The first thing Marcus Reed noticed was the sound.
Not the splash.
Not the soft hum of the pool equipment behind the landscaping wall.
It was the sharp metallic click of something breaking where nothing should have been breaking.
Marcus opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom for a moment, still caught between sleep and waking. Morning sunlight had already slipped through the curtains, laying pale rectangles across the hardwood floor. For several seconds, he listened.
Then came another sound.
A woman laughing.
Marcus frowned.
His house was quiet. His wife was out of town visiting her sister, and his teenage daughter had spent the night at a friend's house. There should have been nobody in the backyard.
He sat up, reached for the white bathrobe hanging over the chair, and slipped it on.
The laughter came again.
This time, he recognized the voice.
Patricia Whitmore.
Marcus closed his eyes for half a second.
"You're kidding me."
He pushed his feet into a pair of house slippers and walked toward the sliding glass door.
Their backyard was one of the reasons Marcus had bought the house three years earlier. It wasn't enormous by suburban standards, but the property sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, bordered by mature trees and carefully maintained hedges. A rectangular swimming pool occupied the center of the stone patio, surrounded by lounge chairs, potted palms, and a covered outdoor kitchen.
A black metal safety gate separated the pool area from the rest of the yard.
That gate was supposed to be locked.
Marcus slid the patio door open.
He stopped.
Patricia Whitmore was floating against the edge of his pool.
She was wearing a bright pink one-piece swimsuit, sunglasses, and a triumphant expression that made Marcus's stomach tighten.
Her towel was draped over one of his lounge chairs.
The lock on the pool gate hung crookedly from the latch.
Patricia lifted her sunglasses slightly when she saw him.
Then she smiled.
"Good morning, Marcus."
Marcus stared at the broken lock.
Then at Patricia.
Then at the tool lying on the stone beside the gate.
For several seconds, he didn't say anything.
Patricia seemed to enjoy the silence.
She leaned farther back against the pool wall and spread her arms.
"Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
Marcus walked barefoot across the patio.
He stopped at the edge of the pool.
"What are you doing in my backyard?"
Patricia laughed.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"You broke the lock."
"I opened a gate."
"You broke the lock."
"It was a cheap lock."
Marcus looked at her.
"You entered my property without permission."
Patricia's smile widened.
"Your lock didn't stop me. This neighborhood pool is mine whenever I want it."
Marcus felt the anger rise immediately.
But beneath the anger was something else.
Something colder.
The pool.
He glanced toward the equipment enclosure.
A small laminated warning tag hung from the pump control panel.
It was bright yellow.
Marcus had seen it earlier that morning.
He had deliberately put it there.
His expression changed.
"Patricia."
She raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Get out."
She laughed.
"Excuse me?"
"Get out of the pool. Now."
Patricia slowly removed her sunglasses.
"Don't order me around in my own community."
Marcus pointed toward the equipment enclosure.
"You need to get out."
"Why?"
"Because this pool isn't open."
She stared at him.
Then laughed again.
"That's ridiculous."
Marcus took two steps closer.
"Get out."
Patricia rolled her eyes.
"Marcus, you're being dramatic."
"I said get out."
Her expression finally changed.
Not because she was frightened.
Because she was irritated.
She hooked one arm over the pool ledge.
"You don't own the neighborhood."
"I own this house."
"You agreed to the HOA rules."
"I agreed to the HOA rules. I did not agree to you breaking into my backyard."