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and slowed his pace, creeping out of sight of the windows until he got to the kitchen door. Carefully he unlocked it and eased it open, gratified when he heard no hinges creak. He kept them well-oiled for a reason.
    He’d slipped from the house more than once to catch a trespasser unawares. The trespassers never knew what had hit them and neither would the meter reader. Palming his pistol, he dropped into a crouch when he reached the back corner, leaning forward far enough to catch sight of the intruder.
    He could see the name ‘Ken Beatty’ written clearly on the man’s ID tag. Ken stood at the meter, studying it with an annoyed frown. Of course he’s noticed. He would have to be blind not to note the discrepancy between the actual meter reading and what the power company had on file.
    He’d been stealing power for quite some time. Ken would report him if he weren’t stopped, so he pointed the pistol at the man’s leg. Abruptly Ken looked up, his eyes growing alarmed.
    Goddammit. Ken took off at a run, but along with a beer gut, he had a serious limp.
    Luckily I have neither. Sprinting, he reached the man as he rounded the east corner. He fired once and Ken went down, clutching his thigh with a shriek of pain.
    ‘Okay, okay,’ the man babbled. ‘So you’re stealing power. No biggie. I won’t tell, I promise. I’ll pretend I was never here.’
    ‘Too late,’ he said. ‘I saw you make a call on your cell when you arrived. I have to assume that was to inform your boss of your whereabouts.’ Ignoring Ken’s pleas for mercy, he rapped the man’s head with the butt of his pistol and then lowered his now limp body to the ground.
    Now for the hard part . He shoved his pistol into his waistband, grabbed handfuls of the man’s jacket and gave a mighty tug. As soon as he’d hidden Ken in the basement, he’d use the guy’s cell to text his boss that he’d finished connecting the power and was headed to his next appointment. Then he’d drive the power company’s truck back into the city and abandon it near a bar. Everyone would believe Mr Beer Gut had stopped for a brewski or two.
    Halfway across the back of the house he took a breather, releasing the man’s jacket, letting the body slump to the ground. He straightened his back, his lungs working overtime.
    Damn, but this guy was heavy. Now I remember why I stick to women. They’re half his weight. And there was the little bonus of the sex, he thought with a smirk. Stretching his arms to the sky, he turned his head until he felt his neck crack, providing a little relief.
    He’d bent down to grab the man’s jacket again when he caught the movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Ken’s hand emerging from his pocket, clutching a black aerosol can.
    Understanding dawned a split second too late. ‘ No! ’ He reached to knock the can out of the man’s hand but spray already filled the air, burning his eyes, mouth and nose. ‘Fucking sonofabitch!’ His voice was a high-pitched screech. He couldn’t help it. The pain was excruciating. Hot pokers in my eyes . ‘You motherfucking sonofabitch!’
    He staggered back, tears streaming down his face. The pain . . .
    The bastard wasn’t unconscious at all. He was playing possum, biding his time until he could hit me with that damn pepper spray . He panted, unable to get enough air. His lungs were swelling up, closing in. He gasped like a landed trout, but couldn’t draw a full breath.
    He needed to kill this meter-reading motherfucker so that he couldn’t get away.
    He could barely make out the man’s form through the rivers flowing out of his eyes. He’s moving. On his knees. The bastard was on his knees, dragging himself . . .  toward me. The idiot doesn’t even have the sense to run away.
    He took a few steps backward, pulling the gun from his waistband and blinking hard to try to clear his eyes. Without warning, Ken launched himself, throwing beefy arms around his legs, taking him