All Night Long

fight the inevitable tide of fear that closed in around her together with the darkness.
    She went down on her knees and groped for the fallen screwdriver. When her shaking fingers closed around the hard plastic handle she felt an inexplicable rush of adrenaline. The screwdriver wasn’t much, but it was all she had in the way of a weapon.
    Don’t think like that. You’re not facing hand-to-hand combat here. You’re going to
do the smart thing and hide until whoever is down there finishes whatever it is he
[_came here to do. _]
    She had one big advantage, she thought. She knew the layout of the house. Pamela’s bedroom was rap. There was no place to hide.
    The good news was that the upstairs was fully carpeted, and whoever was down below was making air amount of noise. If she was careful, she could move about up here without alerting him.
    She slipped off her loafers. Holding them in one hand, she tiptoed to the doorway of the bedroom.
    Under cover of another flurry of footsteps downstairs, she made her way past a guest bedroom and bath.
    She paused when she reached the top of the staircase, flattened her back against the wall and risked a peek around the corner.
    The narrow beam of a flashlight arced through the shadows at the foot of the stairs, but she could not

    see the outline of the person wielding it. Talons of fear gripped her insides.
    When she heard the ring of shoes on the tile floor of the kitchen, she moved into the master bedroom.
    The curtains were open in this room. Moonlight slanted onto the pale carpet through the sliding glass doors. She could see the railing of the deck that overlooked the lake.
    The deck was her goal. It formed the roof of the breakfast nook on the first floor.
    There were no stairs leading down to the ground, but if she could get out without alerting the intruder, she could hide in the shadows of the eaves until he left.
    She walked silently across the carpet, trying to time each step with the sound of activity down below.
    When she reached the slider, she unlocked it gently and then hesitated.
    Something metallic clanged loudly in the vicinity of the kitchen.
    She would never get a better opportunity, she decided. She eased the door open and stepped outsid nto the deck.
    Shutting the slider very softly, she moved into the shadows of the tall storage locker that the Webb sed to protect the deck furniture during the winter.
    A moment later light flashed inside the master bedroom. The intruder was already upstairs.
    The flashlight beam disappeared almost immediately. The prowler had left the master bedroom and was heading down the hall to Pamela’s old room.
    She never sensed the presence of the other person on the deck until a man’s palm clamped across her mouth. Strong fingers closed around the hand in which she clutched the screwdriver, disarming her wit flick of one powerful wrist.
    “It’s me,” Luke said against her ear. “Don’t freak.”

Fifteen
    It was all she could do not to dissolve into a limp puddle of relief. Too much, she thought. One more shock tonight and she would be a mindless wreck. A body could only take so much adrenaline.
    Luke reached around her. He grasped the handle of the door.
    It dawned on her that he was going to enter the house and confront the intruder.
    Another dose of pani it her overwrought nervous system.
    She grabbed his arm with both hands.
    He paused. In the moonlight she saw him turn his head slightly toward her, curious why she was tryin o restrain him.
    “Are you crazy?” She mouthed the words and yanked harder on his hand.
    He put his mouth very close to her ear again. “Stay here.”
    No. She wanted to scream the word aloud. But men like Luke did not respond to the emotional approach.
    “Gun,” she whispered, instead, going for the logical angle.
Gun, as in, maybe
[_whoever is in there has one, _] she added silently.
    Luke patted her on the shoulder in what was no doubt intended to be a reassuring manner. In her considered opinion, it was nothing short of patronizing.
    When she refused to let go of his arm, he seemed to get a little annoyed. He pried her fingers away and opened the door very quietly.
    The unmistakable odor of kerosene wafted through the opening.
    She thought she heard Luke whisper something that sounded a lot like “shit,” but she couldn’t be sure because he was moving too quickly.
    He closed the door, grabbed Irene’s arm and hauled her toward the deck railing.

    Belatedly she realized what he