His brother nodded, eyes gleaming in anticipation. “Soon. Her stomach first, then her knee. Payback for me and Berg.”
“And once more for Orthus,” Dirk growled, his accent sharp and guttural. “For stealing our fucking dog.”
If they thought Orthus left the factory with me, then they clearly weren’t with him in the parking lot outside my office…
Allen stepped around the pit to stand at my side, and I couldn’t help envying his advantage: no one could see him, much less shoot him. “You must make friends everywhere you go,” he said, and I couldn’t resist a smile at the irony. I didn’t trust anyone enough to claim true friendship. Lacey came close, though.
“What’s so funny?” Dirk asked. “You think a bullet to the gut isfunny?”
I glanced pointedly at the .45 caliber in his fist. “What I think is that a gun that big is obviously compensating for something.”
Bowman snorted, and Dirk flushed in fury, grumbling something in his consonant-thick native tongue. He shifted his aim to Bowman, and the foreman’s laughter stopped abruptly.
“This is what I get for showing mercy on you assholes,” I mumbled, trying to ignore the fact that I could no longer feel my nose.Compassionalwayscomes back to bite you on the ass. “So, now what?” I glanced from Hagen to Dirk, then to Berg, who’d finally caught up with his fellow stooges, in spite of his limp. They now had me covered from three sides. “You guys put a hole in my stomach, then stand around and watch me bleed to death? That could take a while, and I bore easily. You think we could speed things up a bit?”
“No problem.” Berg chambered his first round, just for show.
“No!” Hagen ordered, glaring at his still-injured companion. “Not until she talks.”
“Why should I talk, if you’re just gonna shoot me when I’m done?” Not that I had any idea what they wanted me to talk about. Were they looking for Orthus? All this over a creepy dog?
“We’ll shoot you anyway,” Berg said. “What we dountilthen is up to you. You can tell us where he is now, and die quickly, or we can let Hagen convince you to cooperate. He’s very persuasive. Especially with women.”
Somehow, I doubted that. “I’m gonna go for option C.”
Hagen snorted. “There is no option C.”
My mouth curved into a slow smile, and I gave him a conspiratorial wink. Then I dropped to my knees in the snow, already squeezing the trigger. Hagen lunged to the left. Blood and feathers exploded from the right shoulder of his jacket.
Damn. Missed his head. I couldn’t letthatstory get out.
Rolling onto my stomach, I aimed at Dirk, who already had me in his sight.
“Not yet!” Hagen shouted. Dirk hesitated. I didn’t.
My bullet put a small hole in his forehead. A single drop of blood rolled down the bridge of his nose as his hands flew out at his sides, one still holding the huge pistol. He fell over backward like a child making a snow angel.
One down, two to go.
Shifting on the ground, I glanced to my left. Hagen barreled toward me, blood dripping down his right arm from the bullet hole in his shoulder. Bright red drops stained the snow behind him. Rage burned in his eyes. His clenched jaw bulged. But his gun remained un-aimed in his grip. Even in his grieving fury, he wasn’t willing to kill me—at least, not until he had whatever he’d come for.
Seriously? Over adog?
“Duck!” Allen shouted, and I looked up to find him staring at something behind me.
Duck?I was already on the ground. I snuck a glance at Hagen—still charging toward me—then sucked in a quick breath and shoved my face into the snow. Something whistled past, over my head. Cold wet snow seeped into my blouse above the neckline of my coat. At my back, Berg screamed. I looked up, spitting out ice-glazed blades of grass.
Buzzing sounded in my ears. Another bullet? No. The pitch was wrong—too low.
“Oh, shit!” Bowman’s voice teetered on the thin edge of panic.
As I pushed myself onto my knees in the snow, a deep, rumbling growl erupted behind me, echoing in my head like reverberation of a bass drum. Berg’s screaming ended in a wet gurgle.
Bowman vomited in the snow to my left. I glanced at him, then turned quickly back to Hagen. I could stand neither the sight, nor the stench of so much fear.
“Orthus, no!” Hagen bellowed, the sound torn from his throat in a primal shriek of rage and anguish. He stood frozen, staring over my shoulder, and this time when the buzzing in my head began again, I finally recognized it for what it was: the distinctive, rumbling snarl of a hellhound.
It was the most welcome sound I’d heard since landing in Halifax.
