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headed that way, keeping his head down and moving as silently as they could. Susie stayed with him. Reaching the door, he slid his key into the lock. It turned with a snick and he slipped inside. Susie pushed in after him, knocking the door wider with her big body. He grabbed her collar to hold her in place.
    He decided against turning on a light as he worked his way down the hall. The dog’s nails clicked against the floor and for a moment he wished he’d left her outside, except he had no weapon other than Susie. In full howl and enraged, she made a formidable sight. He peered into the darkened living area. A far bank of windows faced the ocean, taking full advantage of the view. To his left was the front door.
    A glance at it told him everything he needed to know. A tangle of wires ran from what looked like a car battery to the door handle. An LED display glowed red. Sumner couldn’t see what it was and didn’t bother to stay. He spun around, dragging Susie with him, and ran back the way he’d come. His heart beat in a crazy rhythm and his hand on the dog’s leather collar was suddenly slick with sweat. He made it into the laundry room and managed to slam the door closed when the bomb exploded.

Chapter 3
    S umner felt the house shudder with the explosion’s force. Two small pictures fell off the wall next to his head. They hit the tile floor and the glass in the frames shattered. He flung open the laundry room door and released Susie, who shot into the yard. He followed, running fast, keeping behind her and racing up the road to the big house. The Akita soon appeared on the path’s fringe and joined them. When he was far enough away he looked back. Flames leapt out of the front of the beach house and he could hear the piercing sound of a fire alarm.
    At the top of the drive, Sumner saw several people milling around the big house’s massive back deck. He climbed the last of the hill and took the steps two at a time up to the platform, where he saw Ardan Kemmer, who owned the estate.
    A burly man, Kemmer had purchased the house during the era when Dutch citizens could utilize the islands of the Netherlands Antilles to avoid paying the full tax burden of their homeland. In recent years the treaties protecting funds held offshore were constantly being chipped away, and Kemmer faced multiple charges of tax evasion in his home country. Now, he was actively trying to sell the real estate and offload the mortgage. He wore a shiny black shirt open at the throat, gray cotton chino pants, and sandals.
    â€œWhat the hell is going on?” he asked.
    â€œSomeone rigged a bomb to the front door,” Sumner said.
    Four young women surrounded Kemmer. To Sumner, they all looked alike, young, with streaked blonde hair, eyebrows plucked to a skinny line, and huge lips that must have benefited from collagen injections. Kemmer owned a series of bars and brothels in Amsterdam, and Sumner assumed the women were employees. One looked scared at his announcement about the bomb blast, but the others seemed unconcerned. Kemmer’s eyes lit up.
    â€œWas the house totaled?”
    â€œI don’t know. But it’s burning. You’d better call the fire department.” The girls ran to the edge of the deck to stare down at the beach house. Trees blocked the view but a trail of smoke could be seen rising from the general direction of the beach. “Never mind,” Sumner said, hearing sirens in the distance. “The alarm must have signaled them.” He watched as Kemmer seemed disappointed rather than relieved at the news that help was on the way. “I take it the house is insured?”
    Kemmer nodded. “To the max. There’s nothing of great value there.” As an afterthought he added, “Glad you didn’t get hurt.”
    Sumner wondered if that was indeed true. It was no secret that Kemmer was liquidating assets as fast as he could and moving the money into protected