bitch."
She dropped the glasses, drew her weapon, and palmed her phone. The glasses shattered against the hardwood floors. Training backed her against the wall to protect her six. She scanned the hall. Lights were on under the bedroom door and it was closed. A shadow slid past the door. The fucker.
Brock laughed when he answered. "Hey, did you miss––"
She hissed, "Shut up and listen. He's here."
"Who? Rich?"
"Yes!" Her eyes jumped from the hall to the hall closet and further to the small utility room. The motherfucker was In. Her. Home.
"Where are you? Are you safe?"
"Home. In the living room. I saw movement in the bedroom. A shadow against the light. There and then gone."
"Babe, don't be a fucking hero, get out." She could hear him snapping orders at someone.
"Fuck that. Call backup." She wasn't going to allow Rich to take her life away from her again.
"Bettis is doing that now. We're almost there. Wait for me. I'm your fucking backup!" The commanding tone in his voice rang over the connection.
She stood and edged her way to the front door. She cleared the hall to the rear and backed down the hall in the opposite direction. She kept her eyes on the bedroom door, pinned the phone to her ear with her shoulder, and reached back to dislodge the deadbolt.
"Front door is unlocked."
"We're a block away. Get the fuck out. He can't leave without coming through the front door or the fire escape. Bettis and Hansen are taking the rear." She heard him yell at Hansen to pull over and use the next turn to the right to access the rear of the building. "I'm on my way up."
"Standing just inside the door."
Brock’s breath panted as she heard him climb the stairs. "Babe, I'm on the floor below you. I'll be there in thirty seconds."
At the sound of him in the hall, she placed her phone down and stepped forward. The front door swung open slowly, and Brock moved behind her. He pointed to the kitchen and living room. She mouthed, “Clear”.
They advanced, her weapon pointed down, his up. He'd take high and she'd take low on any entry. She moved past the closet with Brock. There wasn't even enough room for sheets and hand towels in the small space; no one could hide in there. Silently, they moved down the hall. The laundry room was next. Positioned outside the door, Brock held up three fingers, and she nodded. He lowered his fingers one at a time and yanked the door open. She lowered to her knees with him standing over her. Rich had strewn the cat litter all over the washer and dryer, and the bag of cat food was shredded, the kibble everywhere.
They recovered and moved to the bedroom. Brock stared at her. She knew what he was asking. She nodded. She was ready. He held up three fingers. They repeated the entry, but this time she moved right, and he moved left. Her clothes, and Brock’s, were shredded and draped from every surface. All the drawers in the dresser had been pulled out and dumped, and the mirror over it read, “Die, bitch!” in her lipstick. He’d taken a sharp blade to her mattress and pillows and their guts littered the floor. The room stank of urine.
She ground her teeth together and did her fucking job.
Clearing the bedroom, Brock leveled his gun on the closet, moved in front of it with her as overwatch. Nothing. The bed was on a solid pedestal; no one was getting under that thing.
She nodded past the bed to the bathroom. As they slowly and silently inched forward, Fester issued a screeching meow and ran toward them.
Fuck! She stepped around the crazy cat and moved to position in front of the bathroom door. Brock opened the door, and they moved as one to clear the small bathroom.
"Clear." Brock turned around at the same time she did. Fuck, what a mess. Fester weaved himself around her legs. She holstered her gun, reached down, and scooped him up. "What the hell?"
"He shredded all of our clothes. The motherfucker is dangerous, Kallie. How did he find you?"
"I don't know. Maybe the news coverage?" She smoothed her fingers through Fester's thick coat, stopping when her fingers hit something. "Oh, the sick bastard." She pointed to the small noose that was fastened around Fester's neck.
"Is he okay?" Brock's hand rifled through the cat's fur.
"I think so. Yeah. Purring like a motorboat."
Brock's gaze snapped to the twine. "Is that