They both crouched low and waited. A single shriek pierced the night, followed by a quick verbal challenge that ended in a muffled voice. It was hard to tell, but she thought she heard a Taser discharge and telltale crackle of electricity. Marnie peered into the neighbor’s yard, searching for any sign that the brief scuffle had drawn any attention. Nothing moved on the patio or inside the house. So far. So good. She couldn’t say the same about the neighbor on the other side but had to assume someone was keeping an eye on the situation.

A few minutes later, Berg was told the situation was under control and that they could approach. Marnie led them through the trees and bushes to the edge of the grass, then straight across the yard and around the pool. Emily stood at the open patio slider, motioning them inside, where most of the lights had been turned off or dimmed. She shut the slider behind them and pointed toward an open staircase off the kitchen, leading downward.

“Don’t forget your masks and gloves,” she said.

Marnie took a few steps before turning around. “Do you want me to keep an eye on things up here?”

She felt as though maybe she was responsible for Emily being assigned what amounted to glorified sentry duty.

Emily shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but our jobs have been assigned for this one. Maybe next time.”

“Sorry for throwing a wrench into the works back at the motel,” said Marnie.

“No wrench at all,” she said.

Marnie nodded and followed Berg toward the staircase, donning her balaclava ski mask and black leather gloves before descending into the basement. The first thing she noticed when she reached the bottom of the stairs was that the Indianapolis sports team–themed finished basement might cover more square footage than her parents’ house. She’d never seen a basement like this before in her life. Full granite-topped kitchen and island with several high-backed stools. Expansive mahogany bar with seating for nearly a dozen, plus two separate pub-style booths. Massive movie screening area with three rows of theater seating. Pool table. A half dozen other doors, probably leading to a few spare bedrooms and bathrooms.

She had no idea what a supervising attorney for a state attorney general’s office earned, but she suspected Stacy Barber’s job at ADT paid for most of this. The second thing she noticed was that the woman duct-taped to the wooden chair next to William Barber was not in fact Mrs. Barber. She looked roughly the same age but was definitely not Stacy. The two had been arranged side by side along the end of the pool table that faced the kitchen.