Chapter One
A bead of sweat took a slow path down his throat and into
the neckline of his dark T-shirt. Pushed by a hot,
insubstantial breeze, a weed brushed his cheek.
Clint never moved.
Through the shifting shadows of the pulled blinds, he
could detect activity in the small cabin. The low drone of
voices filtered out the screen door, but Clint couldn't
make out any of the slurred conversation.
Next to him, Red stirred. In little more than a breath of
sound, he asked, "Fuck, I hate waiting."
Wary of a trap, Clint wanted the entire area checked. Mojo
chose that moment to slip silently into the grass beside
them. He'd done a surveillance of the cabin, the
surrounding grounds, and probably gotten a good peek in
the back window. Mojo could be invisible and eerily silent
when he chose.
"All's clear."
Something tightened inside Clint. "She in there?"
"Alive but pissed off and real scared." Mojo's obsidian
eyes narrowed. "Four men. They've got her tied up."
Clint silently worked his jaw, fighting for his famed icy
control. The entire situation was bizarre. How was it Asa
knew where to find the men, yet they didn't appear to
expect an interruption? Had Robert deliberately fed the
info to Asa, to embroil in a trap, so Clint would kill
him? And why would Robert want Asa dead?
Somehow, both he and Julie Rose were pawns. But for what
purpose?
Clint's rage grew, clawing to be freed, making his stomach
pitch with the violent need to act. "They're armed?"
Mojo nodded with evil delight. "And on their way out."
Given that a small bonfire lit the clearing in front of
the cabin, Clint wasn't surprised that they would venture
outside. The hunting cabin was deep into the hills, mostly
surrounded by thick woods. Obviously, the kidnappers felt
confident in their seclusion.
He'd have found them eventually, Clint thought, but Asa's
tip had proved invaluable. And a bit too fucking timely.
So far, nothing added up, and that made him more cautious
than anything else could have.
He'd work it out as they went along. The drive had cost
them two hours, with another hour crawling through the
woods. But now he had them.
He had her.
The cabin door opened and two men stumbled out under the
glare of a yellow bug light. One wore jeans and an
unbuttoned shirt, the other was shirtless, showing off a
variety of tattoos on his skinny chest. They looked
youngish and drunk and stupid. They looked cruel.
Raucous laughter echoed around the small clearing,
disturbed only by a feminine voice, shrill with fear and
anger, as two other men dragged Julie Rose outside.
She wasn't crying.
No sir. Julie Rose was complaining.
Her torn school dress hung off her right shoulder nearly
to her waist, displaying one small pale breast. She
struggled against hard hands and deliberate roughness
until she was shoved, landing on her right hip in the
barren area in front of the house. With her hands tied
behind her back, she had no way to brace herself. She fell
flat, but quickly struggled into a sitting position.
The glow of the bonfire reflected on her bruised, dirty
face - and in her furious eyes. She was frightened, but
she was also livid.
"I think we should finish stripping her," one of the men
said.
Julie's bare feet peddled against the uneven ground as she
tried to move further away.
The men laughed some more and the one who'd spoken went
onto his haunches in front of her. He caught her bare
ankle, immobilizing her.
"Not too much longer, bitch. Morning'll be here before you
know it." He stroked her leg, up to her knee, higher. "I
bet you're getting anxious, huh?"
Her chest heaved, her lips quivered.
She spit on him.
Clint was on his feet in an instant, striding into the
clearing before Mojo or Red's hissed curses could
register. The four men, standing in a cluster, turned to
look at him with various expressions of astonishment,
confusion and horror. They were slow to react, and Clint
realized they were more than a little drunk. Idiots.
One of the young fools reached behind his back.
"You." Clint stabbed him with a fast lethal look while
keeping his long, ground-eating pace to Julie. "Touch that
weapon and I'll break your leg."
The guy blanched - and promptly dropped his hands.
Clint didn't think of anything other than his need to get
between Julie and the most immediate threat. But without
giving it conscious thought, he knew that Mojo and Red
would back him up. If any guns were drawn, theirs would
fire first.
The man who'd been abusing Julie snorted in disdain at the
interference. He took a step forward, saying, "Just who
the hell do you think you -"
Reflexes on automatic, Clint pivoted slightly to the side
and kicked out hard and fast. The force of his boot heel
caught the man on the chin with sickening impact. He
sprawled flat with a raw groan that dwindled into
blackness. He didn't move.
Another man leaped forward. Clint stepped to the side, and
like clockwork, kicked out a knee. The obscene sounds of
breaking bone and cartilage and the accompanying scream of
pain split the night, sending nocturnal creatures to
scurry through the leaves.
Clint glanced at Julie's white face, saw she was frozen in
shock, and headed toward the two remaining men. Eyes wide,
they started to back up, and Clint curled his mouth into
the semblance of a smile. "I don't think so."
A gun was finally drawn, but not in time to be fired.
Clint grabbed the man's wrist and twisted up and back.
Still holding him, Clint pulled him forward and into a
solid punch to the stomach. Without breath, the painful
shouts ended real quick. The second Clint released him,
the man turned to hobble into the woods. Clint didn't want
to, but he let him go.
Robert Burns had said not to bring anyone in. He couldn't
see committing random murder, and that's what it'd be if
he started breaking heads now. But in an effort to protect
Julie Rose and her apparently already tattered reputation,
he wouldn't turn them over to the law either.
Just letting them go stuck in his craw, and Clint, fed up,
ready to end it, turned to the forth man. He threw a punch
to the throat and jaw, then watched the guy crumble to his
knees, then to his face, wheezing for breath.
Behind Clint, Red's dry tone intruded. "Well, that was
efficient."
Clint struggled with himself for only an instant before
realizing there was no one left to fight. He turned, saw
Julie Rose held in wide-eyed horror, and he jerked. Mojo
stepped back out of the way, and Clint lurched to the
bushes.
Anger turned to acid in his gut.
Typically, at least for Clint Evans and his weak-ass
stomach, he puked.
* * *
Julie could hardly believe her eyes. One minute she'd
known she would be raped and probably killed, and the fear
had been all consuming, a live clawing dread inside her.
Now ... now she didn't know what had happened. Three men,
looking like angelic convicts, had burst into the
clearing. Well no, that wasn't right. The first man hadn't
burst anywhere. He'd strode in, casual as you please, then
proceeded to make mince meat out of her abductors.
He'd taken on four men as if they were no more than gnats.
She'd never seen that type of brawling. His blows hadn't
been designed to slow down an opponent, or to bruise or
hurt. One strike - and the men had dropped like dead
weights. Even the sight of the gun hadn't fazed him. He
moved so fast, so smoothly, the weapon hadn't mattered at
all.
When he'd delivered those awesome strikes, his expression,
hard and cold, hadn't changed. A kick here, a punch there,
and the men who'd held her, taunted her, were no longer a
threat.
He was amazing, invincible, he was ... throwing up.
Her heart pounded in slow, deep thumps that hurt her
breastbone and made it difficult to draw an even breath.
The relief flooding over her in drowning force didn't feel
much different than her fear had.
Her awareness of that man was almost worse.
Like spotting Superman, or a wild animal or a combination
of both, she felt awed and amazed and disbelieving.
She was safe now, but was she really?
One of the saviors approached her. He was fair, with blond
hair and light eyes, though she couldn't see the exact
color in the dark night with only the fire for
illumination. Trying to make himself look less like a
convict, he gave her a slight smile.
A wasted effort.
He moved real slow, watchful and gentle. "Don't pay any
mind to Clint." He spoke in a low, melodic croon. "He
always pukes afterward."
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