An Eye For Danger (book 1)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“Don’t got all day,” said the man in a raspy voice, blood dripping from his lip and nose. I recalled his name was Sam, like that would humanize the bastard as he wagged his gun, implying he’d shoot Max if I didn’t hurry up and comply.And I'd thought he'd saved my life.

“Miss Larson.” Stone’s voice echoed from the crest of the ravine. “Where the hell are you?” Then he came into view on the ledge above us, hooking his arm around a tree trunk so he didn't slide down the embankment. “If you’re done with your sightseeing tour, my men and I would like to move on with this investigation. Today, please.”

From the detective’s vantage he couldn’t see the thug hiding at the base of the maple tree. Likewise, Sam was protected from Stone’s view—and his gun aim—by a tree trunk larger than my closet.

But nothing stood between me and the thug's gun except Max. And Max was the only family I had left in this world.

“Get him off me. Now,” snapped Sam, cutting through my stupor. He pulled his over-stretched sleeve back inside his pea coat, but Max was pulling harder, making Sam lean hard, unable to flee the scene. And I wanted this thug gone.

“Leave it.” I hooked my fingers inside Max’s collar and yanked, despite wanting him to gnaw off the man’s arm. Max twisted and ripped the knitting, growling with delight. Let go, damn it, or he’ll shoot us both. What the thug didn’t know was Max was playing tug of war, not attacking as he ought to be.

“Off!” I gave another tug and Max released, while I fell on my ass, legs splayed. I could barely hold onto Max's collar as I got my bearings.

“Help me up,” said Sam, grabbing my ankle so I lost what little balance I’d recovered.

“Miss Larson, do you mind?” Stone waved my blue booties in the air. They’d obviously been torn from my feet during my run from his precious crime scene.

Sam squeezed my ankle. “Make a choice, lady.”

Max wagged his tail, his tongue flicking out the side of his mouth, displaying that infamous smile at a time like this. Kicking free of the thug could get me shot. Or Max. Or the detective. Not much choice.

“Max, back.” I pointed him toward Stone, who tilted his head with a quizzical look cinching his face.

I scooted toward the tree, Sam pulling my ankle toward him. Once I got my footing, I yoked the thug’s thick arm over my shoulder, getting a nose full of wet wool mixed with smoke and ash, odors that revived memories of my accident, threatened to send me back on my ass if I didn't clear my mind. I shook my head to stay focused. And balanced.

With shaky legs I hoisted Sam to a wobbly start. He yelped as he tried to sustain his own weight, but most of the load was on me. And I wasn’t that sturdy. So I leaned him against the tree before he collapsed and face-planted me with him.

Panting, Sam locked his arm around my shoulder. I braced myself, waiting for him to recover his breath and relax his grip on me. Or on the gun dangling in front of my chest.

Stone climbed down the embankment in his dress shoes, cussing quietly but just loud enough I could hear his expletives. “Miss Larson, try explaining what the hell you are—”

“Stop right there.” The thug shifted to stand behind me, his arm binding me in a quick headlock.

Halting, Stone spotted Sam. Then he focused on something at my lower right that alarmed him enough he gasped. At least now I knew where the gun was. Maybe I could kick free, twist and leverage the gun away from the guy. And maybe I could give the detective my coffin size in advance to save time.