Not the soft hum of the pool equipment behind the landscaping wall.
It was the sharp metallic click of something breaking where nothing should have been breaking.
Marcus opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom for a moment, still caught between sleep and waking. Morning sunlight had already slipped through the curtains, laying pale rectangles across the hardwood floor. For several seconds, he listened.
Then came another sound.
A woman laughing.
Marcus frowned.
His house was quiet. His wife was out of town visiting her sister, and his teenage daughter had spent the night at a friend's house. There should have been nobody in the backyard.
He sat up, reached for the white bathrobe hanging over the chair, and slipped it on.
The laughter came again.
This time, he recognized the voice.
Patricia Whitmore.
Marcus closed his eyes for half a second.
"You're kidding me."
He pushed his feet into a pair of house slippers and walked toward the sliding glass door.