“What the hell is it?” a man’s voice demanded.

Garr stepped into the kitchen, the weapon at his side, and found himself staring into somebody else’s Glock. A man in a gray business suit was pointing it at him.

“Drop your weapon,” Garr said. “I’m a uniformed sheriff’s deputy, can’t you see that?”

The man didn’t drop it. “What the hell do you want?” he asked sourly.

“Drop the weapon,” Garr said. “I won’t tell you again.”

The man lowered the pistol. “What’s this about?”

Garr walked over to him, his Glock in plain view but pointed at the floor, and took the pistol from the man’s hand. “This is about you showing me some ID, both of you, and explaining what you’re doing in this house.”

The woman put a hand to her breast. “Oh, you scared me half to death,” she said.

“Both of you, put your ID on the table and step back.”

They both came up with driver’s licenses, set them down, and stepped back.

“Tell me what you’re doing here.”

“Well,” the woman said, “the owners are in the Bahamas for a couple of weeks, and they offered us the house while they were gone.”

“You have anything in writing to confirm that?” Garr asked.

“I’m afraid not,” the man said.

“What’s their cell phone number?” Garr asked.

The man began slapping his pockets. “I’ve got it somewhere,” he said.

“Then let’s have it.” He was going through his pockets now. Garr picked up the two licenses; one was New Jersey, the other, Connecticut. The names were Drake and Solberg. “Are you two married?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man said, “but not to each other.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

“It’s like that.”

“Where’s that number?”

“I appear to have left it in another suit.”

“Why are you dressed in business clothes in the middle of the night?”

“We were watching television and hadn’t got sleepy yet,” the woman said.

“You weren’t watching television,” Garr said, tapping the crossword, “and neither was he.”

“Oh, yes, I was watching the news in the living room,” the man said.

“The Dentons don’t own a TV,” Garr said. “Now, both of you grab the table, and don’t make any sudden moves.” He began patting them down. “And let me see the license for the Glock.”

“I have a Connecticut license,” the man said. “You want to see that?”

“Nope, that doesn’t work in Virginia.” Garr cuffed the man and told the woman to sit down. He pressed the PTT button on his radio. “Suzie,” he said, “I’m going to need another patrol car. I’ve got a couple of B&E’s on my hands.”

—