Page 113 of Lights Out

We managed to make it into the house without more difficulty, but as soon as we closed the door behind us and stepped further inside, the third problem slapped us in the face. The men ahead of me pulled up short and exchanged looks, and it made me feel marginally better that I wasn’t the only one who recognized the gag-inducing scent of a decomposing body.

The leader pointed at the two guys behind him. “Find out what that smell is.” He turned to the next two in line. “You go find the cell phone.”

That left just him and me behind. Goody. I got the grumpiest one for a babysitter.

“Let’s get to that computer and find out if you’re all talk,” he said, turning toward the grand staircase to our right.

I followed him up it, trying not to gawk at the displayed wealth. My salary wasn’t anything to scoff at, but I’d never make the kind of money Brad came from. The staircase was lined with dark paneling, above which hung gold-framed paintings that probably cost more than my car. Overhead, a chandelier dripped with crystals that caught the moonlight shining through the high windows, sparkling silver in the darkness.

The plan was to traverse as much of the house as possible in the dark. Traditional flashlights could be seen through windows by neighbors, but we had fancy low-light red UV ones on us if absolutely necessary. Mine was strapped to my toolbelt, and I was itching to test it. And yes, it was another piece of spy gear that would probably go “missing” by the night's end. Aly had been so turned on by our talk of future mask play that I had a feeling I could put all these tools to good use with her.

“Everyone’s in, right?” the man left behind with Aly and Junior asked.

The guy in front of me responded in the affirmative.

“Then I’m kicking the power back on if everyone is ready,” came the reply.

We reached the top of the stairs and ducked low in case a nearby light sparked to life.

“Ready,” the leader said.

The other two-man teams chorused him, and all the machinery in the house beeped when the power returned. A soft glow illuminated us as a distant light lit up the downstairs, but thankfully, none close to us had been left on.

The leader turned to shoot me a look. He was a white guy of medium stature with hair that had turned mostly gray. Like Brad, he had one of those faces that would be hard to pick out of a crowd, and I bet his ability to blend in had made him an excellent soldier once upon a time. Maybe that was why he had such a chip on his shoulder – his military days were over, and civilian life didn’t suit him.

Our neck mics were powered by little battery packs attached to our toolbelts, and he reached down and killed his transmit switch. “We need to stay low.”

I cut mine off, too, and nodded. “I can do that.”

He eyed the way I was folded up like a pretzel, his gaze wary, obviously distrusting my abilities.

“I work legs twice a week,” I told him. “I’ll be fine.”

He snorted and flicked his mic back on. With a “follow me” gesture, he turned and started down the hall, knees bent, spine bowed so he could slip beneath the window sills.

I sighed, knowing my height was working against me, and followed after him, dropping to all fours whenever I reached a window and scuttle-butting past them like aTeen Wolfwannabe.

We scanned every room we came across, which was a lot. During our briefing earlier, Junior told us this was an eight-bedroom house complete with two home offices, a library, a study, and multiple bathrooms. There was even a wine-tasting room in the cellar, but when Aly asked if we could filch a couple of the good bottles since it wasn’t like Brad would miss them, she got a look of censure from her older cousin and a staunch no.

We found what looked like Brad’s office halfway down the hall. The guy with me closed the blinds and the door while I went to the computer. I was turning it on when the fourth problem struck.

“Uh, we got a situation down here,” someone said, and for the first time, the stone-cold façade they all shared sounded like it was cracking.

“What is it?” their leader asked.

“There are two huge piles of cat litter on the basement floor, and the smell is coming from them.”

“What the fuck?” Junior asked. “Does Brad have a tiger or something?”

“No,” I said. “The litter is meant to cover the smell of rotting bodies and absorb the decomp liquids.”

Only when the words were out did I realize I’d probably revealed too much about myself.

The leader craned his head toward me, frowning.

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I watch a lot of true crime documentaries.”

He eyed me for a long moment before speaking. “Everyone out.”

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