Page 46 of Protected from Reprisal
Now I’m not just worried. I’m scared.
And my gut isn’t just insisting something’s wrong. It’s shouting it.
Fighting back the panic clawing at my insides, I move back towards the house, but this time, avoiding the light illuminating the porch. Keeping in the shadows, I press myself against the exterior wall and start making my way around the perimeter.
At each window, I hold my breath, listening.
But there’s nothing. No TV playing inside. No music. Nothing.
I’m met with silence at the next five windows; the three in the front, and two to the side. Then I creep around the back ofthe house, starting at the window that leads to the kitchen and working my way to the left.
The next two windows are more of the same—dark and silent.
Then I look down at the narrow window for the basement, and that’s where I see it.
Light glowing softly through it, casting a semi-circle of white-yellow on the grass outside.
There’s no way Yara would be hanging out in her basement with the rest of the lights in her house off. I’m sure of it.
Just like I’m sure she’s in trouble. I’m not sure how or why, but I’m certain.
Dropping to the ground beside the basement window, I get as close to it as possible without being seen.
At first, there’s nothing, just like before.
Fear blossoms into something bigger. More intense. My gut is screaming.
Then.
I hear it.
A man’s voice.
It’s quiet, muffled by panes of glass.
“Fucking bitch.”
My heart stalls.
Oh, fuck.
I dare a quick look through the window, but all I can see is Yara’s laundry room.
“Traitorous bitch.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Someone’s in there. With Yara. Possibly hurting her. Or worse?—
Stop speculating. Do something. Now.
So I do. I leap up and sprint back to my car, typing out a frenzied text to Rafe as I go.
At Yara’s house. She’s in trouble. Unidentified tango. Going in. Need backup.
Message sent, I silence my phone and shove it in my pocket. Then I grab my Sig from the lockbox in the console and race back to the house. As I run, I sort through possible points of entry—the front door, the back, the windows—cursing myself for not being inside the house already.
Once I’m around the back of the house again, I jog to the back door while pulling my lockpicks from my wallet. I’m not sure they’ll work, given that Yara has high-quality locks installed, but shit, it’s that or breaking a window?—
