my approach the furthest thing from stealthy. Not that rolling in like a motorized
stampede had been any better. Regardless of my rather obvious arrival, I could
still take pains to be careful. A glance to the carport confirmed Kelsey’s car was
empty.
I angled to the side of the door just in case someone was inside watching.
Tucking into the space between the front door and the carport, the rough walls of
the house rasped against my back. Up close, I couldn’t miss the long crack running along the doorframe, or the tread mark from a heavy-soled shoe
decorating the paint above the deadbolt.
Someone kicked in my door.
With the reminder that there were times when outwaiting your enemy could
prove more vital than any other action you could take, I resisted my urge to charge in. It didn’t stop the nightmare images of how much damage a human could inflict on another in a matter of minutes, and when those images wore Kelsey’s face, my restraint frayed.
Sour dread coated my tongue and had my instincts jittering like jumping
beans on crack. The normal chorus of birds and insects was missing, leaving behind an eerie quiet broken by the occasional light, heated breezes whispering
through the trees.
At the window, something, a shadow, or a movement of the curtains, caught
my attention, and worry beat the hell out of caution. Channeling my adrenaline
rush steadied my nerves and snapped my surroundings into painful clarity.
Kelsey wasn’t alone.
One of the many desirable traits for owning property up in the canyon meant
my nearest neighbor sat a half-mile out, which translated into the isolation being a bit of a bitch. Normally that wasn’t a problem, but right now? Not so much. I
reached into my pocket and silently cursed when I found it empty. My phone was sitting in my Jeep. Granted, there wasn’t much of a signal out here, but calling in the authorities as possible backup was worth a shot.
Now what?
Taking a quick inventory, I pulled out my keys, careful to keep them from jingling, and wove them between my clenched fingers, creating a primitive set of
brass knuckles. My voice of reason muttered it wasn’t much, but at five foot five
and just under a hundred thirty pounds, even a little bit of damage could give me
a needed edge.
I strained my ears, hoping to hear something, anything. Nothing.
Using my empty hand, I pushed the door. It swung open on silent hinges, disgorging a draft of cool air. When no one rushed out, my breath escaped in a
little puff of air. Poised at the side of the door, the disquieting sense of foreboding ran under my skin, raising the fine hairs on my arms.
It took a moment for the shadows in the dim interior to resolve into
recognizable objects. An old-fashion coat rack, decorated with a couple of flannel jackets, reached from the glass block corner. The wooden bench with cubbies for shoes squatted against the hall wall where one of Kelsey’s much-loved abstract paintings hung.
Nothing disturbed the murky shadows. No rasping sounds of heavy breathing
broke the humming quiet. No discernible signs of chaos, other than splinters from the door that littered the entryway.
I stepped gingerly over the threshold, every sense on alert. Keeping my
attention on the hallway, I pushed the door partially shut behind me. I didn’t want to leave it wide open but couldn’t risk the noise of closing it completely.
Spotting the oak walking stick tucked in the corner, excitement sparked at a
second weapon. I grabbed the smooth wood, and my nerves steadied as it
warmed against my palm.
An unnerving stillness lay over the house like a lurking predator, stifling my
urge to call out. Facing the hall, I had a choice to make. Go left to the back
