Page 83 of Single Mom's Firemen

“At least we know there’s backup coming.” I dare breathe a sigh of relief as I check my weapons and ammunition. I’ve got enough to do quite the damage on my own, though I’d rather not. “You said split up. What’s the plan?”

Eric looks at me. “You need to do what you do best. See that lattice?”

I glance back at the house. Yeah, I see the lattice. An ancient contraption made of mostly rotted wood. Years ago, I imagine it was white and elegant and covered with climbing roses. I have no choice but to climb it since it gives me direct access to that top floor bedroom window.

“I’ve got the kids, then.”

“Once you’re in, we’re in. It’ll take seconds if we’re smart and quiet,” Eric says, then gives Chase a persistent glare. “Smart and quiet.”

“Guess I’m going in first,” Chase replies with a dry grin. “You talk too much, anyway.”

What follows is a flurry of events that I register but don’t fully focus on. It’s as if my mind and my body completely dissociate, letting my instincts take over. My heart swells and throbs in an almost painful rhythm as I crawl through the backyard like a snake before reaching the lattice. My brothers are waiting further back. They won’t move until they see me inside. It all hangs on my shoulders for the time being.

Slowly, I take a look at the back porch and the kitchen window, Eric’s voice guiding me through my earpiece. “Wait,” he says. I’m guessing we need one of the guards to move away from the window, at least long enough for me to take my leap of faith. “Now. Go, go.”

I go.

I jump out of the bushes and onto the lattice. I curse under my breath as I realize it might not hold me the entire way up, but I brought a length of rope and titanium clips for this exact reason. Hell, I can climb the lattice, but I won’t be able to come down with the kids as extra weight, not without the whole thing collapsing.

“Are you okay?” Eric asks.

“I need a moment. The lattice won’t hold,” I whisper.

“We’re waiting.”

I take a deep breath and carefully climb upward. My grip is tight, but not tight enough to rip through the rotten wood. It feels as though it might actually hold me after all. Or maybe that’s just my hopeful side yammering between my ears. Slowly, I manage to put a foot up, then another, my hands evenly pulling me higher.

“Don’t move,” Eric says.

“Fuck,” I grumble. The tension in my body makes everything feel tight enough as it is.

“He’s at the window again and you’re still in his vision range. Give it a few seconds.”

Fuuuuuuck. I can feel my left hand slipping. Sweat drips down my forehead, tickling the corners of my eyes. I try to blink it away.

“Go.”

Finally. I reach for the edge of the roof and grab it with confidence. The wood up here is harder and thicker than the lattice itself. I can hear the crackle underneath my right foot, so I pull myself up and onto the roof before the lattice gives out, then quickly unravel the rope and attach the clips to the roof. It will hold the three of us safely.

Time is of the essence and so is discretion.

I sneak up to the bedroom window and look inside. The woman I saw earlier is sitting with Luna and Sammy on the floor, playing with several toys. I recognize Sammy’s favorite dinosaur and Luna’s baby doll. They never leave home without them.

The woman appears in her late twenties, a redhead with smudged mascara and acid-washed jeans. The tattoos and needle marks on her bony arms tell me she’s not the kind of girl he’d bring home to meet his mother.

I take a deep breath and notice the window is cracked open. Good. I don’t have to break it. I pull it upward and slip inside, then quickly take my gun out and point it at the girl.

“Wyatt!” Luna exclaims.

“Shush,” I whisper and bring one finger to my lips while keeping the gun trained on the woman, who is paralyzed with shock and fear. “Honey, get your brother and come over here, as quietly as possible,” I tell Luna.” I look at the woman and say, “You need to keep your mouth shut.”

“What are you gonna do, shoot me in front of the children?” she hisses, but I can tell that she is absolutely terrified.

“Don’t test me. You’re not in a position to gamble with your life, not when you’ve got Colby Nash downstairs,” I reply. “Come on, kids, we’re going home.”

“What about Mama?” Sammy whines.

“Chase and Eric are getting her in a minute, I promise,” I tell them, watching as the kids collect their toys and stuff them in their cute little backpacks, then waddle over to my side of the room. The woman moves toward the door. “What’s your name?”

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