An odd noise jerked Desi awake. She lay on the sofa, curled on her side in an awkward ball around her father's pillow. Deep darkness shrouded the room.

Desi took shallow breaths, ears perked to hear a repetition of the thump that had pulled her out of uneasy slumber. From the kitchen area the floor creaked. Once. Again. Like stealthy footfalls.

Someone was in the house! A cold burn prickled across her skin. Why hadn't the alarm gone off? Then she remembered. She hadn't set it like she always did when she went to bed. Terrific! A burglar had picked the one night she slipped up to break in.
Silence. More silence.

Desi relaxed the fingers that had clawed into the pillow. Her keyed up emotions had made her imagine things. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. The small sound had an echo. Not imaginary. Real.
And close.

A beam of light flickered over the room. Whoever held the flashlight stood behind her, near the kitchen doorway. The back of the sofa shielded her from the intruder's view. But for how long?
Dear Jesus, help me!

The beam of light and the sound of agitated breathing moved closer.

Boulders weighted Desi's arms and legs. Blood rushed like the surf in her ears. She couldn't lie here and wait to be discovered. She should do something. But what? Start a pillow fight?

"Where did you put them, Hiram?" The whispered voice was masculine, accented. "I warned you not to hide things from me, but you did not listen."

Desi's scalp tingled. This was no random burglary. What if this was her father's killer?

White-hot lava erupted in her brain. Desi shrieked and sprang from the sofa. She hurled the pillow in the direction of the voice.

A masculine yelp answered her, and the flashlight clattered to the floor and rolled. Crazy patterns of light and shadow spiraled across the walls as a dark hulk lurched toward Desi.

Still screeching, she snatched up the table lamp and swung it like a bat. The blow caught the intruder on the shoulder. Glass tinkled. The man staggered away, sputtering in a foreign language.

Desi dropped the stump of the lamp and raced toward the fireplace. Arms stretched, she groped for the tools. There! The rack tipped. Fireplace tools thumped to the hearth rug, and Desi lunged for the poker.

A heavy body slammed into her from behind, driving her to the floor. She landed on her stomach, the intruder on top of her. The breath wheezed from her lungs, cutting off her cries. Pain stabbed through her chest and legs where she'd fallen on the metal implements.

Hot breath, stinking of wine and garlic, panted in her ear. "The daughter, yes?"

Desi wriggled beneath her captor, then gasped as iron jabbed into her flesh. She'd have a lovely set of bruises in the morning. If morning came for her.

"Be still!" The voice hissed in her ear. "I'd hate to hurt you. You could prove useful."

The weight lifted; then strong hands grasped her arms and hauled her to her feet. The intruder shoved her on the sofa, towering over her. The man leaned forward and traced something cold and metallic against her cheek. Desi smelled gun oil.

"Don't move. Or I will kill you."

Tremors began in her middle and radiated outward. "Wh-what do you want?" She wasn't sure her choked voice would carry to his ears.

His chuckle said he'd heard all right. "I will ask questions. You will answer. We will get along. Perhaps very well, eh?"

The suggestion in his tone turned her stomach. He stepped toward his fallen flashlight, and Desi tensed. Could she make it to the door while he was distracted?

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