Jenna Ryan - Shadow Protector

Logan glanced over. “I’ll be there in five. Tell Edgar to fire a couple rounds of buckshot into the barn wall. Might take the edge off.”

“Always a first time,” Fred returned cheerfully. “Good luck, Logan.”

As the sun dipped below the mountaintops, he switched on the lights and siren. “How are you at following orders, Doc?”

She dropped his hat on the seat between them. “The mood I’m in, spectacularly bad. Did I hear the word ‘gore’?”

“It’s the Bulley’s word for ‘stab.’ Used to be a kid’s game involving plastic horns. Now it’s a drunken threat when they’re feeling ornery.”

“Sounds like your Bulley boys have serious anger management issues.”

“You could say,” he agreed. “Their grandfather grazes a stingy herd of cattle, but the number’s been dwindling over the years, so the boys, six of them, have been forced to find other ways to augment their income.”

“Ways you smoke or drink? ”

“Drink mostly. We’ve dismantled three stills since late March. Last one was five days ago. Supply’s probably running low, so Bulley logic would dictate that they down the last of it and take their anger out on someone else.”

“Like deputies and campers.”

“They’ve also been known to fire warning shots at trespassers.” Logan slowed as the lights of a ramshackle farmhouse came into view. “Challenge is to see how close they can come without actually hitting the person. Fortunately,” he flicked off the siren, “they’re not in love with firearms. Knives tend to be their weapon of choice.”

Braking behind a stand of pines, he reached for his rifle, stuck the hat back on his head and caught her chin between his thumb and fingers. “Whatever happens, Sera, keep the doors locked and the engine running. Anyone who isn’t me shows up, don’t check for blood, just turn the truck around and head back to Frank’s Diner. You got that?”

“Every word,” she said. “Uh, tell me, are two of the Bulley boys tall, wiry and left-handed?”

A brow went up when her eyes touched on a point over his shoulder. “Coming from behind?”

“Faster than speeding bullets.”

Anticipation glimmered. Releasing her chin, he reached for the door handle. “This is gonna be fun.”

“Logan?” As amused as she was amazed, Sera worked her way over the console to the driver’s seat. She stared into the rapidly expanding darkness. “Forget Jesse James. Houdini must be one of your ancestors.”

No matter which direction she looked, she couldn’t see him. He was gone, and so were the two men. Obviously they’d vanished into the trees, but talk about witchy people—this place had it all over San Francisco—and that was saying a lot.

She was searching for the lock control when a face popped up at the driver’s side window. A split second later the door flew open and a pair of grimy hands, one of them wielding a knife, shot inside.

Startled, Sera jumped back. She gave the passenger door a shove and the man’s wrist a kick.

Spying Logan’s gun, she grabbed it and tumbled from the truck.

It was hardly surprising that her heels unbalanced her and she landed on the ground. But she didn’t spend three nights a week at the gym for nothing. She was on her feet before the man could wriggle through the interior.

His lips peeled back when he got his first good look. “Hoo-ee, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you, baby doll?”

On her feet now, Sera raised the gun. “Don’t make me shoot,” she told him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He hopped out, snickering when her hand trembled. “You sure you got the right end pointed at me?”

“Do you want to find out?”

He didn’t stop completely, but she saw him hesitate. He was drooling, she noticed. And limping slightly.

She kept her arm extended, and flicked her gaze down then back to his face. “How old were you when you broke your right leg? “

Shock halted him in a way the gun hadn’t. “How’d you know about that? You Jessie-Lynn’s cousin from Casper?”

“No, I’m …”

“A witch then.” His already small eyes narrowed. “Gramps says there’s a bunch of them living up Buffalo way.”

“He means Wiccans.”

“Don’t matter what he means. How’d you know about my leg? “

“It wasn’t set right so the bone didn’t heal properly. I’m guessing you were young and still growing. Maybe ten or eleven? “

“Twelve.” His lip curled. “You a doctor?”

“Yes.”

He made a sound of disgust and spit to the side.

Sera kept her tone and expression calm. “I see.”

“You’re a jackass like Prichard.”

“Only on weekends in Haight-Ashbury. Don’t make me shoot,” she said again when he lurched forward.

The snarl became a sneer. “Doctors don’t go round shooting people, now do they, baby doll? Anyway, I think you’re lying. Saw me limping, took a lucky guess.”

Still fifteen feet away, Sera could smell the alcohol on his breath. He whipped out a taunting arm, then laughed and feinted forward.

Double handing the gun, Sera put pressure on the trigger. “You really don’t want me to do this.”

“Want it more than you do, I figure. Come on, baby, show Benny what you got.”

When he moved again, she fired. Missed him by several feet, but the shock of it had him hopping backward.

“You ain’t no doctor, lady.” Then he stopped. “You ain’t no kind of shot either.” His eyes gleamed as he recovered lost ground. “Grab her, Danny.”

She heard a twig crack. Waiting a beat, she plowed her elbow into the stomach of the man behind her, then spun away to fire a second shot. The bullet thwacked off a tree. From her knees—when had she lost her footing—she squeezed again.

The Bulley with the bruised stomach bared his teeth.

Sera knew she couldn’t win this. Both men were advancing, both were drunk and she had a feeling it was the heel of her shoe snapping off that had landed her on the ground.

“Looks like we got a she-cat on our hands, Benny,” the bigger Bulley growled. “How ‘bout I …”

The rest of his sentence emerged in a whoosh of air as he hit the tree behind him with enough force to send him slithering down the trunk.

Swinging around, Logan used the butt end of his rifle on the other man’s jaw. Benny pivoted in a slow half circle before dropping like felled timber.

“Might want to take your time getting up,” Logan suggested. His eyes were on Sera as he spoke. Holding out a hand, he drew her to her feet. “You hurt? “

“No more than if I’d been working out with Hulk Hogan in his prime.” She waved the tip of his gun between the two prone men. “Do you do this sort of thing often then?”

“Often enough.” Raising his voice, he said, “Lloyd and Jake are cooling off in the barn. They were smart enough to ditch their knives when they spotted me.”

“Didn’t mean no harm, Logan.” Benny’s words were muffled by the dirt beneath his face.

“You threatened the lady with a weapon. It’s called intent. On your feet, both of you, and into my truck.”

“Come on, Lo …” But one look and Benny dropped his face back into the dirt. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

Danny worked himself into a squat. “I’m supposed to be stocking shelves at the grocery store tonight, Logan. Miguel won’t be happy with you.”

Ignoring him, Logan indicated the gun in Sera’s hand. “I hope you pointed that a good long way off target.”

“I did. Here.” She handed it over.

“Her bullet came closer to my crotch than my knife did to any part of her,” Benny called out. “Maybe I wanna press charges myself. Against you for bringing her here and her for almost shooting my balls off.”