With the loneliness of the house pressing down on me, I’m unduly glad for his particular brand of humor. “T.J.?”

“Gonna storm, Chief. I’ve got the radio on and they’ve got warnings out.”

“Keep your eyes open. They might try to use the rain as cover.”

“Bring it on,” Skid says.

“I’m going to douse the lights. But I’ll be in the kitchen. Just so you know.”

“Roger that, Chief.”

Picking up the trousers, I leave the bathroom. The thunder is closer now, a low rumble that rattles the glass in the windows. The air is thick with humidity and the wet-earth smell of rain. I walk the house, turning down the wicks in each lantern as I pass. In the upstairs bedroom, I extinguish the last lantern when the first fat drops of rain hit the windows on the west side of the house.

I can feel the energy of the storm now. That sharp zing in the air, the anticipation of violence. I feel a similar anticipation running through my veins. Predator hunting predator. I’m ready for him.

The cloud cover obliterates any moonlight and the house is incredibly dark. I wish for a flashlight as I descend the stairs. But even blind and deaf, I feel as if my other senses are heightened. Even with the thunder and the drone of the rain, I would know if someone were in the house.

I’m reassured by the .38 in my pocket, the backup .22 sheathed at my thigh, the knife in my boot. I’ve branded the location of each weapon into my brain. When the time comes, reaching for the right one will be second nature, pure instinct, no hesitation. Pausing at the front door, I check the knob. Unlocked, the way I want it. I peek out the window. Lightning flickers, illuminating the white rail fence and the cherry tree beyond the porch. The rain is coming down in torrents. The branches of the trees sway in the wind, spindly fingers clawing at the night sky.

The rain will affect visibility. If someone were to approach the house on foot, Skid and T.J. may not see them. They wouldn’t be able to alert me. But I’m not unduly alarmed. The killer is expecting an Amish family, not an armed cop.

Leaving the living room, I head toward the kitchen, keeping an eye on the windows. I’ve already decided that if someone were to enter the house, they’ll probably do it via the kitchen door. It’s the point of entry farthest from the bedrooms. Not visible from the road. And there’s plenty of glass to break if needed. Tonight, that won’t be necessary because I’ve left the door unlocked. . . .