CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
The fence was old and rusted just like everything else on this godforsaken street. She felt the rust cutting into the padding of her finger but at least, because of the rust, the chain-link material made almost no noise as she scaled it. The fence was seven or eight feet tall and soon she reached the top.
She threw one leg over, steadied herself, and then brought the other over.
With a single push away from the fence, she leaped from the top and landed in the yard with a soft thud.
She instantly withdrew her Glock from its holster and crept toward the shed in a crouching position. She made her way to the door and rose up on her legs a bit, trying to find the warped area in the frame that kept the door from shutting all the way. She found it three quarters of the wa
