Guardian of the Night. Debra Webb
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beneath the horizon, slinking away with the waning light and leaving nothing but the gray of desolate dusk as she stood on the beach and peered up at the house through the thickening gloom.
“I’m not so easy to spook, Drake,” she muttered. “So don’t be thinking you can be rid of me so simply.” Lowell had warned her that Drake didn’t want her here.
She would change his mind. Surely common sense would prevail. If the man’s life was in danger, he needed protection. His enemy could strike at any moment.
A crack ruptured the silence.
Blue recognized it instantly.
Gunshot. High-powered rifle.
The sand kicked up where the next round pierced it. She dove for cover. There was none.
Simultaneously unholstering her weapon and scrambling toward the edge of the forest, Blue kept her head low as yet another shot rang out and plowed into the ground less than three feet away.
A hunter, she considered.
Not open season if things on the island were consistent with those on the mainland.
The shots hadn’t come from the direction of the house. Not likely from Drake. At least she hoped liked hell it wasn’t him. Then again, he could be over the edge.
As soon as she’d reached the fringes of the forest, she stilled, listening for telltale sounds of the approaching shooter.
Silence.
Long minutes passed as she moved deeper into the concealing shadows of the forest, her ears ever alert for sound, her gaze moving constantly in search of movement. There was no time to think, only to act.
She needed to work her way around to the front of the house and then use the overgrown shrubs for cover to cross the lawn. Getting inside and checking on Drake was top priority.
He could be in danger.
This little game of carnival shooting gallery could be nothing more than a distraction to keep her occupied while the real trouble went down inside.
Lowell kept the house locked. That was good. But it wouldn’t stop an assassin intent on accomplishing his mission.
She kept moving, adrenaline urging her forward. The undergrowth was thick…the brambles unforgiving. She pushed through the brush, trying not to think about what might be hiding within its concealing depths.
As the threat appeared to lessen, she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Complete darkness had closed in around her.
Her heart thundered in reaction, sending the sting of panic rushing through her torso…her limbs. Her hands shook. Sweat dampened her skin. She had to keep going.
…I wouldn’t want to be out in these woods at night. The memory of the very words she’d thought only a couple of hours ago slammed into her head.
And here you are, another little voice taunted.
Blue muttered a curse. She reached beneath her button-up shirt and shook the light stick hanging on her chain. The black color of her shirt kept the glow hidden, but it was there and that’s all that mattered. She could make the dark go away if only a little. Instantly her heart rate dropped to a more normal pace.
Moving cautiously, she was almost to the front of the house. No more shots had been fired and she hadn’t sensed any signs of a tail. Maybe it was some local goofing off with target practice. If that was the case someone needed to instruct him on weapon safety. Those shots had been all too close for comfort. On second thought, Blue decided the guy needed his butt kicked L.A. style.
A twig snapped maybe ten yards behind her.
She stopped. Held her breath. Listened intently. And squinted into the consuming darkness without moving a muscle. There was something…
A whisper of foliage against fabric or maybe skin tingled her auditory senses.
He was closer…almost on top of her.
She darted to her right, then ran like hell, hoping to God she wouldn’t crash into a tree.
The light from the full moon pierced the thick overhead canopy from time to time, just enough to give her some sense of place and direction. A silent mantra trembled on her lips over and over keeping her focused. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of the dark. She had her gun and her light. They were all she needed.
In spite of the blood pounding in her brain and the occasional crashing sounds made by her plunge through the dense vegetation, every now and then she heard a snap or a rustle of underbrush behind her.
He was coming.
Harder, faster she surged forward, low-lying branches snagged at her clothes, her skin, like long bony fingers from the stone-cold hand of death.
Her shoe snagged on a root. She pitched forward and barely caught herself before she hit the ground.
He was almost on top of her now.
She pushed onward. Her lungs were beginning to burn for more oxygen. She couldn’t control her breathing anymore. Had to breathe deeper, faster. Had to have more air. What the hell? She was already making more than enough noise to give herself away.
She burst into a clearing, thigh-deep weeds and brush slapping at her jeans.
A shaft of moonlight glinted off something large…a building.
Blue lunged for it and took cover inside. A dank, musty odor immediately shrouded her. She crouched down, her weapon clenched in one hand as she braced the other on the floor for support while she caught her breath. She didn’t even want to know what the furry stuff under her fingers was. Moss maybe. She could hope.
She held her breath, released it slowly. Willed her heart rate to decrease. Forced her mind to focus on the impending threat…to pinpoint the direction and proximity. He couldn’t be far away.
Listening intently, analyzing each sound, she heard nothing but the resonance of the night bearing down on her.
The constant cry of cicadas.
The wind stirring the leaves.
Damn, it was dark.
She made herself as small as possible, hunkering in the blackness just inside the open doorway, her weapon leveled steadily in her right hand, her left hand now flattened against her chest, feeling for the small light stick beneath her shirt and drawing comfort as her fingers closed around it.
He moved.
She didn’t hear him and certainly didn’t see him, but she sensed the movement.
To her right…five yards away maybe.
She squinted in that direction and saw nothing. He couldn’t be that close. If he’d left the cover of the trees, she should have seen at least a glimpse of him or a glimmer of movement in the moonlight.
…roams around all hours of the night like some kindda vampire… Chester’s words echoed.
Glass jangled, jerking her gaze to the left.
Spirit bottles like the ones back at the house hung from the lowest limb of a nearby live oak. The bottles swayed, banging against each other from time to time, the moonlight glinting from their surfaces. A new kind of uneasiness slid through her and she called herself every kind of fool. She was not superstitious. And she damn sure didn’t believe in vampires.
The deep weeds rustled, yielding beneath a heavy footstep.
She looked right again, her heart jolting back into top speed.
Nothing.
There was nothing there.
Dammit.
There had to be.
“It’s safe to come out now, Maggie Callahan.”
Her heart skidded to a near-stop at the sound of