Hour of the Lion by Cherise Sinclair (reading a book txt) 📕

remaining on that side saw her coming and ducked into the store. Vic crossed the street and felt the net of men contract. They planned to grab her in the middle of town? Damn.

She was moving fast as she went into the bookstore.

Thorson looked up. "Forgot someth—?"

"Where‘s your back exit?"

His brows lifted. "Rear of the storeroom." He pointed to a door behind the counter.

"Stay out of this," she snapped, darting behind the counter and through the door.

Darkness. She tripped over something. Dammit. She fumbled for the penlight on her key ring. The tiny beam showed her a huge room filled with boxes and a winding path to the exit.

She‘d just reached the exit when shouts broke out in the store. A yell of pain. A growl. Oh, fuck, why had she picked Thorson‘s place instead of somewhere else? That junk-yard dog wouldn‘t sit quietly while thugs tried to follow her. She yanked the knife from her calf sheath and dashed back across the storeroom.

The knob was already turning, so she waited until the door opened a crack, and then gave it a hard kick. The heavy oak slammed into the guy‘s face with a thud she felt in her bones.

He dropped like a rock, a tranq gun clattering to the floor. One down.

She whipped through, jumped over the body, then paused to map out the situation. One bastard just entering. One had closed on Thorson, and she grinned. Joe would take the poor sucker apart.

The third rushed her, saving her time. She sidestepped, then kicked him and took his knee out. As he fell, she used his greasy hair to whack his head against the counter and winced as his skull fractured. Two down. Nice of Thorson to use solid oak for his door and counters. She glanced at him.

His opponent had pulled a knife. Thorson knocked aside his arm, plucked the blade from his hand, and jammed it into his chest. The man crumbled into a heap. A gleeful grin appeared on the old man‘s face, then the sharp retort of a pistol split the air, and Thorson staggered backward against his desk. The splattering blood turned his paperwork a garish red.

No! Vic spun around. The gunman stood just inside the door. With a snarl, she flung her knife.

With a choking sound, he dropped his weapon to grab frantically at the blade in his throat.

Blood sprayed across the wooden floor as he went down to his knees. Spasming, he fell forward.

"You play rough, little female." Thorson was standing, one hand pressed to his shoulder.

Blood streamed between his fingers.

"Jesus, I thought he‘d killed you!" Giddy relief soared through Vic, and she grabbed his grizzled head to plant a kiss. One second of joy, then she dropped her jacket on the floor to strip off her T-shirt.

Wadding it up, she shoved the makeshift bandage against the bullet hole. "Does nine-one-one work here? Are you allowed to go to the hospital?"

"Yes and I am." Thorson‘s knees buckled, and he dropped into his chair.

"Stay," she ordered like he was a dog, which was just wrong. She pulled her jacket on over her bra before grabbing the desk phone. As she punched buttons, she watched the door. If she‘d have planned this, she‘d have someone designated as a backup. More bad guys might be coming.

"What is the nature of your emergency?" came the voice.

"A robbery at the bookstore in Cold Creek. The owner got shot."

The operator gasped—were they allowed to do that?—and then returned to her monotone,

"I‘m sending the police and ambulance. Please stay on the line until they arrive."

Near the storeroom, the man she‘d hit with the door groaned and tried to roll over. She dropped the phone long enough to walk over and slam his head against the floor.

A grin appeared on Joe‘s face, pushing aside the lines of pain. "You were pulling your punches during our bar fight. I knew it."

How could a guy remind her of her father, a drill sergeant, and her teammates all in one?

Ignoring the ache in her chest, she scowled and snapped, "Just shut up and keep pressure on that wound."

When a siren wailed its approach, she almost cheered. The cavalry had arrived.

A second later, the young deputy burst into the store and stopped dead at the carnage.

With adrenaline still pumping in her veins, and relief threatening to choke her up, she took it out on him. "You fucking idiot! I told nine-one-one the owner was shot. Have you ever heard of checking things out first?"

In the corner of her eye, she saw Alec doing just that, standing to one side, looking through the window. He entered silently and gently pushed his deputy aside before kicking the pistol away from the dead guy. His dark green eyes flickered over Vic and the downed men. When he looked at Thorson, his mouth tightened. "You‘re getting‘ slow, Joe. Is it bad?"

"Nah, missed the good stuff." Thorson moved his shoulder and grimaced. "Hurts less than a clawing."

"Oh, sure it does." Alec looked around again, his face impassive, so coldly competent that Vic wanted to fling herself into his arms, and how wrong was that?

His gaze returned to Thorson. "What‘re they after? They don‘t have the scent of druggies."

Thorson tilted his head. "Her."

She‘d already begun edging toward the storeroom door when Alec‘s eyes pinned her to the spot. "Talk to me, Vixen."

Looking out the window past him, she saw a dark car crawl down the street. One man. The backup. She retreated another step. "I need to get out of here."

Alec turned, spotted the car.

An ambulance passed it and screeched to a stop with two wheels on the sidewalk. Joe would be okay. Thank you, God.

Frowning at her, Thorson jerked his head at the back. "Git."

"Jenkins, take Thorson outside. I‘ll lock the store behind you," Alec ordered and elaborated,

"If they ask, say a guy attacked Thorson, trying to get money, and escaped as you arrived." He flashed a grin. "No need to mention the dead bodies or the short, skinny