He came awake suddenly, not knowing what he'd heard. Where am I? Oh. Gwen's bedroom, right. I wonder if--
They are trying to get in.
He sat up abruptly. The night was overcast, but city lights reflecting from low clouds gave enough light for him to see. Good thing she likes lace instead of heavy curtains. He found his shorts and slid them on, moved quietly to the divan where he'd laid his clothes. From somewhere downstairs there was a metallic snap and a brief whoosh; it took him a moment to place it as the sound of patio glass door sliding open. They must have opened it the first few inches and had it bump against the lock, and that's what woke me. Then they broke the lock and forced it open. I wonder if they think the place is empty, or if they think Gwen's here?
He slid the Glock out of its holster and thought about the layout of the house. He could hide in a closet or the bathroom; but if they did found him, he wouldn't have any room to maneuver. He could wait in the bedroom, but there was nowhere for him to take cover except behind the bed, and that wouldn't stop a bullet. And if there's any shooting, I don't want the blood to be in Gwen's bedroom. The bottom of the stairway was open and would give him no protection as he went down stairs. If he made it, he'd be able to see the whole great room; but anyone in the great room would also be able to see him. And if there was more than one burglar—the Voice said "they"—one of them could go through the kitchen and come at the stairs from his back side. No good. But if they wanted Gwen, they'd have to come upstairs. If he waited at the bedroom door, anyone coming up the stairs would be a sitting duck.He settled the Glock in his hand and crept to the door, keeping close to the door so the floorboards would be less likely to creak.
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