Free Fall (Monsters and Bad Men, Book 3) (draft 01)

Chapter 1

Tristan

I ease the car to a silent stop with the lights off, well outside the floodlight's sensors, but still positioned so I can see the house.

It's a modest two-story Mediterranean style, but that has more to do with the gaudy modern mansion that sits on the other side of the property than this house itself. If what I was after was wealth, the mansion would be my target, but this mission is more personal.

The plans for it is the standard design, so kitchen at the back, with a patio and the master bedroom, living room at the front with a library and the stairs going up, where two more bedrooms are, as well as a theater room.

The access code I obtained to let me through the gate didn't come with the plans for the house's security system. I can see three cameras, one looking at the door and porch, one at the driveway leading to the house and one aimed at the garage door. There are probably more I can't see in the dark.

That I couldn't find the plans for the security system means it's a personal design, which means I don't have to worry about a company being alerted, but no way of knowing what will happen if I trip it. I doubt it's as extreme as mine, set to trigger explosives under the house, but I don't like the uncertainty, with having Emil with me.

I see light through the windows, but it's deeper in the house, reflected on walls. Indistinct shadows move in it, maybe the occupants, or just the breeze pushing leaves.

A light comes on in the entryway, a form is visible in the door's window just before it opens. A man is silhouetted as it closes, then he is barely visible as he steps to the side of it. Close to six feet, fit. Not enough to tell who he is.

No floodlight come on, so the sensors don't reach the porch. Good to know. Not that I can do much while he's there.

He leans against a post, looks into the darkness. Searching for the car? He shouldn't know I'm here. The gate isn't on the security circuit; it isn't so much to warn the occupant when someone enters as to ensure no one comes in accidentally.

He takes something out of a pocket and I tense, but the shape is wrong for a gun. He looks at it and a faint light illuminates a face, clean-shaven, strong, determined jaw. It illuminates his profile as he puts it to his ear. Short hair, narrow nose.

My phone rings.

I sigh and flip it open.

"You do know I can make out your car, right?" Bart says. I remain silent. "Come on, you agreed to this. You made it this far, you can drive the rest of the way. They won't hurt you."

"They can't," I answer, not meaning to, but the boxes are unsettled in a way I'm not used to dealing with. Bart's box glows in a calming way, but for some reason the one containing fear is vibrating, and that is spreading to the one containing anger. One tells me to leave, the other to ram my car in the house and destroy those inside.

"I don't know," there's teasing in his voice. "Gram and gramps are both special forces, I don't even know half the things they've done and trust me, I've looked."

"You know it isn't about skill, but will to win."

Bart is silent, but I can feel his gaze on me. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. I know you aren't keen on socializing."

I pay attention to his tone, for any hint of taunting, but he's stating a fact, not trying to manipulate me. Which is more effective. I start the car and drive the remaining two hundred feet.

In the headlight Bart is radiant, dressed in jeans a white shirt and his gray and red jacket he'd taken to wearing recently. He smiles at me, at us, and his box glows brighter, calming the fear and anger. The effect he has on me is puzzling.