The Marine's Last Defence

Attempting to get to Brenda Ellen’s phone was risky. But she couldn’t leave without trying, without knowing if her employer needed help. If Brenda Ellen was in trouble, it was Sabrina’s fault and she had to do whatever she could.

Mallet in hand, she knelt at the doorway, trying to see if anyone waited in the living area. Surely, if anyone were there, they would have already come to see who had whistled and clapped. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop shaking or thinking about the different possibilities. Overreacting had become the new normal for her.

“There’s nothing there.” Sabrina stood and shook the tension from her arms but kept the mallet in her hands.

She rounded the corner, prepared to whack any intruder or at least throw the mallet at their head. Nothing. The pillows were out of place, the cushions were crooked and the glass top on the coffee table was shattered.

It might look like an accident had happened, but she knew Brenda Ellen. The woman had given her a five-minute lecture when she hadn’t vacuumed one morning.

She froze. Had that been wood creaking? Barely a sound from the carpeted stairs, but she recognized it. Being in the house alone with Dallas, she’d heard it many nights as the pup had gone downstairs to bark and howl. She swallowed hard, the simple silent sound reverberating in her head like a shout. She held her breath.

Was it the man from the clinic? The one who looked like he enjoyed killing? His horrible smile haunted her nightmares where she was endlessly being chased.

Whoever was behind her on the stairs knew she was in the house. She couldn’t make it across the room to the phone. She couldn’t unbolt the front door without her keys, which were in the pocket of her coat. Out the kitchen door was her only choice.

So she ran. She hated turning her back, afraid the crazy-smile guy would shoot her between the shoulders. Unlike her dreams, where she ran all night, just out of his reach.

He heard her. She could hear his heavy, fast-paced steps. The lamp from the sofa table toppled to the floor behind her as she skidded around the corner of the kitchen.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

She slid to a stop, yanked the door open as far as her suitcase allowed and jumped the two steps to the driveway.

“Hi, Bree, looking for Dallas?”

It took a couple of seconds to shove her heart from her throat to her chest again. It was just a neighborhood kid she’d met plenty of times while walking the dogs. “Get out of here, Joey.”

“It’s okay. This cop found her at the lake. I guess she got out after Mrs. Richardson left.”

“Cop? Where?” She grabbed his bike handles and pulled. “Come on, Joey. I said to get going.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dragging his feet through the drifting snow.

The door swung open. She caught a glimpse of a barrel, a man in a mask. “Get down!”

Sabrina jerked the handle bars sideways, knocking Joey to the ground and jumping on top of him. A beige blur pulled her sweater and shoved her facedown into the snow next to the street.

“Hold it,” a deep voice boomed from above her.

“He’s...he’s in the house with a gun,” she explained, spitting the snow from her mouth.

“You okay, kid?” the voice asked. Nothing like the voice from the clinic. The tones floating to her ears were deep and rich with a natural Texas twang she recognized.

Jake Craig.

She watched Joey’s head bob up and down and then an excited gleam dart into his eyes at the thought of danger. Give it up. It ain’t anything like you think it might be, kid.

“Stay here,” the voice commanded as he ran toward the door.

They’d do no such thing.

She was getting Joey as far away from the house as possible. “Get behind that car,” she told Joey, who seemed mesmerized.

“But he said—”

“I don’t care. Get up and move.”

Faster than she thought possible, they were sitting with their backs against the tires. She expected gunfire to explode around them at any moment. The more seconds that ticked by, the easier she breathed, and the more she realized she needed to sneak away before the cop returned.

Her feet were stinging from the cold. Could she get somewhere safe without any shoes?

Scratching against glass. She heard a familiar bark and whine. Dallas.

The pup was in good hands. The cop would take care of everything. She could leave without him ever really seeing her face. She shivered from the cold, wiping melting snow from her skin. She could get another used coat when she picked up a new suitcase.

Oh, no! The money!

Whether it was her exasperated cry of utter disappointment or her slow recovery from having been scared to death, Joey responded with an awkward pat on her shoulder.

“Was there really someone inside with a gun?” the teen asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “Was she, like, being robbed or something?”

He started to stand and she tugged him back to her side.

“How did Dallas end up with a policeman? What’s going on?”

“See, we was, like, going down to do some stunts in the empty lot and instead there was a lot of cop cars. They hauled somebody off in, like, a real body bag and everything. Then we notice this guy and he had Dallas. So I went over and asked him why.”

During the explanation, her heart ventured into another part of her body again. “Do you know who died?”

Dallas barked, pawing at the door.

“You’re Mrs. Richardson?” the detective asked, coming around the end of his car. “Is this your dog?”

“Nope, this is Bree. She’s the dog sitter,” Joey answered.

Jake had a strange look on his face. He listened intently the entire time and never took his eyes off her. Sabrina knew he was tall. He’d towered over her at the diner, but from a sitting position on the ground, he was frighteningly tall. It didn’t help that his wary approach seemed ominous. She knew he was legit and not a part of the higher-ups, but she couldn’t stop shaking.

“Can I go now?” Joey asked, touching her hand.

She hadn’t known she still held the teen’s arm. She released him and the cop came closer. He didn’t slide around on the quickly defrosting ice. But his clothes looked like he’d already taken a couple of bad spills. She’d seen them in detail at the diner.

“Thanks for the directions, kid.”

“I gotta go tell everybody what happened,” Joey said. He was down the hill and nearly around the corner by the time she turned to face Jake.

Jake? Detective Craig! The same detective who does not need your phone number, she realized. Oh, my gosh. She was even rambling nervously in her thoughts.

“Hold on a minute, sweetheart.”