A reckless part of her wanted to go to the house and look in at him. She wanted to startle him, stare at him, frighten him. That reckless side wanted to go inside and touch his things and violate his space.

The other part of her was terrified at the prospect of having him catch her.

She gave the butt of the Walther a reassuring squeeze.

Somewhere nearby a car door slammed, and she jumped half a foot off the ground. The sky was beginning to lighten. The neighborhood was starting to awaken. The odds of being caught here increased with every minute. She needed to go soon.

A small dog barked close by. A man’s not-too-distant voice tried to shush him. The dog barked again. Closer.

A sudden rush of panic left Lauren dry-mouthed and weak-kneed as a short-legged Jack Russell terrier came bounding around the side of the shed, skidding to a stop at her feet. The dog threw its head back and started barking in earnest, its front paws bouncing off the ground with each bark.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

She glanced between the house and the dog. If the barking woke Ballencoa, he would look out and see her. If she ran, the dog would give chase and its owner would see her trying to flee the scene dressed like a burglar—like a burglar with an illegal concealed weapon in her handbag. She would end up incarcerated while Ballencoa walked around free.

“Roscoe! Roscoe!”

The man’s voice came closer. He was trying to whisper and shout at the same time.

“Roscoe! Goddamnit, come here!”

The dog hopped backward a couple of feet. He barked at Lauren again, then turned his head in the direction of his owner, torn.

Lauren looked back up at the house.

A light came on in a window at the back.

“Roscoe!”

Oh please, oh please, oh please . . .

She closed her eyes and held her breath. When she opened her eyes again, the dog had gone.

“You stupid little shit,” the owner grumbled, punctuating his statement with the click of a leash snap. He had to be in the alley. He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away.

Lauren slipped around the end of the building, out of sight of the house. She felt so weak she had to lean against the wall for a moment, her heart thumping crazily in her chest as she waited for the man and dog to be gone down the street. She waited for Ballencoa to come out his back door.

Had he looked out? Had he seen her in that moment she had closed her eyes?

She thought she was going to be sick. Cold sweat filmed her body and ran down between her breasts and between her shoulder blades.