Chapter 6 - Night Tactics
I didn't wait inside for him to break down the door.
In tactical warfare, allowing an intruder to cross your threshold gives up spatial control. I slipped through the side garage door, moving silently through the shadows around the edge of the house.
Night air hit my face, cold and crisp. The lawn sprinkler was off, but the grass was slick with evening dew.
Travis reached the back sliding glass door. He raised the crowbar, preparing to shatter the reinforced glass.
"Looking for me, Travis?" my voice called out from the dark shadows near the oak tree fifteen feet behind him.
Travis spun around violently, his boots slipping on the wet grass. The moonlight caught his wild, bloodshot eyes. He looked disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, his chest heaving with heavy, uncalibrated breaths.
"You..." Travis snarled, his voice a low, animalistic guttural sound. "You ruined my family! You ruined my life!"
"You and your father ruined yourselves," I said, stepping into the dim moonlight, my hands relaxed at my sides. The sidearm was tucked securely into my waistband behind my back. I didn't want to shoot my sister's husband on my back lawn unless he forced my hand completely. "You built a life on bullying, fraud, and violence, Travis. It always catches up."
"Shut up!" he screamed, swinging the crowbar in a deadly arc. "I'm going to take your life apart! I'm going to destroy this house, and then I'm going to—"
He didn't get to finish the threat.
Before he could take two steps toward me, I picked up a heavy river rock from the garden border and threw it with lethal velocity straight at his chest.
CRACK.
The rock struck him squarely on the collarbone. Travis grunted in shock and pain, staggering back three steps and dropping the heavy crowbar onto the lawn.
Before he could recover, I closed the distance.
I moved with speed born of thousands of hours of hand-to-hand combat training. I slipped inside his guard, stepping on his right foot to pin him in place, and struck his jaw with a precise, short-range palm heel strike.
His head snapped back.
I followed up immediately with an elbow strike to his ribs, hearing the sharp crack of cartilage giving way under the blow. Travis groaned, his knees buckling beneath his massive weight.
"You thought combat was a sport, Travis," I whispered into his ear as I wrapped my arm around his neck from behind, applying a sleeper hold that cut off the blood flow to his carotid artery. "You thought ring rules applied to real life. In the real world, arrogance gets you killed."
Travis thrashed wildly, his hands clawing at my forearm, but his grip was weak, his lungs starving for oxygen. His movements grew sluggish within five seconds.
"Sleep," I commanded quietly.
His eyes rolled back, and his body went completely limp. I lowered his heavy frame onto the soft grass, ensuring he was breathing before I stepped back.
Sirens echoed in the distance—the sound approaching rapidly down the main road.
I hadn't just called Marcus earlier; I had alerted the county sheriff’s office the moment my perimeter sensor was tripped, providing them with Travis's exact location and warning them that an armed, wanted fugitive was attempting a home invasion.
Within three minutes, two squad cars tore down the street, their blue and red lights flashing bright against the quiet suburban houses.
Deputies spilled out of the cars with weapons drawn.
"Drop to your knees!" an officer shouted into the yard.
I raised my hands calmly, stepping into the spotlight of the lead cruiser. "I'm the homeowner," I called out clearly. "The intruder is on the ground, unconscious. He is Travis Caldwell, wanted on outstanding federal and state warrants."
The officers moved in cautiously, securing Travis with heavy steel handcuffs while he groated, slowly regaining consciousness on the wet grass.
A senior deputy walked up to me, looking at Travis, then looking at me in utter bewilderment.
"Ma'am... did you take him down by yourself?" the deputy asked, eyeing my tiny frame and calm demeanor.
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"He slipped on the wet grass," I said smoothly, offering a polite, innocent smile. "And I defended myself."
The deputy looked at the shattered crowbar, then at Travis's bruised jaw and broken rib, and shook his head in disbelief. "Right. Slippery grass. Let's get him into the car."
