There was a shed out back, for tools and whatnot. It was likely they had gone outside for something, and had hidden as a joke when he drove up. It might be possible to turn the joke around and take them by surprise if he was quick enough in doubling back. But they were not outside.

With the lighted cabin at his back, he stood in darkness and called their names. The night was cool, but the external temperature had little impact on Brognola. A deeper chill had crept into his bones, his vitals.

He took a breath and held it, swallowing the surge of panic, willing rationality to take control and suppress the primal terror he felt inside. There were alternatives, distinct and separate from any danger situation. All he had to do was keep his wits about him, think it through, until he solved the mystery. No. There wasno mystery.

His family was out, but he could not infer from that alone that they were missing. Worlds of difference separated one fact from the other, worlds of hurt that made the difference between a pleasant evening and an endless night of madness.

Neighbors. That had to be it.

He had seen no lights in either of the cabins that he passed, but that left two more at the far side of the cul-de-sac, invisible from where he stood. It was entirely possible that Helen and the kids had tired of waiting for him, or had simply sought to stretch their legs by visiting their neighbors down the road. Maybe they had simply gone out walking, but the darkness and the chill reminded him that they would certainly have turned toward home by now.

It would be neighbors, or it would be nothing, and he doubled back to close the cabin door before he set off down the unpaved drive on foot. He might have driven, covering the distance in a shorter time, but he was anxious for the Buick to be waiting when his family returned. It would alert them to his presence, let them know that he was waiting, looking for them.