Page 31 of Outlaws' Single Mom
The lock jiggles and I hit ‘call’ out of pure reflex.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
As quiet as I can manage while the operator can still hear me, I explain.
“We have a unit nearby. They’re on their way. Keep this line open in case we need to call you back.”
“Sure, thank you.” The line goes dead.
I was hoping they’d stay on the line with me, but apparently this isn’t enough of an emergency for that. Steeling myself for what I hope is a short wait, I keep a good grip on the bat. My leg bounces like I’m the drummer at a heavy metal concert, and I’m so full of adrenaline that I almost wish they’d just break in so I can actually do something.
Almost.
My defense plan is pretty much ‘see skull, hit skull’, so I don’t think my chances are great against anyone who actually knows what they’re doing. Something scrapes against the door frame. Metal clicks.
It’ll be fine. The police are coming.
I called 911 out of habit, but maybe I should’ve called the bikers.
No. They’ve done so much for me already, and I can’t expect them to drop everything every time I have a problem. And I can’t call them now, the police are on their way.
More scraping, and the door rattles, louder this time. Like the person on the other side is making progress. Where the heck are the police?
The air feels thick and sticky every time I draw a breath. If they break in, they’re going to have to come through me. I psych myself up, needing to find my inner mama bear, because my cub is in danger.
The regular lock flips, leaving just the safety bolt. Forcing myself to be brave, I rush over and relock it. The click sounds almost explosive in the quiet of night, but it gives a clear signal. I am here, and I’m not letting you in.
“The police are on their way!” I yell through the door.
Logan’s door cracks open, and a very sleepy four-year-old comes shuffling down the hall. He walks into the living room clutching Mr. Larson under one arm and his helmet under the other. “Mommy? There was a noise.”
“It was just the TV, Honey. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” I gently guide him back into his room. Whatever happens, I don’t want him to see it. The police are coming, I keep repeating to myself in my head.
I don’t think Logan really woke up. The moment his head hits the pillow, he’s out again. I stand guard outside his door, running through different scenariosin my head. If they get in, I’ll barricade myself in Logan’s room with him to buy us more time. When is?—
Something hits the railing again, this time hard enough for the reverberation to wake the whole building. There’s no siren, but I see the flicker of flashing lights on the living room walls. Oh thank God.
“He’s going out the front!” Someone yells just before the broken front door slams.
There are voices in the hall, doors opening and closing, and after a long minute, a knock at my door. “Ms. Vale? It’s Officer Dillard.”
I’m so relieved to hear a familiar voice that I nearly forgive him for thinking the worst about my sister. I put down the bat and unlock the door. “Oh thank God you made it. Did you see who it was?”
He nods. “My partner is in pursuit. You’re lucky I happened to be close. I’m going to take a few pictures of the damage to the door, then can I come in and get the details for my report?”
“Of course.” I wait in the apartment, thinking a little more clearly now that I’m not quite as panicked.
Itwaslucky that he was close. Right?
This isn’t the biggest city, but it’s big enough that it’s weird that the same officer who came out to talk to me about my sister just happened to be on patrol in my neighborhood. Or have the police been watching me this whole time? When does paranoia turn into common sense?
The pictures don’t take long. “They really did a number on your door. Have you had any trouble since our last chat?” he asks.
“No.” Which is partly a lie, but nothing that he needs to know about. “Do you think it’s related?”
He taps his pen against his lower lip, thinking. “I think it’s unusual for someone to risk coming into a shared entrance on an upper floor for a random break-in. Were the lights still on?”
“Yeah, I was just getting ready to go to bed.”
