“What the hell are you?” Ryan whispered, his face completely pale.

He took a step backward, his heel catching on the top step of the porch.

Charles Whitmore stood frozen near the open front door.

His expensive cigar had fallen from his fingers, smoldering on the wet doormat.

Evelyn clutched her pearl necklace, her eyes wide with sudden, sharp terror.

“Drop the bat, Ryan,” I said.

My voice was quiet, almost lost in the sound of the wind.

He didn’t drop it.

Instead, he raised it and swung wildly at my head.

I stepped inside the arc of the swing, easily avoiding the metal.

My elbow struck his jaw with a solid, heavy crack.

He spun around and hit the wooden deck hard.

His nose was bleeding, staining the painted wood.

I picked up the aluminum bat from the floor.

It felt light and hollow in my hands, a useless toy.

I turned my gaze to Charles.

“Where is the key to the upstairs rooms?” I asked.

He swallowed hard, his wealthy confidence entirely gone.

“You’re dead, Hale,” Charles stammered, trying to back away.