“The police haven’t arrived yet.”

“That’s strange,” Dominic muttered.

“An alarm in this neighborhood should have brought a patrol car within five minutes.”

“Unless someone intercepted the call,” I said.

Dominic looked at me, a dark shadow crossing his features.

“Or Whitmore’s people did.”

Marco parked the SUV half a block away under the shadow of a large maple tree.

The streetlights cast a yellow, watery glow on the pavement.

Down the road, Dr. Hale’s house was dark.

The front door was slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light spilling onto the porch.

“Stay in the car,” Dominic told me, his hand reaching for the door handle.

“No,” I said, opening my own door.

“I am not sitting here like a target.”

He didn’t argue.

We moved quickly along the sidewalk, keeping close to the hedges.

The rain soaked through my collar, cold and sharp against my skin.

We reached the porch steps.

A piece of broken glass from the front door’s windowpane crunched beneath Dominic’s shoe.

He pushed the door open slowly, the hinges giving a soft creak.

Inside, the hallway was in ruins.