CHAPTER ELEVEN
WARWICKE FLEW OUT THE door, Alfric on his heels. Tires squealed on the street and he looked up to find a small, brightly colored truck with oversized front tires flying down the street, away from the house. Alfric ran down the stairs and toward the street, his gun drawn.
A soft groan made Warwicke look down. The bushes at the base of the concrete stairs rustled and Fabiana sat up. He ran down the stairs and reached for her, pulling her to her feet and out of the bushes.
Pleasance was standing at the top of the stairs. “Are you okay?”
Fabiana nodded. “Just a few scratches.” She turned to look at the front of the house, frowning. “The house is dead though.”
“I couldn’t get the license plate number.” Alfric had returned and stood on the sidewalk looking up toward the shatt
