Protector - Laurel Dewey [92]
Jane’s body tensed as she turned to the staircase that led to Emily’s bedroom. “God, don’t you do this again,” she whispered to herself with fear and anger. Without acknowledging the cop, Jane headed toward the stairs. When she reached the bottom step and looked up, she saw the door kicked in and the lights out. “Police!” Her voice cracked as she screamed the word. Skimming her back against the wall, she walked up the steps. With each step, her stomach churned. When she reached the top step, she reached around the wall and felt for the light switch. Jane flipped it up and snapped to attention, gun extended. She immediately noted the bedside lamp smashed against the wall. She looked to the closet and edged her way toward it. With a quick twist of the knob, she jerked the door open and shoved the pistol forward. Nothing.
Jane peered over to the bed. She wedged her boot against the bed frame and shoved it forward across the pink carpeting. No one hiding. The large sycamore branch tapped nervously against the far window, as if to alert Jane. Still moving with extreme caution, Jane stepped to the window and looked out into the darkness. But the shadows played tricks with her eyes. She looked down on the carpet and saw Emily’s discarded jumper, wet from her outdoor adventure earlier that evening. The flashlight Martha had given her was still attached to the strap. Jane leaned over and ripped the flashlight off the strap, clamping it between her teeth. The bright sapphire colored light was surprisingly effective in illuminating the rooftop outside the window. Jane checked the area and listened intently for a sound but there was only silence.
She pushed her body up onto the window ledge and did her best to get through the open window and onto the roof without causing too much noise. Once outside, she hunkered down, pistol still at the ready. Pointing the flashlight across the roof, she looked for signs of a struggle but the darkness prevented her from picking up the subtle clues. Another skim of the flashlight to the right and then to the left and she stopped.
The vent pipe was obviously bent and precariously leaning across the edge of the roof. Jane flattened her body against the wet roof and carefully slid down to the pipe. As she came up on it, she examined it with the flashlight and realized it was a recent break. She looked out into the dense charcoal black darkness that filled the backyard. That same feeling came over her—the awareness that someone was out there. She craned her neck and removed the flashlight from between her teeth. Guardedly, Jane shone the pinpoint beam of light across the yard. Back and forth and back again.
Then, she saw her. There was Emily, directly beneath the edge of the roof, sprawled across the grass. She lay unconscious on her back, her head to the side, with blood pouring from a gash along her left temple. “Christ!” Jane said with a shudder as she threw the small flashlight to the side, secured her pistol and stood up. Without giving it a thought, she leapt onto the large sycamore branch and dropped down to the trunk of the tree. She nearly lost her balance, but she quickly recovered and continued down the tree. When Jane was about six feet from the ground, she jumped feet first to the grass and lunged toward Emily.
She immediately checked Emily’s heartbeat. It was beating but it was very faint. Jane opened the child’s mouth to see if anything was obstructing her breathing. “Don’t do this to me!” she screamed in frustration. Without hesitating, Jane carefully scooped up Emily’s frail body and cradled the child in her arms. She half-ran toward the back gate and tore down the driveway to her Mustang. Patrol cars zoomed onto the scene. Undeterred by their presence, Jane opened the passenger door on the Mustang and gently placed Emily into the seat, securing her with the seat belt.
A cop raced over to Jane. “Perry! Is that the