Life as I see it: Page 1 of your book: “Open,” say’s me!

On Tuesday I posted Part 1a of a two post series. This is part 1b.

I gave you a chance to write your own opening. Remember?
(If you didn't do Part 1a, I recommend you close this post and open and read the one immediately preceding it before you continue here.)

Select any of the following versions of the prompt below. All versions have the same focus. There is a difference in degree.
Write the rest of the opening to a story.
Any genre.
Write 150-750 words.

The front door wasn’t latched.

The front door was open.

The front door wasn’t closed tight.

The front door was ajar.

“The front door’s open.”

I wrote an opening to the bolded prompt.

Here’s one scenario.

The front door was open. Not much. She didn’t notice the gap until she reached out to knock.

Instinct kicked in.

Detective Wanda Jefferson winced after she snapped her head as far left as she could. She berated herself silently for forgetting her injury.

I’ll blame it on adrenalin

Wanda balled her right hand and stabbed her fist into the air. In response to the universal “HALT” sign, five police officers stopped in their tracks.

She shot two fingers at the uniformed officers closest to the house.

Heads nodded.

Those same two fingers motioned away from the house. A complex wave with fingers pointing down ended in a flick toward the back of the house generated another nod. Five fingers on her left hand spread to signal the time to wait before entering the rear of the house.

Wanda winced a second time. Her left arm dropped to her side.

In for a penny, in for a pound!

She flashed a thumb’s up with her right hand and watched as the officers spread out and disappeared around the corner of the house and headed toward the backyard.

The detective turned her head 180-degrees to her right and winced a third time. Her partner and the last uniformed officer pretended not to notice her tight jawline before they nodded.

One finger point and two fingers sweeping behind her directed her partner to the stairs on her left. A chopping motion followed by an opened hand stop sign signaled the officer to remain on the porch until called.

As Wanda bent her left elbow to get a better look at her watch, a searing stinging feeling shot from her neck to her elbow.

She gasped.

Her partner moved to her side.

“How long?” he whispered hoping to distract her from the pain.

“Three minutes,” the detective managed after swallowing twice, her lips pale from being forced closed.

He nodded and stared at his watch. He knew his partner was supposed to be on restricted duty. He’d seen the doctor's order sheet the day she came back from two-weeks of mandatory leave following her wrestling match with a body guard from one of the local gangs. The tear in her trapezius and the partially dislocated shoulder healed. But, neither was close to normal strength.

Wanda scanned the doctor’s order and paid a technician recommended by one of her CIs to edit the recommendation from “restricted duty” to “light duty—fieldwork acceptable.” It took a signed affidavit promising to take one-hundred percent of the responsibility for the forgery and non-sequentially numbered twenty-dollar bills to seal the deal.

Detective Wanda Jefferson released the back strap and pulled her service revolver from its holster. She knew she and her partner would find out soon whether that was the right move to make.