Page 13 of Protecting Paige

Message sent, I refocus on my mission. Get to Paige’s house. Look for clues. See if it’s empty, like the officer said, or if there’s a sign of someone still inside. Hiding. Hurt. In need of help.

I take the exit off the highway and reluctantly slow as I approach the next intersection. At the light, I check the map again, memorizing the remaining directions. Paige’s house is only three miles from here, maybe a five-minute drive if I don’t hit traffic.

Under other circumstances, it would be exciting—finally meeting Paige after so long. But instead, I approach her house with a growing feeling of dread. It feels like that time in Iraq, when we were tasked to rescue an American dignitary and his wife. The moment we saw the building they were being held in, my entire team felt it. We knew before we even got there that we were too late.

“No,” I say out loud. Firmly. Brooking no argument. “This isn’t the same.”

This is a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Fredericksburg, with quiet streets and softly glowing lamp posts and rows of split-levels and compact ranches. In the dark, scattered windows flicker from the TVs behind them. A dog barks in the distance. When I roll my window down, I can hear the familiar buzz of crickets, just as I could at my house.

It’s not a place for violence.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

But my gut disagrees.

As I turn onto Paige’s street, my pulse jumps. Adrenaline surges. But even five years out, I haven’t forgotten my training. I take long, even breaths, forcing my heartbeat to slow. I tamp down my emotions as I prepare for battle.

When I’m nearly to her house, I turn off my headlights. I let up on the gas, coasting to a stop in front of a darkened house two doors down from hers. Hopefully, at this time of night, I won’t attract attention from her neighbors.

Although they clearly aren’t very observant if someone broke into her house without anyone noticing, are they?

Before I exit the car, I pull my Sig from the glove box and slide it into my belt holster. Then I pocket my Ka-Bar, feeling comforted by the weight of it against my leg. It was a gift from my old captain after I joined the team, and I’ve kept it with me ever since.

I slink from the car and hurry to the shelter of a nearby tree, hiding myself in its shadows. From there, I rush to another tree, and another, until I reach Paige’s yard. Like the officer said, all her windows are dark. The garage door is shut, so I can’t tell if her car is inside.

But like that building in Iraq, there’s just something about it that seems off. It’s too dark. Too quiet.

If Paige was going to go out, she wouldn’t turn off all the lights. She’d leave at least one on, so she didn’t have to come back to a pitch-black house.

Something’s wrong. I’m sure of it.

From the shadows of the tree, I study her house as I run through my options.

The practical, civilian-life choice is to knock on the front door. See if Paige answers it. Not do anything that could result in a neighbor calling the police on me, and potentially being questioned for attempted burglary.

Or I can follow my gut.

And my gut is telling me to sneak around the perimeter, searching for possible points of entry. Something I have a strong feeling the officer who came heredidn’tdo. And if I see any evidence of an intruder, I’ll get inside, through legal methods or not.

Could I end up totally screwing things up with Paige if it turns out I’m wrong? Yes. But I really don’t think I am.

Decision made, I crouch low as I run to the house. My knee is still sore, but it shows no sign of wobbling. My body instinctively clicks into Special Forces operator mode, relying on muscle memory and drawing on my senses.

Once I get to the west wall of Paige’s house, I creep alongside it, below the window line. As I reach each one of them, I take a quick peek, then drop back down.

There’s nothing. No movement. No sound. No sign of life inside.

I check the ground as I move, looking for footprints. Again, nothing.

That is, until I reach the rear of the house. And that’s when I see it. In the dirt below one window; a footprint far too large to be Paige’s. Then I look at the window and realize the screen is missing. It might not be remarkable, except all the other windows have screens—new ones, in fact. And as I inspect the window frame, the light of the moon glints off some fresh scratches on the metal.

It looks like someone pried the screen off. Which means they could have entered the house here.

Dammit.

Well aware I’m about to commit a crime—well, assuming Paige wanted to press charges—I grab the window and carefully try to open it.

And shit. It slides up smoothly.