Page 43 of Protected from Torment

It’s not that I can’t run well. I can. Up against the average person, I’d easily pass them. But with my prosthetic, I know I’m not as fast as Indy and Webb. If I mentioned it to them, they’d both say I’m too hard on myself. That I can run perfectly fast. But to me… it’s just another reminder that I’m not the same person I was before losing my leg.

Stop it, my inner voice insists, choosing to be helpful instead of annoying for once. Now’s not the time for insecurity. You should be focused on getting the job done.

The voice is right. So I pull out my thermal imaging camera and check the house again, searching for the heat signature of the man inside. He’s still on the first floor, just like the last time I checked. It looks like he hasn’t moved, which means he’s probably watching TV or sleeping.

“He’s still in the front of the house,” I reply. “No movement since the last time. So I think we’re good to go, if you are.”

Webb nods. “I’m good. Ready to teach this piece of shit a lesson.” His voice dips dangerously. “He thinks it’s okay to beat up a woman? I can’t wait to show him what I think about that.”

“Let’s try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum,” Indy warns. “Remember what we talked about. Keep it as simple as possible. Get the confession on record and find any additional evidence.”

And break some bones, like he did to Mel, I mentally add. Just a few. Nothing life threatening. Just enough for it to hurt.

“He hurt Melissa,” Webb retorts in an angry whisper. “After everything she’s been through… It’s fucking wrong.”

“I know,” Indy agrees quietly. Then he glances at me. Despite the shadows hiding most of his face, I don’t miss the tiny twitch of his lips. “I’m just reminding Tyler not to go too crazy on this asshole. Since he and Melissa⁠—”

I kick Indy’s leg with my prosthetic, a trick I learned from him. He winces, then mutters, “Shit, Ty. That fucking hurt.”

“Did it?” I ask innocently. “I must have tripped.” Shoving the thermal camera back into my vest pocket, I jerk my chin in the direction of the house. “Let’s do this. Since he’s in the front, I think we should head to the back. According to the real estate photos I found online, the best point of entry should be the patio doors in the rear.”

“Tripped, my ass,” Indy mumbles, rubbing his shin. Then he stands straight and lifts his chin at me. “Okay. To the back it is. You taking point, Ty?”

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. Normally, I wouldn’t care about taking point or not. But Melissa’s attacker is inside. And I’m itching to face him. “Once we get to the patio doors, we’ll reassess. Hopefully, they’ll still have the original lock.”

“Patio doors,” Webb says, shaking his head. “You couldn’t pay me enough to have them. Talk about a security risk.”

Lifting my hand in the hold position, I say, “On my signal. Keep to the trees as much as possible.”

Shifting into battle mode, Indy and Webb both reply quietly, “Roger.”

Taking a deep breath to prepare myself, I let it out at the same time as I lower my hand. Then I spring into action, running across the yard in a crouch, keeping to the shadows as much as I can.

Thanks to the upgraded prosthetic Yara made me, my speed is much faster than it used to be. As I run, I’m once again filled with gratitude for the incredible gift she spent nearly a year working on.

In less than twenty seconds, we reach the exterior of the house. Hugging the wall, we slow our pace as we creep around to the back and over to the patio. Once we get close to the sliding glass doors, I hold my hand up again. I don’t see a motion-activated light nearby, but I want to check before we move any further.

But there’s nothing on the siding or soffits, so I lower my hand and move forward again. At the edge of the doors, I carefully peer around the corner into the kitchen beyond. An oven clock glows blue, and a tiny red light shows the coffee maker is plugged in. Aside from that, the room is empty and dark.

Then I take out a tiny Mag-light to inspect the patio doors themselves. I’m hoping to see only the single lock most patio doors have, which we should be able to pick in seconds. And I do, but then I spot a magnetic motion sensor along the bottom of the door that complicates things.

Backing away from the door, I pull out my phone, being careful to shield the light of the screen with my hand. “Motion sensor,” I murmur in explanation. “I’ll have to hack into his security system to deactivate it.”

“A security system out here?” Indy whispers. “The closest neighbor is a quarter-mile away.”

“He doesn’t want anyone stealing his drugs,” Webb mutters back. “Talk about irony.”

Fortunately, accessing the basic security system takes me under a minute. I hack the Wi-Fi password first, then find the program Margolin uses, and finally, turn off the sensor so it won’t make a sound when we open the door. Once I’m done, I put my phone away and say, “All clear. Who wants to pick the lock?”

“I will,” Webb offers. He likes timing himself to see how quickly he can do it. In practically no time, he announces proudly, “Eleven seconds. That might be a new record.”

“It’s a patio door,” Indy whispers. “That hardly counts.”

“It counts,” Webb retorts. Then he pockets his lockpicks and turns to me. “Ready?”

“Ready.” I nod at the door. “Go ahead.”

The door slides open quietly, and we slip into the house, one after another. Webb’s the last to enter, so he closes the door behind us. Then we just stand in the kitchen for a few seconds to get our bearings.