Free A Reason to Live (Marty Singer1) by Matthew Iden Page B

there. Printed on the sign in authoritative capital letters were the words, "THIS HOUSE PROTECTED BY SECURETREX." In a smaller font below the warning message was a phone number to call in case of emergencies or natural disasters.
    I stared at it for a second, an idea taking shape. I liked what I came up with and pulled out my phone, punching in the phone number from the sign. A woman with a British accent, firm and cultured, answered. "SecureTrex. How can I help you?"
    I made my voice shaky. "Hi, SecureTrex? Yeah, I was walking down the street and saw a guy go into one of the properties you protect." I gave her the address.
    "We don't have an alarm coming from that address," the woman said. "Are you sure, sir?"
    "You're damn right, I'm sure," I said, sounding offended. How dare they? "The guy jimmied the door open and went right in."
    "Is this…." A pause. "Mr. Atwater?"
    "Who? No, I was walking by and saw the guy go in. And your sign in the front yard, that's why I called."
    "May I have your name, please, sir?"
    I hung up on the nice lady and walked back to my car. I had five or ten minutes, depending on whether they had roving patrols or a dispatch station and garage nearby. I was leaning against the hood, still marveling at the flyer, when I heard screeching tires. A glance at my watch made it almost fifteen minutes. SecureTrex seemed a poor choice for any home protection needs.
    A black Navigator--tinted windows, no logo, license plate SECTREX1--pulled up fast, but under control. I smiled at the choice of vehicle. The big SUV looked imposing and sinister exactly like it was meant to, but every federal security force in the area used black SUVs with tinted windows, too. They could probably do a hundred miles an hour in the streets of DC, Virginia, or Maryland and most cops would just assume they were from the FBI, CIA, Secret Service, or one of a hundred other federal departments. The lack of a government plate would give it away, but even if the cop noticed, he'd shrug and move on to easier pickings.
    The SUV bucked to a stop at an angle to the curb, blocking half the street. Two guys in matching khakis and black polo shirts jumped out. They had big arms, small waists, and legs thick from twenty-rep sets. Both had dark hair cut close so that the scalp showed through and each had one of those wireless earplugs for their cell phone, the thing that makes you look like a reject from a Star Trek convention. Around their waists they wore black nylon belts that held flashlights, cell phones, and multi-tools. Everything except what you needed most, which was a sidearm. Another strike against SecureTrex. Or maybe that was a plus. Not every clown should carry a gun.
    They conferred briefly, then one guy unclipped his flashlight and headed up the steps to the front door while the other pulled the short straw and hoofed it to the far end of the block, probably so he could cover the back. Cover it with what, I wasn't sure. Maybe he would flash a light in the evil-doer's eyes or do arm curls around his neck.
    The first guy pointed his light on the ground as he went, even though it was broad daylight. He flashed it at the wrought iron railing, the door handle, he even leaned over and lit up the window. Satisfied, he opened up the screen door and turned the handle of the main door. It didn't budge. He looked at it for a second and then he knocked. Standard procedure, I guess, but in my experience, bad guys don't answer knocks.
    Shortstraw appeared from around the corner and shook his head when Flashlight glanced his way. They must've gotten instructions from the mother ship, then, because they both abandoned the front porch and started looking around. It didn't take long for them to spot me, watching from a half-block away.
    I thought they were going to get in the SUV and drive over, but they were in too good a shape for that. They jogged instead, looking fit, young, and healthy. They stopped in front of me. Neither one was out of breath