Chapter 2 - The Predator in the Guest Room
Julian. My stepbrother. A man who had been dishonorably discharged from a private security firm two years ago for excessive violence, a man my father had strictly forbidden from ever crossing the threshold of this house.
I didn't hesitate. I tucked the ledger and the thumb drive into my assault pack, zipped it shut, and slung it over my shoulder. I walked past Vanessa without looking at her, my boots echoing like a drumbeat down the hallway.
As I reached the grand staircase, Julian was already coming down. He was a large man, built like a brick wall, wearing tactical pants and a tight black t-shirt that showed off his fading military tattoos. He was tossing a heavy steel tactical knife into the air and catching it by the hilt.
"Well, well," Julian sneered, stopping three steps from the bottom, giving him a height advantage. "The golden girl is back from the sandbox. Mom told me you'd be troublesome."
"Julian," I said, stopping at the base of the stairs. "You're trespassing on private property. Leave now, and I won't have to carry you out."
"Your dad's dead, Lieutenant," he laughed, a ugly, guttural sound. "The property belongs to the lady in red. Which means I'm the new head of security around here. Marcus, you're fired. Get off the grounds before I break your old ribs."
Marcus tightened his fists, but I held up a hand to stop him. "Marcus, go upstairs and protect Grandma. Julian is my problem."
"You think your little officer training makes you tough?" Julian mockingly flipped the knife again. "Out there in the real world, Claire, people don't follow the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Out here, the biggest dog wins."
"You're right," I said.
I didn't wait for him to make the first move. I didn't draw a weapon. I stepped into his space, utilizing the close-quarters combat training that had kept me alive through two deployments. Before Julian could bring the knife down, I snapped my palm upward, striking his chin with a brutal force that rattled his teeth.
He stumbled back against the banister. I grabbed his knife hand, twisting the wrist with a precise, agonizing leverage until his fingers involuntarily opened and the steel blade clattered down the hardwood stairs. I drove my knee into his midsection, knocking the wind out of him, then grabbed his collar and threw him down the remaining three steps.
He hit the floor hard, groaning, the breath completely knocked out of his lungs.
Vanessa screamed from the end of the hall, running toward her son. "Julian! Oh my god! You psycho! I’m calling the police!"
"Call them," I said, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. "Please, Vanessa, call the Dallas Police Department. Tell them a decorated military officer just defended herself against a trespassing felon. And while they're here, we can show them the dog crate in the courtyard where you've been torturing a ninety-year-old woman."
Vanessa froze, her phone halfway out of her designer handbag. Her face drained of all color. She realized, for the first time, that she wasn't dealing with an grieving, emotional daughter. She was dealing with a soldier who treated this house like a hostile territory that needed to be liberated.
"Get him out of here," I ordered Marcus, who was grinning from the landing above. "Throw them both out."
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"You can't kick me out of my own house!" Vanessa shrieked, clutching Julian as he struggled to stand. "I have the deed! I have the probate papers!"
"You have a forged signature on a stolen document," I said, pulling out my phone and turning on the video camera. "And you have exactly five minutes to pack a bag and leave before I have the military police and the local sheriff blockading this entire block. Move."
