The thought of Demon mauling Francesca brought him out of his stupor. He had to get to her. That was why he’d crashed the gate.

Grabbing the door handle, he jerked it up to release the latch, but it wouldn’t open. He had to crank down the window and crawl through it instead.

Move! Now!

Scrambling faster than he was really capable of after such a blow, he fell as he cleared the window and banged his knee on a sharp object. It hurt like hell, but he ignored the pain and got to his feet.

“Hey!” Trying to attract the dog’s attention, he flapped his arms as he ran. There was some action taking place about twenty feet away. He could hear the scuffle, see some figures, but thanks to the shadows cast by the pole lights and the black spots that danced in his vision from the crash, he couldn’t be sure what was going on.

“Demon!” Butch called.

Was Butch urging the dog on or trying to call him off? Jonah couldn’t tell. But if Butch was trying to stop Demon, the Doberman was too worked up to listen. He veered away from Francesca, but came bounding toward Jonah, teeth bared in a snarl, legs working in a fluid motion as he began to jump.

“Demon!” Butch cried again.

At this point, Jonah was fairly certain he was trying to call the dog off. But it was too late. Demon was already in the air, lunging for Jonah’s throat…

With just a split second to react, Jonah had only one choice.

Drawing his gun from his shoulder harness, he fired.

The sound of the gunshot nearly deafened Francesca. Yet she managed to hear Butch’s gut-wrenching reaction.

“You killed my dog!” he screamed as Demon fell to the earth.

Closing her eyes, Francesca held her injured arm against her body and murmured a silent prayer of thanks. She’d been bitten when she tried to protect her neck and face but, fortunately, Jonah had smashed into the salvage yard before Demon could make another attempt at her jugular. Two or three more minutes, and she’d be the one lying motionless on the ground.

“You k-killed your dog,” she corrected, but she was shaking so badly she couldn’t stay on her feet and sank to the ground.

Butch whirled on her as if he’d finish her off himself, and Jonah fired his gun again. Since he was aiming at the sky, the bullet went into the air above them, but the threat was clear enough to convince Butch that he’d better back off.

“You bitch! Why did you come back here?” he cried. “What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you leave me alone? What have I ever done to you? I’ve told you and told you, I didn’t kill April Bonner! I’ve never killed anyone!”

Blinking fast to stop the tears that flowed of their own accord, Francesca gulped for the breath to speak. “You j-just t-tried to k-kill me.”

“That’s not true! The dog must’ve smelled you, because he took off on his own. I tried to stop him. It’s not my fault if you won’t obey the signs. There are Beware of Dog notices all over this place!”

Nauseous and weak, Francesca laid her head on her knees. “You sicced him on me, and you know it.”

“Butch?”

Evidently, the blast of Jonah’s gun had brought Paris to the porch. Hovering on the top step, she clutched one of the support posts as if she was afraid to come any closer. But afraid of what? Jonah’s gun? Or her husband’s reaction? “Butch, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice reed-thin. “What was that shot about?”

“They killed Demon,” he called. “They shot him!”

“Get in the van,” Jonah told Francesca, and jerked his head toward it.

Francesca wasn’t sure the van was drivable. It looked pretty banged up. But she didn’t argue. Wanting to get out of the salvage yard, she gathered her strength, got to her feet and limped past the inert body of the Doberman.

“You’re in trouble, Butch,” she heard Jonah say as she reached the passenger side and climbed in. “Serious trouble.”

“She’s the one who’s in trouble,” he insisted. “I’m going to get a restraining order against her. She has to stop harassing us. I was nice enough to return her purse when I found it, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Wow, he ran the gate.” This came from someone else, someone who sounded emotionally removed.

Swiping at her wet eyes, Francesca ducked her head to see through Jonah’s open window. Dean stood on the porch beside his sister, and from the tone of his voice, he thought this was good fun instead of upsetting and dangerous.

Paris was too worried about her husband to react to Dean. “Butch, come here. Don’t say a word. We’ll get a lawyer. They can’t do this. They can’t come onto our property, wreck our fence and kill our dog. We didn’t do anything to them. They’re going to pay for this.”

Butch didn’t seem reassured by his wife’s solace. He was too focused on Demon. “You had no right,” he told Jonah as he knelt and lifted the dog’s body into his arms. “You had no right to even be here.”

“Go get the video camera,” Paris told Dean, and he hurried off.

Hugging herself to control the shaking, Francesca cringed at the thought of anyone recording the van sitting wrecked in the yard, Butch’s dog dead, tears streaking down everyone’s faces. She knew how it would look. The video wouldn’t show Butch purposely locking her in and ordering his dog to attack her.

Something wet and sticky dripped onto her leg. Blood. She hadn’t realized she was bleeding but of course she would be. Demon had chomped down on her arm and refused to let go.

To staunch the flow, she wrapped the bottom of her shirt around her injured forearm. She shouldn’t have come here. She’d wanted to stop a killer, but she’d only made the situation worse. Even Jonah was hurt. He favored his right leg as he backed cautiously away from Butch.

“Get me the purse you took,” he said when he reached the front grille of the van. “And this time don’t say you don’t have it. I saw you bring it to your family.”

Burying his face in his dog’s fur, Butch ignored him.

“Now!” Jonah shouted. “Unless you and your entire family want to be arrested, you’ll get the damn purse.”

It was Paris who moved. She went inside and returned with Francesca’s handbag. Dean followed closely behind her with the video, narrating as he filmed. “Demon is dead,” he said. “And this is the man who shot him.”

“I’m calling the cops,” Paris yelled as she threw the purse at Jonah’s feet.




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