew closer, he saw she was younger than he’d thought. She was of medium height with a thin build and dark wavy hair that fell just past her shoulders. She wore stylish jeans and a black sweater — not the attire of a burglar. If she was a thief, she was the hottest one Zane had ever seen.

The girl paused at the head of the stairs. Zane stopped about two feet away. She turned slightly. Had she heard him?

He stepped forward and placed the muzzle of his Glock between her shoulder blades. “Don’t move. Get those hands in the air where I can see them.” He repeated the command in Italian.

The girl stiffened at the sound of his voice. After some hesitation, she slowly lifted her hands. When they reached shoulder level, she pivoted, catching him off guard. Her hands torqued around with surprising speed, knocking his pistol across the room.

Zane had violated one of the major rules of fighting. He’d underestimated his opponent. Perhaps it was how easily he’d been able to draw her out of hiding or perhaps it was the way she was dressed. Whatever the reason, he’d let his guard down and had gotten too close, allowing her to make a simple — but effective — move.

Facing him, the girl threw a right-handed punch at his face. Zane recovered quickly, blocking her fist with his left arm while delivering a crushing blow to her abdomen with his right. She hadn’t been prepared for the counter punch, which sent her reeling. As she fell backward, she let out a cry of pain. Despite her apparent distress, Zane wasn’t going to be lulled into complacency again. He dove on top of her, grabbed her wrists, then pinned both arms to the floor.

She squirmed under him. “Stop. Let me go.”

Zane held her firmly. “So you can try to punch me again? I don’t think so.”

After a few more seconds, she finally stopped moving. The tone of his voice seemed to calm her slightly. Finally, she looked up at him. “Please, you’re hurting me. Let me go.”

“First, you’re going to tell me who you are,” Zane said calmly. “Then you’re going to tell me why you’re here.”

She hesitated then tried to squirm away again. Zane tightened his grip on her wrists, causing her to wince.

“Okay, okay, okay… I’ll tell you who I am.”

Zane smiled. “That’s more like it. And don’t lie. I can tell if you’re lying.”

She studied him closely, as though trying to determine if he were friend or foe. Finally, she said, “My name is Emily.”

Zane’s brow furrowed. He’d heard that name recently. But where? He knew he should recognize it but couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before. He met her gaze. “Emily who?”

“I told you who I was. Now let me go!”

“Emily who?” Zane’s voice was firm.

Her lip quivered. Her eyes darted away for a moment then came back to him. “My name is Emily Pauling, and this is my father’s house.”

Zane frowned, scarcely able to believe what he’d just heard. “You’re Richard Pauling’s daughter?”

“Yes, I’m Emily Pauling. I can show you my driver’s license if you don’t believe me.” She squirmed some more. “Now, can you please let me go?”

Hearing the name a second time triggered Zane’s memory. He now knew where he’d seen it before — Richard Pauling’s dossier. Zane hadn’t anticipated meeting her, so he’d skimmed through her material, choosing instead to focus on the archaeologist and his work. But now that her face was just a few inches away, he saw the resemblance to the photographs in the file. Her hair was longer, but that was the only difference.

Emily moved again. “So now you’re going back on your word? Let me up.”

Her plea pulled Zane out of his thoughts. He looked at her. “No more self-defense moves?”

She laughed. “You’re probably not going to believe this, but that’s one of only two moves I know.”

Zane studied her. She had wilted pretty quickly after the initial pivot, so she was probably telling the truth.

She laughed again, louder this time. “Look, I promise. I took a self-defense class last year and have been practicing those two moves over and over.”