The evening draped the Whitmore residence in shadows, but the house itself blazed with life. Tori eyed it as she and Javi stepped out of their unmarked car, a pair of silhouettes against the large home. The distant rumble of disaster seemed worlds away from this haven of electric light and muffled laughter.
"Looks like they're having quite the night," Javi muttered, his voice barely above the whisper of the wind that rustled the leaves around them.
Tori's gaze didn't waver from the house. "Let's find out." Her hand hovered over her service weapon, a subconscious comfort, as she rapped sharply on the door. The solid thud of her knuckles against wood echoed, a stark contrast to the revelry within.
"Movement," she whispered, eyes narrowing. She was no stranger to patterns, and the shuffle behind the door had a deliberate cadence. Someone was there; someone heard.
"FBI!" Her voice cut through the noise, authoritative and demanding. Yet, nothing but silence greeted her call, a silence that seemed to mock her presence. An odd stillness hung in the air, a prelude to the storm she knew they were about to enter.
"Javi," she said, her tone cool yet laced with an undercurrent of urgency, "they know we're here."
And with that, the quiet of the evening shattered, giving way to the tempest brewing within.
"Open up, it's the FBI!" Tori's command boomed against the facade of the seemingly placid home, her voice a spear aimed at the veneer of normalcy. The door, however, remained an unmoved guardian, its lock a silent sentinel. A soft glow escaped from the edges of drawn curtains, betraying life within yet offering no welcome.
"Javi," she murmured, not taking her eyes off the door, "They're playing hide and seek."
"Or hoping we'll disappear if they're quiet enough," Javi replied, his hand resting near his own holster.
"Guess we're doing this the hard way." She stepped back from the door, her gaze scanning for the telltale signs of a forced entry—splintered wood or scratched paint. Her training kicked in, a dance of protocol and instinct she had performed countless times.
"Stand clear," she announced.
Tori's boot never made contact. The door swung open silently before her raised foot could connect, a trick of fate yanking the stage from beneath her intention. She hesitated, the wind snatched from her sails, even as her mind raced to recalibrate.
"Easy now," she murmured, her hand inching towards the gun holstered at her hip, but caution held the lead. The entryway loomed like an open maw, darkness clinging to its edges. Tori's pulse quickened, not with fear, but with the anticipation of a riddle on the cusp of being unraveled.
She stepped forward, placing one foot over the threshold with deliberate care. She frowned… why was the door open? Had a gust of wind caught it?
Then, the storm broke loose.
A guttural snarl erupted, ricocheting off the walls as if conjured by the house itself. Twin shapes, black as the void they sprang from, hurtled towards her—two large rottweilers, their eyes glinting with feral intensity. Their muscular forms were coiled power, released in a surge aimed directly at her.
Tori's heart thundered in her chest as the rottweilers closed the distance between them with alarming speed. Their fur, a mix of mahogany and ebony, bristled as they lunged, jaws snapping like traps set to spring shut on their prey. She recognized the breed - powerful, intelligent, and fiercely protective.
Reacting on pure instinct, Tori sidestepped the first lunging rottweiler, its hot breath grazing her arm as she narrowly avoided its vicious bite.
"Javi!" Her voice was a sharp crack against the ensuing chaos, a warning fired without aim. Instinctively, Tori reeled back, her heart slamming against her ribs. The dogs' jaws snapped shut mere inches from her flesh, the threat palpable in the gleam of saliva on their bared teeth.
Javi was motion, a blur on her periphery as he too recoiled from the sudden onslaught. Together, they retreated in a tangle of adrenaline-fueled urgency. Tori cursed as she stumbled past one of the beasts. The rottweilers were probing forward, darting back, then lunging in again. She reached the vehicle parked by the side of the road. With one boot, she shoved the nearest dog as it tried to lunge at her. She stumbled back and lurched with a jump onto the hood of their vehicle. The metal groaned under their weight, a complaint drowned by the relentless growls below. Javi clambered up next to her, cursing as he yanked a jean leg from the jaws of one of the beass.
"Damn it," she breathed out, her white hair a stark contrast against the dark sky above them. This was not the resistance she had anticipated; not a locked door nor a hidden key, but a living barrier of teeth and fury.
"Stay alert," she commanded between pants, watching the rottweilers circle the car with predatory ease. They were obstacles, yes, but also living beings; her resolve hardened not just to protect herself and Javi, but also to avoid harm to the animals if possible.
"Got to think, got to act," she muttered, the gears turning rapidly in her head. The Whitmores had thrown down the gauntlet, and she was determined to rise to the challenge.
Perched precariously on the car hood, Tori's muscles tensed as the closest rottweiler lunged with a guttural snarl, its jaws snapping shut where her leg dangled a moment before. Instinct took over; she kicked out, her boot connecting with the dog's broad skull, sending it reeling back with a yelp.
"Back off!" Her voice was steel, a stark command that momentarily pierced the beast's aggression. The dog shook its head, regaining its bearings, its eyes locked onto hers with renewed focus.
Tori's heart hammered against her chest—a relentless drumbeat echoed by the growls below. She scanned the dimly lit yard for anything that could give them an edge. Her mind raced—these animals were trained, likely to obey commands, but their loyalty to their unseen masters trumped her shouts.
"Javi, we can't just wing it," she hissed, her eyes not leaving the circling predators. "We need something to turn the tables here." Frustration simmered beneath the surface of her words. She was an agent trained to face human adversaries, not to engage in battles of fang and claw.
Her hand brushed against the cold metal of her firearm holstered at her hip—an option, yes, but a last resort she loathed to consider. No, there had to be another way, a strategy that didn't end with gunshots and bloodshed, especially when the true culprits were watching from the safety of their home.
"Think, Tori, think," she muttered to herself. Her keen gaze flitted across the yard once more, desperate for inspiration. There had to be a solution; there always was.
Perched precariously atop the hood of their car, Tori's pulse thrummed in her ears as Javi's eyes darted around, seeking a lifeline in the chaos. The rottweilers' snarls were a visceral reminder of danger, but it was Javi's sudden movement that yanked Tori back to the moment.
"Wait here," he whispered, urgency threaded through his tone. He edged along the car, keeping low to avoid drawing the dogs' ire further.
Tori watched, muscles taut, ready to intervene if the beasts turned their attention toward him. She followed his gaze and saw the Whitmore's truck looming in the driveway, a silent, hulking mass shrouded in shadows. Despite the danger, she felt a flicker of hope—Javi had a plan.
The glint of metal caught her eye as Javi retrieved his service weapon. Her breath hitched; they had to be precise, and collateral damage was not an option. With a steady hand born of countless hours on the range, Javi lined up his shot.
A sharp crack fractured the night, louder than the canine threats and more jarring than the tension in the air. The truck's window shattered, sending shards of glass dancing like ice in the moonlight. The rottweilers, startled by the intrusion of noise, whipped their heads toward the source.
"Good thinking," Tori murmured, though she knew Javi couldn't hear her over the ringing in their ears. A surge of adrenaline propelled her readiness for the next move.
As the dogs hesitated, torn between their quarry and the sudden disturbance, Tori prepared to capitalize on the diversion. This was their chance to regain control, and she wouldn't let it slip through their fingers.
Tori's heart hammered against her ribcage as she swung her legs over the car hood, landing in a crouch. The animals snarled inches away, their hot breath fogging up the cool night air. She locked eyes with the nearest rottweiler, its gaze sharp and unblinking. Time seemed to dilate, stretching each second into an eternity.
"Hey! Over here!" Her voice was steel, commanding yet calm. Tori waved her arms, making herself the more visible target. The dogs took the bait, lunging at her feigned vulnerability.
In the periphery of her vision, she caught a blur of movement. Javi's form detached from the shadows on the opposite side of the car, his feet pounding the gravel as he sprinted toward the Whitmore's truck. His silhouette was etched with determination, moving with a swiftness that spoke of the countless drills they'd run together. Trust flowed between them, unspoken but ironclad.
Javi reached the driver's door, his hand slipping inside the shattered window with the nimbleness of a pickpocket. He didn't hesitate, didn't fumble—his fingers found the latch as if guided by instinct. The door creaked open, a beacon inviting the beasts to a new prey.
Tori's throat tightened as she watched the rottweilers' attention pivot. She kept the car between her and the dogs, leaping back onto the roof. Javi now whistled at the two beasts. Their heavy bodies redirected, muscles rippling beneath sleek, dark fur. They charged, not towards her, but towards the promise of Javi's ruse, their growls fading into the distance as they bounded after the truck.
The scene played out like a high-stakes dance—the flash of teeth, the bait, and the switch.
Javi had clambered into the truck. The rottweilers followed even as he moved out the opposite side. In the driver side, out the passenger side.
Javi wasted no time. He threw himself out of the truck just as the last rottweiler lunged inside, its teeth snapping at empty air. With a slam, the door sealed shut, the sound of it swallowed by the dogs' frantic barking now caged within the steel frame. Javi turned the lock with a click that resounded like victory. The animals were safe, and more importantly, so were they. He hastened back to the shattered window the dogs had come through and jammed the plastic lid of a trashcan over it, sealing the dogs inside.
He shot Tori a look—a silent nod that spoke volumes—and together, they pivoted on their heels towards the Whitmore residence. Their boots crunched over the gravel path, a rhythmic drumming that matched the thundering pulse in Tori's ears. Each step was heavy with purpose, her mind replaying every document, every lead, every lie that had brought them here.
The Whitmores had tampered with reports at their respective offices. Why?
"Glen and Cathy Whitmore!" Tori's voice cracked like a whip against the night sky, her call slicing through the murmur of distant sirens and the restless wind. "Open up! FBI!"
Her words echoed off the walls of the house, a fortress of secrets and deceit. Javi was beside her, his own fury a tangible force that seemed to shake the ground beneath them. He too shouted, demanding accountability.