But Not For Lust by BJ Bourg (comprehension books .txt) 📕

what to do.” She took a breath. “Mike told her to try and talk to Ty, but if Ty was out of control, for her to call the police department and lock herself in the house. He said he hasn’t heard anything from her since then and he figured she’d done what he suggested—called us and we’d handled it.”

“I don’t like the sound of this, Sue.”

“Yeah, he got real worried when I told him what was going on,” she said. “He gave us permission to do whatever we needed to do. He said you can break down any door you need to.”

“We’ve got permission to make entry,” I quickly said to Baylor over my shoulder.

He bolted for the shed and I raced after him, telling Susan I’d call her back as soon as we knew something.

The gun belt on Baylor’s uniform rattled as he ran and his boots thundered against the concrete. He reached the door two steps ahead of me and came to a screeching halt in front of it. He glanced back for a split second. “Kick it?”

I stopped and nodded, sucking in a breath of air to calm my racing heart—more from anticipation than the quick burst of energy I’d just expended.

I watched as Baylor lifted his right leg and pivoted on the ball of his left foot. The heel of his boot lashed out like a rattlesnake’s strike and smashed violently into the door, just to the left of the knob. Slivers of wood exploded into the air as the door crashed open. It banged into the wall and started to bounce back, but Baylor was already through the opening.

He disappeared from my view, but not for long. I was half a heartbeat behind him, but came up short when he stopped just inside the doorway.

“Aw, shit, Clint,” he said, his voice taking on a somber tone. “This ain’t good.”

  CHAPTER 8

Amy Cooke took a deep breath. She was seated on the sofa in the apartment she shared with Baylor Rice. Baylor was at work and she was bored. Not only was she bored, but she was bound and determined to get rid of her crutches once and for all. Using her arms, she pushed off of the cushion and rose slowly to her feet, supporting most of her body weight with her right leg. The left leg had taken most of the damage during the ambush, and it was this leg that had been giving her the most trouble during physical therapy. For some reason, the damn thing just didn’t want to cooperate.

“Okay, here we go,” she said slowly, easing her left foot to the floor. Once it was planted firmly, she began shifting some of her weight over it. She winced, but wasn’t deterred. Even the slightest amount of weight caused an excruciating amount of pain to shoot up her leg, but she continued transferring the weight to the left side.

Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and she began to breathe in short gasps. It hurt worse than it had on the night she’d been shot.

“Damn it to hell,” she muttered. “This hurts!”

Shifting her weight back to her right leg, she sighed and took a little breather. Maybe if she introduced the pain a tiny bit at a time it might dull her senses and she would be able to tolerate it enough to walk across the room to where her crutches were leaning against the wall.

She took a deep breath and began moving her weight back to her left leg. Moving one millimeter at a time—or as close as she could to it—she gradually felt the weight bearing down on her injured hip and thigh. One bullet had penetrated her pelvis—she remembered the doctor calling it the iliac-something-or-other—and several other rounds had caused her femur to shatter in two places. The doctors had used titanium rods and screws to repair the shattered bone, and they promised her she’d never be able to sneak through a metal detector again.

Amy had overheard a nurse telling Baylor how it had been a miracle that the doctors had pieced her back together. She shuddered every time she remembered those words. The thought of being shot to pieces was more terrorizing than the actual event itself had been. The fact that she was alive was a miracle in itself, and she counted every breath as a blessing.

“Okay,” she said, licking her dry lips. “Here we go.”

She was standing up straight now and her weight was distributed evenly between both legs. The pain caused her to wobble and almost fall back to the sofa, but she managed to remain on her feet. Afraid to move, she stood frozen for a long moment. She knew she would have to bear all of her weight on her left leg if she was to move across the floor, so she figured it would be best to test it first—while she was close to the sofa.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly several times before moving slightly to her left. As soon as more than fifty percent of her weight shifted to the left leg, a bolt of lightning seemed to shoot up through her damaged bones and explode inside her brain. With a gasp, she eased herself onto the sofa.

Amy sat there for a long moment, a feeling of intense anger causing a warm sensation to flood over her. She was angry at the bitch who shot her. Angry at herself for not sensing an ambush. Angry at her body for not cooperating.

“Ugh, stop it, Amy!” she said with a grunt. “Relax. Take it easy.”

She began breathing slowly to calm herself. She would try it again…and again…and again. No matter how many times it took, she would keep trying until she could walk across the room on her own.

It was easier to practice walking on the parallel bars