Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection Read Online Free PDF Page B

leafing through the twenty-some pages.

 
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    I opened the shower door and poked my head through to look about the bathroom. An intruder couldn’t have slipped past Michelle through the bedroom without being seen. The crank-out casement window above our Jacuzzi tub was the only other access into the master bath. Even without my glasses, the window was close enough for me to see that its locks and inside screen were in place. No possible hiding places existed, except . . . the small towel closet across from the shower. There would be just enough room inside for someone to stand between the shelves and the door.
    As my pulse accelerated, I snatched the back brush hanging from another suctioned hook on the tile wall of the shower and cautiously stepped out.
    Harvey came back. Nice, Superman. Whata weapon. No gunman or knife-brandishing maniac’ll mess with you. Not and risk getting whacked with that mean back brush you’re wielding. Uh-huh, boy. They’ll be shakin’ in their boots for sure —
    “Shut up,” I whispered. I was a little surprised when Harvey did as told.
    I quickly seized my glasses from the vanity countertop and put them in place. Feeling vulnerable in my nakedness, I covered my manhood and tiptoed to the closet with water running down my back and legs and dripping onto the floor. Then, holding my breath, I placed my ear against the closet door. No suspicious noises. No breathing. No sound. After not hearing a thing for several seconds, I began to feel totally stupid. What if Michelle came in and saw me standing there, naked, back brush raised offensively, dripping water, with my head against the towel-closet door?
    Still, I should check the closet quickly to satisfy my own curiosity and then get back into the shower where I was supposed to be. But as I grasped the doorknob, I did hear a noise, although faint. Could it have been a raspy gasp, the intruder on the other side taking a chance breath — or my own imagination, perhaps Harvey shifting around in his rabbit costume while nibbling on a carrot somewhere in the recesses of my mind? I couldn’t tell for sure.
    Now my heart hammered inside my chest, sending adrenaline-laced blood throughout my body, pumping it past my eardrums, its visceral pounding drowning out any sound from inside the closet.
    Ready to quickly shoulder-slam the door back into place if the need arose, I yanked it open.
    Inside were towels, washcloths, extra soap and shampoo — and a small, odd-looking rodent.
    Mickey Mouse, Harvey said.
    From atop a stack of folded bath towels, it gazed at me with large, black eyes while sitting back on its haunches. Its hind feet were large in comparison to the rest of the thing and its tail disproportionately long. It watched me without alarm, as if we were old roommates. The more I gazed at it the better I recognized what this small beast was — some sort of gerbil, much like the ones I’d seen in pet stores. I couldn’t remember that our son Will had ever owned a gerbil, and Colorado certainly wasn’t their natural habitat. Someone’s escaped pet, perhaps — on the lam, scavenging for handouts.
    My glasses had steamed over. I swiped my finger across the lenses. “Where’d you come from?” I asked the rodent as if expecting it to strike up a conversation with me — maybe answer, Well, my ancestral heritage is Africa and the Far East; however, presently, I’ve taken up residence in this small homestead you call your towel closet .
    The little creature watched me curiously, sniffing the air, and then glanced up at my raised back brush. I wasn’t about to use the thing on the innocent-looking rat. I could try throwing a towel on it and, if successful, contain it in a trashcan until I got dressed. But the little fellow would probably get away and terrorize Michelle. I should leave this job to professionals.
    “You won’t poop on the towels, will you, Mickey?” I asked as I hid the brush behind me.
    It gazed back,