The Switch by Sandra Brown Page A

her address because he had committed it to memory. His eyes remained fixed directly ahead of him until he came even with the front of her house, where he slowly executed a military turn to face it.
    It was a single-story house. The style was traditional. It had a brick exterior. The wood trim was white, the front door dark. Blue, possibly green, maybe even black. It was hard to tell in the darkness. The yard was well tended.
    She really should leave on a porch light as a safety precaution, Dale Gordon thought as he made his way up the front walkway. He didn't fear detection from her or her neighbors. He had been assured invincibility, and he had faith.
    Three wide, shallow steps led up to the front door. Pots of flourishing chrysanthemums flanked it. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peered through the fan-shaped window that formed the top third of the door.
    He could see only one bluish white glow coming from the back of the house. The rest was dark. He tested the latch on the front door. It was locked. Stepping off the porch, he methodically checked the windows on the front of the house, trying three before he found one unlocked.
    "If there's a home security system and an alarm goes off, you must be prepared to act quickly. Before neighbors or police arrive."
    Brother Gabriel thought of everything.
    Dale Gordon wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis and took several quick breaths, puffing them in and out of his inflated cheeks like an Olympic weight lifter about to heft the barbell.
    But the precaution was unnecessary, because when he hastily raised the window, no alarm was activated. Then for half a minute, he stood very still and listened for movement inside the house. Hearing nothing, he levered himself up and climbed through the window.
    His eyes were already accustomed to darkness, so he could see his surroundings fairly well. He was in her living room. It smelled good. Like flowers and spice. He sniffed his way to an end table, where he found a pretty crystal bowl filled with dried flower petals and cinnamon sticks. He bent down and inhaled deeply of the pleasing fragrance. He'd never lived in a place that had such frills as this. He would have liked to tarry, but he'd been instructed to complete his mission before daylight, so he straightened up and glanced around.
    He wished he could turn on a light in order to see the other items in the room. He longed to linger among the personal possessions that she touched on a routine basis. Scattered about on the various tables were books and magazines and picture frames, but it was too dark to see who was in the photographs. He was tempted to take one as a keepsake, so he would have something that had belonged to her. But he resisted the temptation. That would be stealing, and he wasn't a thief.
    He moved carefully to avoid bumping into furniture. The floor was hardwood, but he trod lightly so none of the boards creaked. He traced the single light he'd seen through the front door to the kitchen. It was the light in the vent above the range. He thought of turning it off but decided it didn't matter that it was on.
    He was about to leave the kitchen when he spotted a drinking glass on the counter. It had about two tablespoons of liquid in it. He reached for it, then hesitated. Brother Gabriel had told him not to touch anything that wasn't necessary.
    But Brother Gabriel would never know, would he?
    Dale Gordon picked up the glass and drank the liquid, which turned out to be plain water. Nevertheless, it made him slightly dizzy. It was intoxicating to know that he was drinking after her, that his lips and tongue were touching a surface that hers had recently touched. The experience was almost religious in its significance. His heart raced as it did when he listened to tapes of Brother Gabriel's sermons.
    But it was also a carnal experience for him. He ran his tongue around the rim of the glass, inside and out. The rate of his breathing escalated until he was practically