Chapter 1 - The Deadbolt
The brass handle turned with a agonizingly slow, deliberate click.
I didn't think. Instinct, cold and primal, took over. I snatched Sophie’s wrist, yanking her back from the entryway just as the heavy oak door began to push inward.
"Back door. Now," I mouthed, making zero sound.
We retreated into the shadows of the hallway just as a man stepped over the threshold. He wasn't wearing a ski mask or dark clothes. He looked terrifyingly normal—a guy in a zip-up fleece and jeans, carrying a clipboard in one hand and a suppressed pistol in the other. He closed the door behind him with a soft click.
My blood turned to ice. He was a professional. He was here to make our deaths look like a tragic home invasion gone wrong.
I scooped Sophie into my arms, ignoring the burning in my shoulders, and sprinted silently across the kitchen tiles. The back door was ten feet away. Five feet. Two feet.
I twisted the deadbolt, praying it wouldn't stick like it usually did when it rained. It gave way with a soft clack.
Behind us, a floorboard creaked in the foyer. The man paused. "Hello?" he called out, his voice unsettlingly casual. "Gas company. Just doing a routine check."
I pushed the back door open, shoved Sophie out onto the patio, and pulled the door shut behind me, locking it from the outside. We didn't stop. We scrambled through the wet grass of our backyard, hopped the short chain-link fence, and dropped into the narrow alleyway behind our subdivision.
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"Run, Sophie," I whispered, holding her hand so tight my knuckles ached. "Don't look back. Just run."
We didn't stop until we were three blocks away, blending into a crowd of early-morning joggers heading toward the community park. My chest heaved, my lungs burning, but we were alive. And David was going to pay.
