Page 79 of Single Mom's Firemen

We all got comfortable. We can’t blame the two cops that were keeping a close tail on her either. They did their best. The Dallas PD informed us shortly after Halle and the kids disappeared that the officers immediately got back in their SUV and gave chase but were unable to keep up and lost them during the pursuit.

Colby was out of sight and the odds of him going for a third attack were slim to none, especially after the FBI and Texas Rangers became involved. He’s ruthless and relentless. We won’t have any peace until he’s dead and buried. There’s no other way this ends. There’s no other way I want this to end. As long as the bastard draws breath, Halle and the kids will be in danger.

Even if we put them all in prison for life, I won’t be able to sleep soundly at night knowing they’re still alive.

“Chase, we’re ready,” Eric says.

I can feel his eyes drilling into the side of my head so I look at him. He’s visibly concerned about me and I can’t blame him. I’m concerned, too. My trigger finger is itching, and there is so much rage bubbling beneath my surface that I pity the fool who makes a wrong move. That’s all I need. One wrong move, and I will fucking snap. I won’t stop, either. I won’t stop until we find Halle and the kids, until the three of them are safely back under our roof while the Nash family is reduced to dust and silvery ashes. I don’t like this side of myself but they’ve awakened the monster. Harriet and her psycho son. They poked the bear and now they’re gonna have to deal with it.

“I’m ready,” I tell Eric.

We get out of the vehicle as soon as we spot the third fella walking out of the apartment building and making his way down the street. I don’t know who he or his buddies are, but I do know that they’re associates of Colby’s. I presume they have ties to the mob in one form or another. Or maybe they’re independent contractors, so to speak. The kind of people that Harriet calls in when she wants something done without caring much for the consequences. They certainly don’t strike me as high-end hitmen or premium bodyguards.

The street is fairly clear. Only the regular riffraff, the dull working drones, the occasional vagrant. They’re all too busy trying to score or stay out of sight to even care about us as we cross the street and go right into the apartment building.

It all works to our advantage.

There’s no intercom. It’s no man’s land here.

“Oh, shit, it smells,” Wyatt is the first to complain.

It stinks of piss and stale cigarettes, of spilled alcohol and other unsavory things. “This place hasn’t seen a superintendent in years,” I mutter.

“Nobody wants anything to do with the building or the people who live in it,” Eric says.

“Shouldn’t we call Charlie already?” Wyatt asks. “We’re getting closer to Colby, now. He needs to know. We could use some backup.”

“Not yet,” I tell him.

We stop at the bottom of the staircase. It reeks even worse over here. “I’ve got him on speed dial,” he says, turning to look at Wyatt. “We’ll call him when we have a line on Colby. Until then, it’s best if he keeps his resources for the overall investigation. This is personal.”

“It’s also insane.”

“Yet here you are,” I chuckle dryly, trying to hold on to one last smidge of humor before I unleash my demon on those two unsuspecting assholes upstairs.

Wyatt gives me a hard look. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. This is our woman.”

“That she is,” I say.

Halle has become our absolute bliss. I know that I can count on my brothers just as much as I can count on myself to see this through to the end, no matter what.

“Let’s go,” Eric calmly announces.

I’m ready.

We follow him up the stairs, keeping our heads down but our eyes and ears wide open. A couple of neighbors pass us by. They give us brief glances but they don’t say anything. To us they don’t even exist. We know exactly where we’re going and what we’re doing here. Men on a mission.

The lights get dimmer as we ascend to the second floor. The smells seem to fade a little bit, too. An ominous sensation persists in the back of my head. I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this.

“Apartment forty-five,” Eric whispers as we cautiously make our way up.

The third-floor hallway has a broken light. The neon buzzes incessantly, scratching my brain. It adds to my uneasiness, but I take a deep breath and focus on the next step. Slowly and carefully we approach the apartment, positioning ourselves on either side of the door. The brass numbers are barely hanging on from their rusty screws. We steer clear of the peephole.

Wyatt keeps an eye on the hallway. From what we’ve seen there are other residents on this floor. We need to keep it as discreet as possible.

Eric takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. “Pizza delivery,” he says, loud enough for the men in apartment forty-five to hear him.

I take my gun out of its holster, my taser within reach for additional backup. My muscles are taut and heated, my nerve endings firing at high speed as tiny droplets of sweat bloom on my temples. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but it feels the same as always. My body remembers the drill.

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