Chapter 4 #2
Nash flew down the steps, darted across the manicured lawn, skirted the garden, and followed the sound of Manny and Frank's jabbering to the sprawling back porch.
They stood near an open window, exponentially more agitated than earlier, their flashlights waving, once again, in erratic lightsaber-battle-like motions while they argued about who should enter the house first.
He would much rather ignore them and slip in the back door without notice, but he decided to make himself known in case one of them actually mustered the courage to enter the house. And tried to shoot him.
Not that he believed either of them could handle a gun efficiently. But still.
"Hey, guys. More trouble tonight?"
Both flashlights targeted his face.
"You again," Frank said. "Did you open this window?"
It took all Nash's self-control to not point out how stupid that question was. "Nope. Didn't open any windows. I'm assuming the alarm went off? I'll go check inside."
He didn't wait for a response.
He didn't know what they thought of Nash's initiative to clear the house, but he really didn't care. He just didn't want them accidentally shooting him.
Slipping inside the house through the kitchen door, he withdrew his Glock and crept down the hallway to the foot of the staircase. He paused, listening. A soft clank and shuffling noises announced someone's presence in the study. Nash eyed the closed door, ten feet from his position.
Not knowing whether the intruder was armed or how many intruders he might be dealing with, he decided to wait in the shadows of an alcove under the stairs and see who emerged from the study. Likely, they'd leave the way they came in, requiring them to pass right by him to return to the open window.
He didn't have to wait long.
After a few seconds, a figure exited the study, silhouetted by the floodlights streaming through the foyer windows.
One male. Thin. A few inches shorter than his six feet two inches.
The man turned to shut the study door and walked toward Nash's position.
He wasn't carrying a weapon, so Nash holstered his gun.
When the intruder unknowingly passed his position, Nash tackled him and pinned him to the ground with little resistance.
His captive's unmanly shriek of surprise was cut short when the hallway lights turned on—courtesy of Frank and Manny—illuminating the terror-stricken face of Mr. Ed Chester, one of Emil Van Horn's employees.
Two days earlier, Emil had introduced Mr. Chester as his "business manager." Nash wanted to inquire about the nature of his business and what exactly Ed Chester managed, but posing as Emil's driver, he hadn't had the opportunity to ask any helpful questions. Until now.
"Oh, Mr. Chester," Frank said. "We thought you were a burglar."
Manny sounded nervous. "Yes, yes, we're sorry. We thought someone broke in. The alarm went off. I guess you forgot to . . . to deactivate the alarm."
These buffoons are incredible.
Nash didn't release his grip on Mr. Chester.
"Gentlemen," Nash said, trying very hard not to call the guards buffoons out loud. His sister would be proud. "He climbed through a window. He didn't forget to turn off the alarm. He was trying to bypass it."
He looked at Chester. "What are you doing here? Why sneak in at night?"
"Get off me, you idiot! Let me go!"
Chester squirmed like an insect in Nash's firm grip. He had no intention of allowing Chester to leave without answering some questions, but he pulled him to his feet.
"Answer my question. What are you doing here?"
Something nervous flashed across Chester's face for a microsecond. Then it was gone, replaced by contempt.
"You're the new driver, aren't you?" Chester asked. "This is none of your business."
Emil's business manager smoothed his linen blazer and turned to the guards.
"I apologize for disturbing you. As it happens .
. ." He glared at Nash. "I wasn't trying to bypass the security alarm.
I forgot the code for the door, so I climbed in a window.
I didn't realize the window would trigger the alarm.
I just came by for some files I needed." He held up a flash drive.
"I needed this to get some work done tonight for Mr. Van Horn. "
Again, he turned to Frank and Manny. "I apologize for the inconvenience. If I'd realized the window would trigger the alarm, I would have simply come and asked you to let me in the house. But I didn't want to go to the trouble. I thought I'd only be here a minute."
Nash didn't believe a word of his story. But Frank and Manny did—or pretended to.
Chester, like Victoria Van Horn, held a lot of weight. Frank and Manny liked their jobs— and looked scared to death that this incident could get them fired.
Nash didn't share their fear.
He allowed accusation to flood his tone. "You thought crawling through a window would be easier than asking Frank and Manny to let you in the house?"
Chester stared daggers at him, but his shaking hands betrayed his bravado—until he crossed his arms over his chest. Boiling mad didn't even begin to describe his temper when he glared at Nash—whom he obviously viewed as far beneath him on the food chain.
"I don't have to explain anything to the chauffeur. "
He uncrossed his arms and pointed at Frank and Manny. "You two, reset the alarm. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I'll let myself out."
Without another word, he walked straight out the front door and slammed it shut.
Nash didn't feel like discussing anything with Frank and Manny. It wouldn't do any good anyway. He just shook his head and headed for the back door.
Frank grabbed his arm. "Hang on a second."
Nash gave him a look that made him regret his action. "What?"
Frank recoiled. Then narrowed his eyes. "When you walked in earlier, we saw your gun."
"Yes," said Nash. "I have a gun."
He offered no more explanation, made an about-face, and left.