Аннотация
John Sandford
Phantom prey
1
SOMETHING WRONG HERE, a cold whisper of evil. The house was a modernist relic, glass and stone and redwood, sixty years old and gone creaky; not all haunted houses were Victorian. Sometimes at night, when she was alone, she’d feel a sudden coolness, as though somebody, or some thing, had just slipped by. This was different. She couldn’t pin it down, but it was palpable.
She thought about stepping back into the garage. “Who’s there?” she called. She got nothing back but an echo.
THE HOUSE WAS DARK, except for desk lamps in the front room and in the study, which were triggered by photocells at dusk. She could hear the furnace running. Nothing else-but the hair on her forearms and the back of her neck stood upright. Some atavistic sense was picking up a threat.
She looked to her right. The arming light on the security panel was steady, so the security system had been disarmed. That was decisive. The h...
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