Chapter Eleven
Dallas heard a noise at the back door. She straightened and listened more closely.
“Did you hear that?” Allison asked, crooking her head toward the rear of the house.
Certain something or someone was at her door, Dallas pressed a finger against her lips and nodded. Quietly, she stood and on the tips of her toes walked to the end table and took her gun from the holster. She motioned for Allison to stay put.
In the back hallway, she snapped off the light and slowly made her way to the door. She peeked out, the outdoor light clearly illuminating the small patch of back yard.
After a careful surveillance, she shut off the light and stepped onto the small stoop, holding her gun in a shooter’s stance.
“Show yourself,” she shouted, her heart pounding.
Birds responded to her warning with ear-piercing chirps and flapping wings as they took flight across her field of vision toward her neighbor’s bushy maple.
Soundlessly, she walked down the three steps and peered to her right in the direction of an outlandish cluster of flowering shrubs.
She sensed rather than heard someone at her back, but the time had come and gone for her to react.
Everything blackened. Her legs folded at the knees. As she fell onto the dew-slicked grass, she fought for consciousness, but the need to close her eyes and sleep was too powerful. She sunk to the ground in a disheveled heap of raggedy arms and legs.