suggested. “Jeff and I can run in and make sure everything’s okay.”
She turned her head toward him, wincing as if the movement hurt her neck. “I’ve gotta go in.”
“But he might be inside.”
“All the more reason to stay together.”
“She’s right,” Jeff said. “We can’t just leave her sitting alone out here. Toby might sneak out…”
“We could leave her the gun.”
“She might use it on us.”
“Cut it out,” Sherry said.
“See?”
“I don’t care about your stupid little lie right now, okay? Forget about it. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”
Looking at Sherry, Pete said, “Why don’t you stay here and we’ll leave the gun with you?”
“I’m going in,” Sherry said. She handed the keys to Pete, then opened her door.
Pete pocketed the keys. Bending down, he reached under his seat and pulled his revolver out of a towel. He set it on his lap while he opened his door. Then he reached inside his half-unbuttoned shirt. Holding the weapon out of sight against his ribcage, he climbed from the car.
Jeff shut the door for him.
Pete looked around. He saw nobody nearby.
Sherry waited in front of the car, her loose shirt fluttering and flapping in the wind. It was a Hawaiian shirt that Pete’s parents had brought back to him from Maui last year. He’d hardly ever worn it. Though he liked the slick, lightweight feel of it, it was just too gaudy for him. Bright red. All those flowers.
It sure looked great on Sherry.
You couldn’t tell she was wearing anything under it. Only when the wind picked it up could you glimpse her bikini pants.
“Jeff,” she said, “why don’t you run up and check the front door? Just see if it’s locked. Then come back. Don’t go in.”
“You got it,” he said and hurried off.
“I have a feeling they aren’t home,” she told Pete.
I sure hope they aren’t, he thought. He said, “Me, too.”
“They almost always do go someplace on Saturday afternoons. Mom and Dad have this real thing about sitting around the house.” She grimaced. “Only thing is, Brenda likes to stay home.”
Jeff came hurrying back. “Door’s locked,” he said.
She seemed glad to hear it. Nodding slightly, she said, “Let’s go around back.”
They followed her to the driveway gate. There, she started to reach for the latch. Before her arm was halfway up, she let out a groan of pain.
“I’ll get it,” Pete said.
“I’m fine.” She strained, writhing slightly, and reached the latch.
They followed her through the gate. Jeff eased it shut. Then they walked slowly up the driveway, Sherry in the lead.
To their left was a redwood fence. Music came from the neighbor’s house. It sounded like Enya, but might’ve been the Titanic soundtrack. No sounds came from the house of Sherry’s family.
God, what if they’re all dead inside?
They’re probably not even home, Pete told himself.
Then he imagined finding them dead, Sherry bursting into tears and throwing herself into his arms. He held her gently as she cried. Her face was hot and wet against the side of his neck. Spasms wracked her body, shaking her shoulders and back, making her breasts move against his chest.
Terrific, he thought. Have Toby butcher her family so I can hug her.
He shook his head.
“What?” Jeff whispered.
“Nothing.”
What if wishing makes it happen?
Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. I could wish till hell freezes over and it wouldn’t…
I don’t want it to happen. Do not. That was not a request. If anybody’s listening out there, I’m not wishing them dead. Got it?
What if they don’t let you take it back? he wondered.
Bullshit.
“Uh-oh,” Jeff said.
Pete turned his head, saw the back door of the house and realized that its window was broken. He felt as if a hand had suddenly clutched his heart.
What’s the big shock? We knew he got inside. This is how. Calm down.
Sherry hobbled toward the door.
What if he’s still inside?
“Wait,” Pete said, his whisper loud.
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him.
“I’ll go first.”
She nodded.
“I’ll guard the rear,” Jeff whispered.
Pete pulled the revolver out of his shirt. It was one of his most prized possessions. Though it still legally belonged to his father, it had been presented it to him on his thirteenth birthday. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Dad had told him. This is yours now. Keep it near your bed in case of intruders. Just make sure you don’t shoot the wrong person—like me or Mom.”
The handgun was a Ruger Single-Six, a Western style single-action .22 with six rounds in the cylinder. Not much stopping