Page 40 of Not This Night

Ethan glanced at her.

“Er… we gonna try and ask nicely this time?”

"Keep him busy," Rachel muttered, her eyes flicking to the guard who had just denied them entry.

He was visible just past the row of hedges lining the road, concealing much of the gated property from the view of the scant passing traffic.

“Not exactly.”

Ethan sighed. "You're gonna do something, aren't you?"

“We’re always doing something.”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered. “Something I won’t like.”

She shrugged. “Think you can chat up that guard dog?”

“Probably.”

“Sure?”

Ethan nodded, his face already assuming the easygoing smile they both knew could disarm.

"Watch and learn, Rae," he said with a wink before stepping out of the car. He paused only briefly. “And what are you going to be doing?”

“Watch and learn,” she replied, echoing his own theatrical tone.

He rolled his eyes, turned on his heel then sauntered around the side of the hedge, strolling casually towards the guard booth, a hand raised high in cheerful greeting.

"Hey, buddy!" Ethan called out. "Beautiful morning, isn't it? Just had a couple questions about the sheriff—nice guy, from what I hear.”

Rachel didn’t wait to hear the response. She slid out of the vehicle, her movements silent and precise, still obscured by the hedge. The guard, visible through the scattered leaves, was nodding along to whatever story Ethan spun. Perfect.

She rounded the car, staying low, her boots whispering against the gravel. Ahead, an electrical box jutted from the wall—a foothold. She glanced back; Ethan was gesturing expansively, the guard's attention firmly on him.

Rachel hoisted herself onto the box, muscles coiled, then sprang up. Her palms met the top of the gate. Cold iron bit into her skin. She swung a leg over, teetering for a split second before pulling herself fully to the other side.

Landing on the balls of her feet, she crouched in the shadows. Heart pounding, she darted between manicured hedges and ornate statues that adorned the lavish homes of the community.

A dog barked in the distance, a sound muffled by opulent walls, and Rachel paused, breaths shallow, waiting. And when it was clear no guard hounds were barreling down on her, she moved again. She was in.

Now to find Miguel Ortiz and Lucy Thompson

Her phone in hand, she scrolled, zeroing in on the target. The Ortiz-Thompson residence loomed at the map's center, marked and unmistakable.

Ethan's laughter punctured the quiet, a jovial sound that bought her seconds.

She pocketed the phone, eyes fixed on her destination. The largest house on the block beckoned, its silhouette sprawling and dark against the starlit sky.

The house belonging to their suspects—or witnesses, she reminded herself— was imposing. Two stories of sleek lines and expansive windows punctuated by towering columns. Its concrete facade was unadorned, stark against the neatly manicured lawn that surrounded it. Tall trees framed the property, their shadowy limbs dancing ominously with the wind.

Despite its grandeur, there was an air of desertion surrounding the place. Not a single light shone inside; the mansion stood as silent and still as a mausoleum. She approached the front door, heavy oak with intricate carvings. Tried knocking. Felt the echo vibrate against her knuckles. No response.

Rachel stood before the imposing door, her hand raised in a fist, wondering if they could hear her from every room in such a large house. She knocked again, three sharp raps that echoed slightly in the stillness of the morning. Silence greeted her. She waited, counting heartbeats, then knocked again—harder, more urgent.

No answer.

"Come on," she muttered under her breath, her impatience flaring as she jabbed at the doorbell. The chime was distant, almost mocking in its cheerfulness. Again, nothing stirred within.

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