Page 82 of Single Mom's Firemen

A life was ended this time for justice but also for love.

A line was crossed. There’s no turning back.

33

Wyatt

Ihave no right to judge Chase’s actions, even if they do go against our principles. We accepted this before when our lives depended on it. We will accept it again now because Halle’s life depends on it. I’ll get over the discomfort and so will Eric. Truth be told, Chase made a valid point earlier. He did save us precious time.

Every second counts and as we approach Darcy Street, I can only hope it wasn’t all for naught. My stomach tightens and churns, angrily burning as we pull over between two residents’ sedans. This used to be one of the nicer neighborhoods of Dallas.

Harriet’s mother didn’t live in sheer luxury from the looks of it. I wonder how Harriet’s life was growing up, why she turned out the way she did. She’s partly responsible for the creation of Colby as we know him.

In the past few decades, this neighborhood lost a lot of its real estate value. Houses came down in favor of apartment buildings. This was the only block left intact. It appears untouched by time, literally. Half of the street is uninhabited. The front yards are unkempt, overflowing with shrubs and dried weeds. Some of the roofs and windows have holes in them. It’s a sad thing to look at. Whoever erected those apartment buildings didn’t expect the financial crisis to hit when it did.

“There it is,” Eric says, nodding ahead.

It’s a two-story house with pale yellow siding and once-white French-style windows, in relative shambles. The picket fence is almost completely knocked down, chunks of wood hanging like dirty, crooked teeth. There aren’t any cars parked in the driveway, but there’s an SUV further up the road, standing out like a sore thumb.

Colby needs to keep his getaway ride close so it’s a chance he had to take. Fortunately for him, the property hasn’t been in his grandmother’s name in a long time, which is why the cops never came to this area during their search for him. Harriet smartly sold it to a family friend some years ago, just to keep it out of her financial records.

“We need a clear plan,” Chase says as we cautiously approach the house.

I look around and notice a pair of curtains moving across the street. A neighbor. Or maybe a vagrant. The place looks abandoned, just like the others.

“Let’s go around the back,” I advise with caution.

We keep a low profile as we slip between two houses and reach the back alley, where it’s even more dismal. Just dust and dirt and dried weeds. Chain link fences surround backyards that haven’t felt the love of a lawnmower in years.

Eric uses his binoculars from a safe angle to peek into the house. We’re hidden beneath tall bushes and the thickening darkness of the night. “I see four men on the ground floor,” he whispers. “Two in the kitchen and two in the living room.”

“Halle? The kids?” Chase asks.

“I can’t see Halle from here,” Eric says. “There’s a woman up by the top floor window, eastern corner. Not Halle.”

“Switch to body heat,” I tell him.

Eric nods and goes through his gear pack. Once he’s got the right goggles on, he takes another gander at the house. It feels like forever before we have a clearer reading of the interior.

“Two people in the bedroom,” Eric says. “Ground floor. I’m guessing that’s the master. One on the bed, the other moving around.”

My heart skips a couple of anxious beats. “Halle. Colby.”

“Most likely. Their frames match,” Eric replies. “Like I said, two men in the kitchen. Two in the living room. One by each window, so we need to create a diversion.”

“Top floor again?” Chase asks.

“One female. Two small children.”

“Colby has a woman with Luna and Sammy,” I conclude. “How do we do this?”

Eric thinks about it for a moment. A familiar silence falls over us while I glance around and analyze every single detail in sight. The backyard is wild looking, and with the darkness of the night, it’ll give us a brief advantage. We’ll make it through the back door. We might even reach the master bedroom before it’s too late. But the goons in the living room will come charging at us. Or worse—they’ll go upstairs and use the kids as leverage. The prospect fills me with dread.

“We’ll split up,” Eric says.

“What about Charlie?” I ask again. “We agreed to call him once we got a line on Colby.”

He nods slowly. “It’ll take a while before they get here. And Colby has to be super paranoid by this point. I think it’ll fall on the three of us to take him and his people out, or at least get him to leave the house and let Charlie catch up.” He pauses to send a text message. “Alright, we’ve got abouteight to ten minutes before this whole block is teeming with SWAT vans.”

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