Fury of Desire

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The lair was quiet… for a fucking change.

Combat boots planted shoulder-width apart, loaded down with an armful of architectural plans, Wick paused beneath the timber-beamed archway separating kitchen from dining room. Senses sharp, he listened, hunting for the smallest sound. No laughter. No rumble of male voices or the zing of good-natured insults. He glanced left along the short corridor that skirted the foundation of a stone fireplace and led into the family room beyond. The large plasma screen was dark. No click of billiard balls either. Barely any sound at all, only the soft crackle of flames in the double-faced hearth, along with the smell of wood smoke.

Nothing and nobody.

Excellent. It was official.

Silence had descended, bringing with it the soothing rush of knowing he had nothing but alone time ahead of him. For the next few hours, anyway: that lovely stretch of quiet as late morning lengthened into early afternoon.

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