Airframe by Michael Crichton Page B

the burglar alarm, her fingers trembling and clumsy as she punched in the code. Then she flicked off the living room lights, pressed her body to the wall, and peered out the window.
    The men were still in the car. They were talking now. As she watched, one of them pointed toward her house.
    She went back to the kitchen, fumbled in her purse, found her pepper spray. She clicked off the safety. With her other hand she grabbed the phone, and pulled it on the long cord back to the dining room. Still watching the men, she called the police.
    “Glendale police.”
    She gave her name and address. “There are men parked outside my house. They’ve been here since this morning. I’ve just gotten a threatening call.”
    “Okay, ma’am. Is anybody in the house with you now?”
    “No. I’m alone.”
    “Okay, ma’am. Lock your door and set the alarm if you have one. A car is on the way.”
    “Hurry,” she said.
    On the street, the men were getting out of the car.
    And walking toward her house.
    They were dressed casually, in polo shirts and slacks, but they looked grim and tough. As they came forward they split up,one walking onto the lawn, the other heading toward the back of the house. Casey felt her heart thump in her chest. Had she locked the back door? Gripping the pepper spray, she moved back to the kitchen, turning off the light there, then past the bedroom to the back door. Looking through the window in the door, she saw one of the men standing in the back alley. He was looking around cautiously. Then his gaze turned toward the back door. She crouched down, slipped the chain across the door.
    She heard the sound of soft footsteps, coming closer to the house. She looked up at the wall, just above her head. There was a keypad for the alarm, and a big red button marked EMERGENCY. If she hit that button, a screeching alarm would sound. Would that scare him away? She wasn’t sure. Where were the damned police, anyway? How long had it been?
    She realized she could not hear the footsteps any more. Cautiously, she raised her head until she could peer out the bottom corner of the window.
    The man was walking down the alley away from her now. Then he turned, circling the house. Heading back to the street.
    Staying low, Casey ran back to the front of the bungalow, to the dining room. The first man was no longer on her lawn. She felt panic: Where was he? The second man appeared on the lawn, squinted at the front of her house, then headed back toward the car. She saw the first man was already in the car, sitting in the passenger seat. The second man opened the door and got in behind the wheel. Moments later, a black-and-white squad car pulled up behind the blue sedan. The men in the car seemed surprised, but they didn’t do anything. The squad car turned on its spotlight, and one officer got out, moving cautiously forward. He talked to the men in the sedan for a moment. Then the two men got out. They all walked up the steps to her front door—the policeman and the two men from the car.
    She heard the doorbell ring, and answered it.
    A young police officer said, “Ma’am, is your name Singleton?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “You work for Norton Aircraft?”
    “Yes, I do …”
    “These gentlemen are Norton Security. They say they’re guarding you.”
    Casey said, “What?”
    “Would you like to see their credentials?”
    “Yes,” she said. “I would.”
    The policeman shone a flashlight while the two men each held out their wallets for her. She recognized credentials for Norton Security Services.
    “We’re sorry, ma’am,” one of the guards said. “We thought you knew. We’ve been told to check the house every hour. Is that all right with you?”
    “Yes,” she said. “It’s fine.”
    The policeman said to her, “Is there anything else?”
    She felt embarrassed; she mumbled thanks, and went back inside.
    “Make sure you lock that door, ma’am,” the guards said politely.
    “Yeah, I got ’em parked in front