Page 124 of Too Old for This
Technology does make a few things easier. Years ago, I had to follow Burke’s wife around to figure out where he lived, because his address wasn’t listed. I never did anything to him, but I knew where to find him if I had to.
Today, all I have to do is look him up online. He lives in thesame place. It’s like he never moved on from anything. Not his house and not me.
I arrive a little early and drive through the neighborhood. Burke’s house has that run-down, lived-in look. Not quite shabby but far from updated. An old sedan sits in the driveway. Looks like something a detective would choose to drive—a big and comfortable car, in case he’s needed for a stakeout.
I send a message to Burke.
Junior:Stopped for dinner. Be home in another hour or so.
Burke:Sounds good.
My personal phone is back at home, taped to my kitchen counter, but I call from my prepaid and check the voicemail. Nothing except a message from Delia about showing the house again. Since I have extra time, I listen to Archie’s latest message again.
I do believe he’s sorry. And I believe he wasn’t trying to spy on me. For God’s sake, I’m old. How exciting could my life be? Archie was just trying to be a good son, the same way Junior was to Burke. But they were both so misguided. How strange the one thing Burke and I have in common is our children.
I put my prepaid back in my bag. Time to finish this.
The porch light is on at Burke’s house. I park across the street and down a couple of houses. Close enough to make it look like Junior has come to visit his father, but far enoughaway that Burke won’t hear the car. I don’t want Burke to see me coming. He doesn’t think anyone is showing up for another hour.
That means I have to walk between two houses and around his neighbor’s fence to reach Burke’s backyard. He doesn’t live in an expensive neighborhood, so no one here has motion-sensor lights that click on. It’s dark and quiet, and that’s a good thing for me.
But it also makes me nervous, being alone like this. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. I would be so easy to attack right now. And I wouldn’t stand a chance.
With every step, I look behind me.
I make it to the back of his house. The yard hasn’t been tended to in a while; there are more weeds than grass. A crack runs through the middle of the concrete patio. The sliding glass door has seen better days. It sticks when I pull on it.
But when I yank, the door opens. I step into a dark kitchen. For a moment, I stand still to let my eyes adjust. And I listen.
Nothing. No creaks or pops or even a break in the air.
His house is old. There’s no open floor plan, and every room has its own door. The only light comes from the other end of the hall. I tiptoe toward it, keeping my hand gripped around my new knife. The hammer is back in my waistband, the steel cold against my side. The door at the end is open. I can see the blue glow from a computer screen. Burke’s office.
My heart jumps. I feel a tingle in my spine.
This isn’t right.
Burke is supposed to be waiting for his son to arrive, notsitting in a dark house. And why would an ex-detective leave his back door unlocked?
He wouldn’t. Not unless it was a trap.
I take a step back, placing my foot down slow and silent.
Before I can turn, a gun cocks.
“Drop the knife, Lorena.”
CHAPTER 67
His voice is still raspy but not weak.
I do as Burke says. The knife thumps against the carpet, my hands now empty. He pushes the butt of the gun into my back, forcing me into his office.
I turn around to face him.
He is sitting in a wheelchair. Burke’s face is drawn and gaunt; only a few hairs are left on his liver-spotted head. He doesn’t just look old, he looks frail. But his gaze is sharp and alert. Burke is coherent, and he has a gun pointed at my chest.
Not the way I thought this was going to go.
