Lila’s favorite stuffed bear lay on the floor near the rocking chair.

The window was cracked open, letting in the sound of the rain.

I stepped out of the closet.

I picked up the bear and placed it on the chair.

“Lila,” I whispered.

There was no answer.

I moved to the nursery door.

I turned the brass knob slowly.

The door opened into the long carpeted hallway of the west wing.

The air was cold here.

A draft was coming from the broken window at the end of the hall.

I saw a shadow move near the stairs.

I ducked back into the nursery.

A man walked past the door, his boots squeaking on the hardwood border.

He was carrying a short-barreled shotgun.

I waited until he passed.

I stepped out behind him.

I raised the butt of my rifle.

I struck him hard at the base of his skull.

He grunted and fell forward, his shotgun clattering on the rug.

I dragged him into the nursery by his tactical vest.

I closed the door.

He was unconscious, his breathing shallow.