She lay back on the pillows listening for the sound that had woken her, unsure whether the noise had been real or part of a dream. She hated waking in the early hours of the morning when her mind was free of distractions and her tendency to ruminate strong.

The unmistakable sound of shattering glass had her sitting bolt upright and groping for her phone. Was someone breaking into her car? She threw off the covers and went to stand at the window, shifting aside the curtain so she could peer through the narrow slit. The night was clear, and she could see the outline of the carport with the Forrester parked underneath. She could even make out the wooden stairs leading to the porch above. She scanned the street but there were no cars outside or moving shapes in the front yard.

A creak from the floor above.

Sterling stepped away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place, and waited.

Another creak.

Sterling crept through the darkened room, careful not to trip over anything or make a noise. Crouching in front of the oil heater, she listened to the floorboards creak and groan as someone moved throughout the house. Careful not to make a sound, she removed the fascia and laid it on the carpet. Ever since the phone mix up, she’d taken to putting her personal phone away as soon as she’d finished talking to Mitch.

With the Glock in her hand, and both phones within reach, she went back and sat on the bed, straining to hear more from upstairs. Did they think the house was empty? Were they even aware there was someone in the rumpus room below? Her car was out the front, but if they were used to seeing the owner’s caravan and four-wheel drive parked there, and noticed it had been gone for some time, had they decided to take advantage of that now?

She cradled the gun, running through her options. She could sit tight and hope they would assume downstairs was under-house storage and leave without coming down. That would be the best outcome. Her cover wouldn’t be blown, and she could pretend to Sergeant Collins that she’d slept through the whole thing.

If they broke in down here, and she needed the gun, that would be the end of her assignment.

She started at a sudden thump. The burglar had knocked into something. She felt guilty that she was sitting tight while an intruder was ransacking the owners’ home, and then wondered if it really was a thief or . . . Rodney Garrett?

Sterling’s scalp crawled. Garrett knew she lived here. It would be reasonable for him to assume she lived upstairs. Had he become suspicious of her after she’d asked Heidi for the drugs?