Mahler stood. He walked quickly out of the kitchen, through the dining room, to the entrance to the utility room. He stopped at the doorway’s edge. He scanned the space around him. Then, holding the Sig in both hands, he swung into the utility room. The space was darker than the rest of the house. His eyes adjusted, and he could see the room was empty. Again, nothing seemed to be moved.

In the darkness, he listened. Wind blew against the window.

Stepping carefully across the utility room, he found the bedroom door closed. He turned the knob and stepped away from the doorway. He listened for a sound. Someone standing? Steps toward him? A slide pulled back to chamber a cartridge? It was silent.

Had his instincts been wrong? Had the intruder left? Was the house empty?

Mahler touched the trigger of the Sig. Then he crouched and ducked into the bedroom. The space in front of the bed was empty. He stared across the room, into the black at the far end. The darkness unfolded, revealing shapes and surfaces. He saw something beside the window. A figure bent over? As his eyes adjusted, the thing turned into a chair. Everything appeared unchanged.

He stood still, his gun aimed ahead, listening.

Where is he, Ranger? Wills asked. You can’t see him, but he can see you.

Mahler blinked at migraine hallucinations dancing across his vision. He swung to the left and looked behind him into the farthest corner. Nothing.

With each passing second, his fear grew. Where was this guy?

Suddenly, something caught his attention on the floor, ten feet away. A small, upright object. He didn’t remember anything there when he’d left the house two days before. A step closer, he could see it was a bottle. He stared at it in wonder. Someone had been here.

There’s always a reason, Wills said. Why’d he put it there?

Could it be wired? Rigged with explosives? He felt with his hand for a trip wire. He slowly reached to the bottle. He touched it, tipping it over. The glass clattered to the floor and rolled slowly under the bed.

He realized he was holding his breath. He breathed deeply. In the same instant Mahler heard a sound—a footstep down the hall. He swung his gun to the door. Nothing could be seen in the darkness.

As he jumped out of his crouch, the room swam. He staggered to the doorway and looked down the hall. Empty. His body flat to the wall, he crept to the study. He waited and listened again.

A sound came from the living room. So soft, at first Mahler felt it must be his imagination. Something metallic. No, music. A single piano. Bright, quick, high notes. A familiar melody. What was it? He rushed to the archway entrance to the living room.