red on the bare wall:
Die Bitch!!
“Fuck! What the hell?” Dante growled as he came in behind her. “Don’t touch anything.” He grasped her by the waist and physically hauled her out of the house. He deposited her on the porch. “Stay here and dial nine-one-one.” His voice was graveled and angry.
Sarah watched as he darted to his truck and came back with a gun in his hand, and a look as coldly lethal as a killer on his face. He’d changed in an instant, and Sarah had to remind herself that Dante was actually the good guy. Panic seized her as she watched him enter the house while she fumbled for her phone. She watched as she explained what had happened to the dispatcher and was assured that help was on the way. She hung up the phone, gaping as Dante prowled through the house, holding the gun like it was an extension of himself, careful not to touch anything as he searched.
“Dante,” she whispered softly as he moved out of sight and into the hallway where the two bedrooms and bathroom were located. Sirens sounded in the distance, but Sarah’s entire focus was on Dante.
What if someone is still there? What if he gets hurt? He’s not even healed yet.
She reminded herself that he was an experienced detective, a police officer, but it didn’t matter. Cops died. He’d just lost a partner.
She held her breath as her whole body trembled with fear, waiting for any sound that would indicate that Dante was in trouble.
The sirens grew louder, and she released a sigh of relief as Dante moved carefully through the rubble, shoving his weapon into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. “The bastard is already gone,” he rasped, gathering her shivering body into a comforting hug. “I’m sorry. Who the hell would do something like this? And why?”
Maybe he found me!
She tried to quiet the voice in her head, clinging to Dante as a lifeline, trying to make sense of what had happened. It was more likely that it had been destructive kids, maybe tourists out to make trouble, possibly while they were intoxicated on drugs or alcohol.
Die Bitch!!
Someone who knew her, or just a lucky guess that there was a female in the home? The phrase was eerily familiar.
“Were the other rooms okay?” she mumbled against his shoulder.
“No,” Dante said simply.
“So the whole house is the same way?” It broke her heart to think of everything she owned in tatters.
“Yes. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He tightened his grip around her waist, moving a soothing palm up and down her back. “I wish I could have caught whoever did this to you. Jesus. What if you had been home?”
Sarah was glad he hadn’t found anyone. The thought of Dante having to go through any type of confrontation, especially when he was still recovering, made her nauseous.
A police SUV squealed into the driveway, followed by a few patrol cars. Sarah recognized the chief of police, Joe Landon, as he came running up to the door. Joe was generally a jovial man who could usually be seen around town talking and showing pictures of his newest grandchild, or his wife, Ruby. Sarah estimated him to be in his early sixties. His dark hair was graying, but he had a stocky build and was in good shape for a man his age.
Dante quickly briefed the older man on what had happened, and that he had searched for the perpetrator but hadn’t touched anything.
“The evidence team is right behind me,” Joe remarked in a no-nonsense tone. “I don’t recognize you.” He glanced at the scar on Dante’s face that was clearly visible in the bright porch light outside the door. “Are you that hero homicide detective that we’ve all been hearing about?”
Dante nodded sharply. “Dante Sinclair,” he affirmed as he held his hand out to the police chief.
“Chief Landon, but everyone calls me Joe.” He took Dante’s hand and shook it hard before letting it go.
The evidence team traipsed up the driveway, and they all entered the house for an investigation
Die Bitch!!
“Fuck! What the hell?” Dante growled as he came in behind her. “Don’t touch anything.” He grasped her by the waist and physically hauled her out of the house. He deposited her on the porch. “Stay here and dial nine-one-one.” His voice was graveled and angry.
Sarah watched as he darted to his truck and came back with a gun in his hand, and a look as coldly lethal as a killer on his face. He’d changed in an instant, and Sarah had to remind herself that Dante was actually the good guy. Panic seized her as she watched him enter the house while she fumbled for her phone. She watched as she explained what had happened to the dispatcher and was assured that help was on the way. She hung up the phone, gaping as Dante prowled through the house, holding the gun like it was an extension of himself, careful not to touch anything as he searched.
“Dante,” she whispered softly as he moved out of sight and into the hallway where the two bedrooms and bathroom were located. Sirens sounded in the distance, but Sarah’s entire focus was on Dante.
What if someone is still there? What if he gets hurt? He’s not even healed yet.
She reminded herself that he was an experienced detective, a police officer, but it didn’t matter. Cops died. He’d just lost a partner.
She held her breath as her whole body trembled with fear, waiting for any sound that would indicate that Dante was in trouble.
The sirens grew louder, and she released a sigh of relief as Dante moved carefully through the rubble, shoving his weapon into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. “The bastard is already gone,” he rasped, gathering her shivering body into a comforting hug. “I’m sorry. Who the hell would do something like this? And why?”
Maybe he found me!
She tried to quiet the voice in her head, clinging to Dante as a lifeline, trying to make sense of what had happened. It was more likely that it had been destructive kids, maybe tourists out to make trouble, possibly while they were intoxicated on drugs or alcohol.
Die Bitch!!
Someone who knew her, or just a lucky guess that there was a female in the home? The phrase was eerily familiar.
“Were the other rooms okay?” she mumbled against his shoulder.
“No,” Dante said simply.
“So the whole house is the same way?” It broke her heart to think of everything she owned in tatters.
“Yes. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He tightened his grip around her waist, moving a soothing palm up and down her back. “I wish I could have caught whoever did this to you. Jesus. What if you had been home?”
Sarah was glad he hadn’t found anyone. The thought of Dante having to go through any type of confrontation, especially when he was still recovering, made her nauseous.
A police SUV squealed into the driveway, followed by a few patrol cars. Sarah recognized the chief of police, Joe Landon, as he came running up to the door. Joe was generally a jovial man who could usually be seen around town talking and showing pictures of his newest grandchild, or his wife, Ruby. Sarah estimated him to be in his early sixties. His dark hair was graying, but he had a stocky build and was in good shape for a man his age.
Dante quickly briefed the older man on what had happened, and that he had searched for the perpetrator but hadn’t touched anything.
“The evidence team is right behind me,” Joe remarked in a no-nonsense tone. “I don’t recognize you.” He glanced at the scar on Dante’s face that was clearly visible in the bright porch light outside the door. “Are you that hero homicide detective that we’ve all been hearing about?”
Dante nodded sharply. “Dante Sinclair,” he affirmed as he held his hand out to the police chief.
“Chief Landon, but everyone calls me Joe.” He took Dante’s hand and shook it hard before letting it go.
The evidence team traipsed up the driveway, and they all entered the house for an investigation
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