“Reagan, I thought you weren’t supposed to kick in doors in this house.” “Oh yeah.” She grimaced. Dizzy scratched the wispy gray hair on the top of his head. His red shirt was burned and torn in places, and his pants looked like he’d stolen them from a homeless painter. “Callie likes order and intact doors, you know that.” “I do. That was my bad.” “It’s not a strange rule, if you think about it,” Dizzy continued, still studying the door. “Kicked-in doors are very dramatic. You should only do that when the situation calls for it. Like busting in on the bad guys, or breaking and entering.”
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