An Excerpt From: ON THE PROWL

© Copyright KIMBERLY DEAN, 2005.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.

A thick layer of clouds drifted across the sky, blotting out the cool light of a full moon. Darkness fell onto the land, swallowing shadows as it went. The house that sat in the middle of the clearing was asleep.

It had been that way for over an hour.

A soft breeze trickled through the trees. The sound of rustling leaves was nearly imperceptible to those who wouldn’t notice. To those who did, it was a signal. The lithe figure lurking in the shadows finally moved.

Damp grass muffled the figure’s footsteps, but it traveled quickly. Its motions were agile and confident, yet poised for any change that would signal danger. For countless heartbeats, the dark shape stood frozen in the shadows against the house. When no alarm was sounded, it went to work.

A rope swished upwards through the air until a hook lodged itself around the railing of the second floor balcony. A quick tug ensured the hook was secure, but caution made the figure pause once more. Once the plan was set into action, there would be no turning back.

At last, it was time.

The phantom attached the rope to a harness around its waist and began climbing. Soon, it reached the balcony and dropped into an alert crouch.

The house slept on.

A hand reached into a bag belted around a thigh, and a set of tools emerged. Deft fingers worked magic on the weak lock of the sliding glass door and there was a soft click.

The intruder wasn’t one to take chances. A small can of silicon was pulled from that same bag and sprayed into the door track. When the door was at last rolled open, it was silent as the wind.

The figure moved into the sleeping house and quietly rolled the door shut. The pathway through the rooms and hallways had been mapped out and studied in detail. It took twelve seconds to reach the head of the staircase. Three more allowed the figure to slide down the polished wooden railing and land noiselessly on the rug at the base of the stairs.

The target was ten steps away.

Light feet padded softly across the short distance, and gloved fingers wrapped around the piece that sat so unprotected on the hallway table. The bronzed object quickly went into a pouch.

Coughing from an upstairs bedroom broke through the silence like a jackhammer.

The dark shape spun into the shadows and held itself motionless. One heartbeat turned into two—and then three. The coughing stopped as suddenly as it had begun and the house drifted back into peaceful tranquility.

It was time to go.

Retracing the path into the house was not the plan. Instead, the phantom moved quickly to the back door. The high-end deadbolt lock was effective against anybody trying to get in, but worthless against somebody trying to get out. It took forty seconds to leave the premises and retrieve the rope.

Rustling leaves greeted the figure as it slipped back into the darkness. Safe in the company of the trees, the thief finally opened the pouch.

They’d called it a “trinket”. The fools didn’t know what they’d had sitting right under their noses. The moon peeked through the cloud cover once again, and the bronzed cat with the piercing eyes winked up at its new owner.

She winked back.