“Glock nine in the bedroom closet,” said Hardwick. “SIG .38 in the night table.”

“Kel-Tec .38 in my shoulder bag,” said Esti. “Bag’s behind you, Jack, on the floor. Can you push it over to me?”

Gurney heard Hardwick moving on the other side of the table, then something sliding toward Esti on the floor.

“Got it,” she said.

“Back in a sec,” said Hardwick.

Gurney heard him scuttling out of the room, cursing, then the sound of an interior door squeaking open, then a drawer opening and closing. A flashlight went on, went off. He could also hear Esti’s breathing, very close to him.

“There’s no moon tonight, is there?” She was half whispering.

For an insane moment, in the grip of a primitive fear and the rush of adrenaline, he found her lowered voice and closeness so intensely erotic, he forgot to answer the question.

“Dave?”

“Right. Yes. No moon.”

She leaned closer, her arm touching his. “What do you think is happening?”

“I’m not sure. Nothing good.”

“You think we’re overreacting?”

“I hope so.”

“I can’t see a damn thing. Can you?”

He strained his eyes in the general direction of the window by the table. “No. Nothing.”

“Shit.” The magnetism of her anxious, whispering voice in the darkness was becoming surreal. “You think those sounds were bullets hitting the house?”

“Could be.” In fact, he was sure of it. He’d been under fire more than once in his career.

“I didn’t hear any gunshots.”

“Could be using a suppressor.”

“Oh, shit. You really think it’s sniper-boy out there?”

Gurney was pretty sure that it was, but before he could answer, Hardwick returned.

“Got the Glock and SIG. I like the Glock. How about you, ace? You okay with the SIG?”

“No problem.”

Hardwick touched Gurney’s elbow, found his hand, put the pistol in it. “Full clip, one in the chamber, safety on.”

“Good. Thanks.”

“Maybe it’s time to call in the cavalry,” said Esti.

“Fuck that!” said Hardwick.

“So what do we do? Sit here all night?”

“We figure out how to get the son of a bitch.”

“Get him? That’s what SWAT does. We make the call. They come. They get him.”

“Fuck them. I’ll get him myself. Nobody shoots at my fucking house. Fuck!”

“Jack, for Godsake, the man put a bullet through a power line. In the dark. This is a super marksman. With a night-vision scope. Hiding in the woods. How the hell are you going to get him? For Godsake, Jack, make sense!”

“Fuck him! He’s not that fucking super—took him two shots to hit the line. I’ll put my Glock up his super ass.”

“Maybe it didn’t take him two shots,” said Gurney.

“The hell are you talking about? Lights went out on the second shot, not the first.”

“Check your landline.”

“What?”