His adrenaline surged and his blood pumped at the realization that he might be caught, but that didn’t deter him from his quest. He left the cover of the barn and his boots sunk into the fresh snow—silent—as he approached the house. There would be more snow before morning—at least another foot or more—and even as he had the thought, white flakes drifted lazily from the sky. The ranch style house sprawled about fifty yards in front of him. The windows were dark except for the large picture window that displayed the Christmas tree—the colorful lights and the mishmash of ornaments like a beacon leading him toward his goal. Everyone was fast asleep. At least he hoped they were. Otherwise, he was about to look like the biggest kind of fool, and he’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. He didn’t feel the cold or the occasional flake that slithered down the collar of his jacket. Truth be told, he was so hot he was surprised the snow didn’t melt beneath his feet.
