20
D
riving with the top down and the wind occasionally flinging insects at him had given Maco more than just Shari’s safety to think about. Dyson had sworn he’d had nothing to do with Ona’s shooting. He’d never been near Working Dogs. Neither, he insisted, had any Greenspeakers so much as mentioned Shari. Granted, he could have been lying, but from what he and Jason could tell, he’d been honest about everything else.
Instead of waiting for the sheriff, he’d left Jason to handle Dyson. He’d said only that he needed to see for himself that Shari was all right. Fortunately Jason hadn’t asked why he didn’t simply call her.
No matter how he tried to rationalize what had taken place at Working Dogs, he’d been unable to convince himself that it had been an accident. That might come later, once he’d assured himself of Shari’s safety.
As soon as he turned off the county road, dust started billowing up. Good thing he didn’t believe in trying to keep the Jeep clean. Slowing to a crawl cut down on the dust, and the wind stopped beating against his ears. He could hear.
Dogs barking.
Bam!
For nearly a second, the sound didn’t register. Then he had no doubt. He’d heard a gunshot, again.
No longer caring about breathing fresh air, he stomped on the gas. Smoke up ahead. Rising and trying to mix with the clouds.
Coming around the last turn, he took in the sight of dogs running about, a fire in one end of the boarding kennel, and Shari and Rachele crouched behind the kennel’s near end.
A man. Holding a rifle. Slowly walking toward Shari and Rachele. Stopping occasionally because a large, dark Rottweiler was sniffing his heels.
Maco was out of the Jeep and the Colt was in his hands without him knowing how those things had happened. Much as he wanted to call out, he didn’t dare draw attention to himself. He couldn’t tell if the women were aware of him. Only one thing mattered. Disarm the bastard.
He could shoot him. Do to this man what he hadn’t done to Dyson.
But one doesn’t kill simply because the woman who’d turned one’s world inside out is in danger.
Overtaking the bastard took forever because he forced himself to keep to the blackberries and other bushes. So this was what it was like to hunt, to stalk. The loose dogs showed no sign of calming down. The Rottweiler at the stranger’s heels outweighed Bruce and Tucker by a good thirty pounds. The fire continued to rage. He could no longer see Shari.
It occurred to him that even if the stranger couldn’t shoot the Rottweiler because it was too close, he could have used the rifle as a club. Maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t get in a good enough blow and wind up with fangs tearing at his flesh. Maybe he was saving the rifle for Shari and Rachele.
The big dog nipped at the man’s right heel. Cursing, he kicked back. Instead of latching on, the Rottweiler dropped to its haunches, growling. The man took a few steps, then faced the dog.
Even before he aimed, Maco knew what was going to happen. One of the women screamed.
“Don’t!” Holding his revolver with both hands, Maco stepped out from behind the bush that had been protecting him.
The man’s mouth flopped open. If he was still aware of the growling dog, he gave no indication. “What the hell?”
“We’ll get to that later,” Maco said, sounding calmer than he felt. “Put it down. Now.”
“Get out of here. This doesn’t concern you.”
“The hell it doesn’t. You heard me, drop that rifle.”
Instead, the man swung his weapon in Maco’s direction. It was still moving when the Rottweiler charged, hitting the man in the chest and knocking him backwards. The rumbling warning morphed into a savage howl.
Screams that made Dyson’s laughable by comparison shocked Maco. He couldn’t tell what part of the man the dog had hold of; maybe he didn’t want to know.
“Stop him! Stop him!”
“Down!” Maco commanded. “Down, now.”
The command that had worked on Bruce had no effect on the powerful beast that now stood over his victim with his front paws on his chest and his head low.
“Oh God, he’s killing me! Stop him!”
“Down. Down,” Maco repeated. Nothing happened.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Shari and Rachele running toward them. “What’s the command? Make him stop.”
“Down!” Shari ordered. “Rex, down!”
Rex’s attack continued.
“What the hell’s wrong?” Maco demanded.
“He isn’t fully trained,” Rachele said. “Down, Rex, down.”
Shari reached man and dog. She tried to grab the dog by the collar.
“Don’t!” Propelled by fear, Maco shoved Shari aside, then wrapped his fingers around the thick leather collar and pulled.
“God, no!” the man screamed.
Afraid Rex still wouldn’t let go, Maco relaxed his hold a bit. Rex had part of the man’s shirt in his mouth along with who knows how much flesh. The dog’s mouth was huge, what he could see of his teeth off the chart.
Maybe the only way to get Rex to relinquish control was by getting his attention. Saying a silent
I’m sorry,
he let go, made a fist, and slugged Rex between his eyes.
“Did you hear me? Let go, now.” He punched Rex again.
The heavy jaws opened. Bloody fabric fell free as Rex whipped his head in Maco’s direction. Although Maco saw it coming, he couldn’t jump back fast enough. The awful teeth clamped on to his gun hand.
For a beat nothing registered. Then pressure began followed by deep pain. His fingers went numb, forcing him to release his weapon. It thudded against packed earth.
“Damn!” He forced himself to remain still.
The man Rex had been attacking was still on the ground but struggling to put distance between himself and the dog. Maco couldn’t think about him now. Neither was there room for Shari.
“Easy, easy,” he chanted, praying Rex wouldn’t clamp down any more than he was. “You don’t want to—”
Feminine hands swam into view. Riveted on them, he watched as tanned fingers closed around Rex’s nose. “Down,” Rachele ordered. “Did you hear me? Down.”
Rex’s whimper put him in mind of a chastised pup.
“Right now,” Rachele commanded. “Down.”
Another confused whimper vibrated through Maco’s arm. His forearm hurt like hell. Rachele’s hand remained around Rex’s nose.
As fast as the pressure had registered, it ended. A sigh that came too close to a moan escaped him. Nothing remained of Rex except saliva and puncture marks, yet Maco couldn’t talk himself into moving his arm. No way could he retrieve his weapon.
“You okay?” Rachele asked. She’d let go of Rex’s nose and was cradling the big, solid head between her hands. She’d knelt so she was looking into the dog’s eyes.
“Just fine,” he managed. “You did great.”
“Yes, I did.” She brought her face close to Rex’s. “You’re a good boy, you know, a little crazy but good.”
Watching blood bubble up from the four holes in his flesh, he wondered if he should tell Rachele she didn’t know what she was talking about. The Rottweiler’s tail swished back and forth, and although he occasionally growled, he looked like a happy camper.
Only a glance had passed between Shari and Rachele, but they’d come to the same conclusion. One of them would deal with Rex and Maco. The other would keep an eye on the stranger. Although Shari ached to hear Maco say he was all right, whatever it took, she’d get some answers from the bastard who’d tried to incinerate the dogs.
She’d remained where she was until she was sure Rachele had control of Rex. She’d been aware that the man on the ground was on his side and scooting away from Maco and Rex but had chalked that up to survival instinct.
Too late she realized he’d been heading for his rifle.
“No!” she yelled. The rifle was in his hands, aiming for her.
“No!” She catapulted herself at him.
Grabbing the barrel, she tried to wrench it from him. Cursing and screaming, he fought her. Somehow he was on his feet. They stared at each other, combatants ready to fight to the death. Something about his eyes struck a memory, but there wasn’t time to think of anything except living. Doing what she had to.
Fueled by adrenaline, she planted her feet and jerked the barrel to the left and then the right. The pale eyes were heavy with pain and hatred. Spittle ran from the sides of his mouth.
“Fuck you, you cunt. Fuck you!”
“Shut the hell up!”
Not caring how much she might hurt him, she shoved the barrel toward the ground. Letting go, she slammed all her weight against him. For an instant he held his own, then he must have lost his footing because he fell backwards. She landed on top of him with the rifle trapped between them.
Only disarming him mattered. Any way she could.
The idea of pressing her body against his turned her stomach, yet she positioned herself so most of her weight was on him. He howled. She continued to press. His howl became a shriek.
Galvanized by his obvious pain, she rolled off him, taking the rifle with her. Her legs threatened to give way, but she forced them to support her. She cradled the rifle in both hands as if daring him to try to take it from her.
“Damn you, Heather! God damn you!”
Heather?
No one, not even her aunt and uncle, had called her by her birth name since her father’s murder.
Her father’s murder.
She started shaking. The rifle started to slip from her numb fingers. Strong arms, male arms, went around her and took the weapon from her. She sagged against Maco.
“He called you Heather,” Maco said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Even with Maco surrounding her, she couldn’t tear her eyes off the man who’d tried to kill her. He was much older than the last time she’d seen him, with sagging jowls, almost no hair, and several days of stubble, but the eyes were the same.
“Buzz.”
For an instant pain lifted from the man bleeding on the ground. “Yeah, Buzz. Haven’t forgotten me, have you?”
You tried to kill Ona, I know it. Nearly burned innocent dogs to death.
“Why?” she whispered. Maco’s chest rose and fell in time with hers. “Why this?” She jerked her head at the kennel engulfed in flames.
His attempt at a smile revealed discolored teeth. “You ruined my life. I swore I’d do the same to yours.”
She might have responded except for the sound of an approaching siren.
“Buzz?” Maco sounded as if he could barely bring himself to say the word. “What the hell do you mean,
she
ruined
your
life?”