Page 45 of Protected from Reprisal
The exit for Rainier Beach comes up on my right, and I signal to turn onto it. I only have to travel a few miles to reach Yara’s neighborhood from here, and with each passing minute, my anticipation grows. While I’m stopped at a light, I send her a quick text to let her know I’m almost there.
The doubting voice remains silent. Thankfully.
By the time I turn into Yara’s driveway, any hesitation about spending the weekend with her is gone. Now, all I can think about is seeing her. Hugging her. Kissing her.
I’m not expecting to spend the night in her bedroom, although I wouldn’t say no if she asked. And yes, I’ve been thinking about it all week. Again, not because I expect it. But shit, I’m a man, and Yara is averyattractive woman.
Once I turn off the car, I grab my duffel and head towards the front porch. The motion-sensor light installed on the porch roof turns on, casting a bright circle of light below it.
Just as I start up the path from the driveway to the porch, I notice something off.
The lights in the living room. They’re not on. Which is weird, because if Yara’s home and expecting me, wouldn’t she have turned them on as soon as it got dark?
But it’s not that odd, I suppose. Maybe she’s in her bedroom. Or her office. Maybe she’s still in the shower, getting ready.
Feeling a little unsettled, but with no real reason to be, I close the distance to the front porch in a few hurried steps. I ring the doorbell, then give the little camera a smile and a wave, just in case Yara is watching.
Shifting the strap of my duffel on my shoulder, I think about the gift for Yara waiting inside. I ordered her an officialBattleBotsT-shirt and matching tote bag, and I’m really hoping she’ll like them. No, they’re not romantic gifts like the fancy chocolates Rafe buys for Eden or the stuffed animals Webb gets for Noelle. But I can picture Yara wearing the T-shirt while she lounges around the house, and maybe she’ll use the bag for work.
When the door doesn’t open after thirty seconds or so, I try again.
That unsettled feeling gets stronger.
Taking out my phone, I send Yara another text.
Hey, I’m here. Did the doorbell break?
There’s no response.
I send another text.
Is everything okay?
Still nothing.
Now I’m not just feeling unsettled. I’m worried.
My gut twists.
Something’s wrong,it insists.I’m not sure what, but something’s wrong.
Rather than texting this time, I try calling. But it just goes to voicemail.
I scan the front of the house again, searching for some sign I initially missed. But it all looks normal. The curtains are closed, as they should be at this time of night. The windows are all intact. Yara’s car is parked in front of the garage, just as clean and undamaged as it was last week.
If everything looks normal, why isn’t she answering the door, then? Why isn’t she answering her phone?
I back down the porch steps to get a wider view of the house, my worry growing greater by the second.
What if she’s in the middle of a panic attack? What if she’s hurt?
Or, shit, what if that fucker Winthrop sent someone?—
My heart leaps to my throat.
What if she opened the door, expecting to see me, but was met with an enemy instead?
Ah, shit.
