Page 6 of Negotiating Tactics

It didn’t work.

I heard another thump, so distant that I was surprised that I could hear anything over my heart beating like crazy.

The rest of me almost frozen with fear.

I breathed in and then out as quietly as I could, willing my heart to slow and my mind to focus.

But I heard it again.

A bang this time.

I turned my head toward the doorway, peering into the darkness, searching for something to focus on.

Saw nothing but the dark.

I wasn’t sure where exactly the sound was coming from, but it was nowhere near the front door.

Which meant it was coming from inside the house.

Fuck!

I scrambled out of bed, then remembered the need to be quiet.

Even though the room was pitch-dark, I looked around furiously, trying to decide my next step.

My phone!

I started to move toward the nightstand but stopped when I remembered that I had left my phone downstairs.

It was sitting on that stupid piano that I’d had no business messing with in the first place.

Swallowing back my fear—and my disgust with myself—I went over to the window and looked out, then quickly took a step back. Whatever lay at the bottom of the straight four-story drop was scarier than whatever was downstairs.

I hoped.

I sobered, knowing this could go very, very, very badly.

But it wouldn’t go without a fight.

I had left the door open, something I was grateful for because now I wouldn’t have to make noise opening it.

I stood next to the partially open door, the welcoming feel that had been there before completely gone. I forced myself to be still, be quiet, and listen.

Another bang, this one slightly more muted but still in the same general location as the previous one.

A weapon.

That was what I needed.

I felt a stab of disappointment when I realized the dry-cleaner bags and cheap hangers were my best options.

I looked around wildly, my gaze landing on a long, tall cylinder in one corner of the hallway.

Taking a deep breath, I crept out of the bedroom and to the cylinder to grab the curved handle of an umbrella.

Who leaves an umbrella upstairs?

I’d have to thank whoever had because this umbrella was all I had.