the trunk. “You’re a lousy shot, Pope. What’s your regular job, doing Trevor’s laundry?”
“That you, Donatti?” Pope’s voice sounded holy, all right. Like he’d eaten a cactus. I hoped Ian had gotten a few chomps in before he went down. “We figured you’d turn up eventually. Too bad about your dog, huh?”
We? Did he mean Trevor we, or dead-guy we . . . or were there more of them out here? “Shame about your buddy, too,” I shouted. “Hell of a way to go. You ready to join him?”
Pope’s gun roared. The bullet skimmed the side of the tree, inches from my head. “Ladies first.”
“Oh, you’re clever. Did you pick up your insults at Thugs R Us?” Jesus, that was close. I tried to remember what I planned on doing after I’d gotten his attention. And then I remembered that I didn’t have a plan. Shit on toast.
No response from Pope. The silence highlighted my heart pounding in my ears. Took him long enough to figure out what I was up to. Trevor didn’t make a habit of employing idiots. Seeing a wolf tear his partner’s throat out must have unhinged him a little, but he’d recovered now. Nothing I hated more than smart thugs.
I had to move soon. My leg screamed a protest under my weight. Sweat soaked my temples and dripped cold down my back. Holding my breath, I felt the ground beneath me and closed my fingers around a good-sized rock, then inched up the tree trunk slow and easy.
A whisper of sound behind me. Couldn’t let him get the advantage—he had a bigger gun. I lurched around the tree, ready to brain Pope on the other side. He wasn’t there. I knew I’d heard something. Before my mind could process this development, a sensation I’d experienced too often tonight presented itself: a gun jammed against me. Right between my shoulders.
“Drop it, Donatti.”
He must have come around the opposite side. The .22 tumbled to the ground. Useless thing, anyway. I almost dropped the rock that he hadn’t even noticed, but in a snap, I realized that if Pope intended to kill me, he’d have done it by now. Which meant Trevor’s arrogant ass still wanted me alive.
Not gonna happen.
I stilled and transferred all of my weight to the leg without the hole in it. Had to act fast, before Pope decided what to do with me. If I missed, I’d take another bullet for my trouble. I leaned forward and spun around, arching the rock up and out, then sling-shotted in for his head.
The dull crack of stone-meet-Pope sounded like salvation.
He didn’t go down right away. He blinked, stumbled back, and jerked. The gun went off, and the bullet sailed away through the trees without my body to block it. At last, the thug toppled to the ground with an expression that said,
Where’d you get that cement fist?
I snagged his piece from limp fingers and foraged for the Browning. I hoped the blow had only knocked him out. I’d leave killing him to Trevor. Sometimes my morals really interfered with the job. Kind of pathetic, if I thought about it too hard. When it came to stealing, I’d break the law six ways to Sunday, but murder, now, that was a crime.
Going through his pockets was second nature. Toss the wallet, didn’t need it. Crunch the cell. If he woke up, he couldthumb his way to call for a pickup and execution. I would’ve kept it, but I knew Trevor would be able to track it. Don’t even try to figure out why Pope carried a travel-sized lube tube and the barrel of a mechanical pencil.
I kept the spare cartridge and the butterfly blade with the cross etched in the handle. Felt good to be armed properly again. I’d leave him the string of mint-flavored condoms, though.
With no idea how long he’d be out, I had to immobilize him. I dragged him to the base of a slender tree, positioned his arms on either side of the trunk, and took off his shoes and socks. They stank like last week’s dinner left on the counter. I knotted the socks together end to end and used them to bind his wrists on the far
“That you, Donatti?” Pope’s voice sounded holy, all right. Like he’d eaten a cactus. I hoped Ian had gotten a few chomps in before he went down. “We figured you’d turn up eventually. Too bad about your dog, huh?”
We? Did he mean Trevor we, or dead-guy we . . . or were there more of them out here? “Shame about your buddy, too,” I shouted. “Hell of a way to go. You ready to join him?”
Pope’s gun roared. The bullet skimmed the side of the tree, inches from my head. “Ladies first.”
“Oh, you’re clever. Did you pick up your insults at Thugs R Us?” Jesus, that was close. I tried to remember what I planned on doing after I’d gotten his attention. And then I remembered that I didn’t have a plan. Shit on toast.
No response from Pope. The silence highlighted my heart pounding in my ears. Took him long enough to figure out what I was up to. Trevor didn’t make a habit of employing idiots. Seeing a wolf tear his partner’s throat out must have unhinged him a little, but he’d recovered now. Nothing I hated more than smart thugs.
I had to move soon. My leg screamed a protest under my weight. Sweat soaked my temples and dripped cold down my back. Holding my breath, I felt the ground beneath me and closed my fingers around a good-sized rock, then inched up the tree trunk slow and easy.
A whisper of sound behind me. Couldn’t let him get the advantage—he had a bigger gun. I lurched around the tree, ready to brain Pope on the other side. He wasn’t there. I knew I’d heard something. Before my mind could process this development, a sensation I’d experienced too often tonight presented itself: a gun jammed against me. Right between my shoulders.
“Drop it, Donatti.”
He must have come around the opposite side. The .22 tumbled to the ground. Useless thing, anyway. I almost dropped the rock that he hadn’t even noticed, but in a snap, I realized that if Pope intended to kill me, he’d have done it by now. Which meant Trevor’s arrogant ass still wanted me alive.
Not gonna happen.
I stilled and transferred all of my weight to the leg without the hole in it. Had to act fast, before Pope decided what to do with me. If I missed, I’d take another bullet for my trouble. I leaned forward and spun around, arching the rock up and out, then sling-shotted in for his head.
The dull crack of stone-meet-Pope sounded like salvation.
He didn’t go down right away. He blinked, stumbled back, and jerked. The gun went off, and the bullet sailed away through the trees without my body to block it. At last, the thug toppled to the ground with an expression that said,
Where’d you get that cement fist?
I snagged his piece from limp fingers and foraged for the Browning. I hoped the blow had only knocked him out. I’d leave killing him to Trevor. Sometimes my morals really interfered with the job. Kind of pathetic, if I thought about it too hard. When it came to stealing, I’d break the law six ways to Sunday, but murder, now, that was a crime.
Going through his pockets was second nature. Toss the wallet, didn’t need it. Crunch the cell. If he woke up, he couldthumb his way to call for a pickup and execution. I would’ve kept it, but I knew Trevor would be able to track it. Don’t even try to figure out why Pope carried a travel-sized lube tube and the barrel of a mechanical pencil.
I kept the spare cartridge and the butterfly blade with the cross etched in the handle. Felt good to be armed properly again. I’d leave him the string of mint-flavored condoms, though.
With no idea how long he’d be out, I had to immobilize him. I dragged him to the base of a slender tree, positioned his arms on either side of the trunk, and took off his shoes and socks. They stank like last week’s dinner left on the counter. I knotted the socks together end to end and used them to bind his wrists on the far
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