The Arsenal [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEJohn Rourke opened his eyes but remained perfecdy still. The sound he had heard a footfall in the sitting room outside their bedroom? But more than that. As if something had bumped against a wall or piece of furniture. Instantly, but so slowly that if he were being watched it would be virtually imperceptible, his right hand started to drift from over his abdomen where it had lain as he awakened. A smile crossed his lips "things that go bump in the night." Sometimes pleasant, sometimes deadly.His relationship with Sarah had sometimes been very pleasant and was so again. In the days before their marriage had started having the problems that had almost but not quite split them apart forever, Sarah had joked with him often about how waking him up in the morning could be so difficult; yet, if there were the slightest out-of-the-ordinary night sound, he would come instantly awake, instantly alert.John Rourke told his wife that he didn't know why his mind and body worked that way, but was glad that they did; that perhaps it was some primordial response in the human subconscious that was only triggered by potential danger. Predatory animals had it and man was a predator. Like the big cats that had once prowled the earth, man found himself a lair, a secure place to sleep, to nurture his young, to dial down but never turn off those instincts which kept him alive in the world outside.