The Vance Venture Ch. 06

She heard him quietly type a few commands, and then he stood and removed a plug from one of the computer's rear ports. The plug was attached to a small black device, which he unplugged as well. The short length of cord he coiled and put in a small black pouch at his waist. He then knelt and placed the device somewhere under the desk before shutting down the laptop and dousing the only light she could see him by.

Violet continued to hide in the darkness behind the sofa as the man in black left her father's office and exited the living room. She watched him cross the dining room before she stealthily followed.

She found him again in the security room, a small closet of a space filled with drives, equipment, and the computers controlling the estate security and alarm systems. She watched from across the hall, peering through the doorway at his profile as he sat hunched over the small workstation, his head shifting slightly as he watched the screens flash images and details at him that she couldn't make sense of from her angle. His fingers flew lightly over the keyboard, pressing the keys softly and rhythmically, as quietly as possible.

Who the hell was this guy? How had he just walked into their home through their supposedly high-tech security system? He didn't want them dead, for she now definitely believed he had been in her bedroom as well as her father's, and he had murdered neither one of them. He wasn't stealing anything, and aside from the hip sack he wore, he carried nothing with him. So he's not an assassin, and he's not a thief. So what is he? And what did he want with their security controls? He obviously already knew how to circumvent the system.

The big man stood from the desk and switched off the monitor, bringing Violet out of her brief reverie. She felt suddenly exposed out in the hall, and a momentary panic gripped her. She took a sharp breath—too sharp, she cursed herself as she stole three quick steps up the hall and pressed herself against the wall behind a narrow planter to hide—

Just as the big man stepped from the doorway to the security room. His head turned slowly each way. She knew he had heard her. She held her gasp and remained completely still, praying he intended to go the other way up the hall. Again his head turned, scanning the darkness in each direction. Then he moved.

Toward her.

She could do nothing but stand stock-still, her breath locked in her lungs, her wide eyes helplessly following his dark shape as he silently approached. He made no sound, uncannily quiet as he strode past the planter, past her, and on down the length of the hall to the kitchen.

Violet trembled in terror and when she finally took a shuddering breath, it was a struggle to keep it quiet. He had been so close his arm very nearly brushed against her breasts, traitorously pressing forth under her tank top. Had she worn her thick terrycloth robe, he would have brushed against it, she was sure.

She was crazy to follow him further, but after several silent remonstrations to herself, she did just that, against her better judgment. She had lost some ground however, and when she spied him again, it was through the kitchen window. He was already outside!

"Shit." More a breath than a spoken word.

She moved to the kitchen door and waited, her fingers hovering above the buttons of the alarm panel, all the while watching as the dark man strolled around the side of the mansion. The second he was out of sight she quickly entered the alarm code of the week and eased the door open silently. She snuck out onto the back veranda, the way he must have left not a minute before. She moved as swiftly as she could without making a sound, down the four steps to the paved walk, then along it and around the side of the building.

She made it all the way to the front gate before she saw him again—already, somehow, on the other side, in the roadway, walking toward an old rusted pickup waiting several hundred yards away.

"Shit."

She ran away from the gate, along the fifteen foot brick wall that surrounded the estate, in the same direction her intruder was escaping, until she came to one of the many decorative relief carvings adorning the interior of the perimeter wall. This one was an embossed portrayal of a wolf standing on a plateau, howling at the full moon, rendered beautifully onto the thick wall in chiselled mortar and stonework. Violet hooked the fingertips of her right hand in the groove forming the top of the wolf's snout, the fingers of her left clutching the curve of the moon. Raising her leg high, she put the ball of her foot on the valley floor below the wolf's plateau, and heaved herself up onto the wall. She had never done this barefoot before, and the chiselled ridge of stone dug painfully into her foot. She reached up and grabbed the top of the wall, a bit of a stretch, and then heaved herself up onto it, immediately looking for her intruder.

His back was still to her, but she had only moments before he reached his truck, which was facing her way. Without regard for her personal safety, she dropped off the wall onto the wide manicured lawn of the boulevard separating the estate from the paved road. She landed in a crouch and then lunged into a sprint, her bare feet swift and silent along the grassy boulevard, trying to flank her intruder before he turned around. She didn't quite make it, so as he pulled open the door and climbed in, she laid down to hide next to a decorative bush without disturbing it.

There she froze, breathing silently through her open mouth, her eyes on the front driver's side corner of the truck, perhaps thirty feet away. She couldn't see the big bald man through the tinted black windshield.

She heard the whir of power windows and saw the driver's side window descend, and from the interior of the truck came the sudden thunder of heavy metal, but the raging music was quickly silenced. She heard a metallic switching sound, a lighter being struck, and a moment later a plume of smoke drifted from the open window. She soon recognized the sweet stench of cigar smoke; her father smoked occasionally as well. Then she heard the unmistakable tones of a cell phone being dialled.

There was a long pause after he finished dialling. She guessed his voice would be deep and strong when he spoke. She was correct, and she could hear him clearly.

"Cy checking in. 04:00 hours. The Vance house is set. Security system tapped, all computer networks linked. Both principal and client accounted for. I'm heading home."

Violet heard the tone of the call ending, and then another thick cloud of smoke drifted from the open window. Then he started the truck. It sounded much different than it looked: more NASCAR than Red Green.

It roared away quickly, the tires chirping off the pavement, and hurtled past her where she hid on the boulevard. As the big man drove off she heard the thump and wail of the music kick in, and then it was fading with the engine noise as he sped away. The night turned still.

Violet stood slowly, brushing bits of grass from her shirt.

Client? Principal? Only she and her father lived in that giant mansion, and she was certainly not the client, which made her the principal. But principal what? Target? No, that didn't make sense—he could easily have killed her in her sleep already. So who was he then? No thief, he didn't appear to have stolen anything. And why had he 'tapped' their security and 'linked' their computers? Maybe he was with the mysterious 'security team' that was coming on the weekend? Come to check the place out in advance, perhaps?

The truth was, she couldn't be certain of anything, not of who he was or what he was doing here. She hadn't felt threatened by him, however; of that she was sure. Terrified of discovery, yes, she always was when she hid from people, but she felt certain that he had not come there to harm her.

And she had a sneaking suspicion she would be seeing the big man again.

She smiled as she gazed up the road after his vanished vehicle, straightening her panties and shirt.

"Pleasure to meet you, Cy."

Then she turned to gaze up at the wall of the estate, sheer stone looming fifteen feet high over her five-foot, eight-inch frame. She sighed. Getting out was the easy part; getting back in was a bitch.