Page 42 of Shadow Blind

She shook the throw out, noting the multitude of shredded holes that hadn’t been there five days prior. The cat certainly knew how to use his claws and teeth. She almost asked one of the men to crawl under the bed and toss the blanket over the furry asshole, but there was a steep learning curve to that maneuver, one that produced blood and shredded skin. These guys would go for their guns the moment Trident attacked. She didn’t want the cat dead, just contained. She’d have to be the one to crawl under the bed after him.

“Get a good hold on the cage and make sure the door is open.” She dropped to her knees.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” the pretend priest asked in an empty tone. Almost like he was more curious than annoyed. “We’d have her out to the van by now, if we used some 9mm persuasion.”

Stick Guy made a shushing sound. Demi pretended she hadn’t heard them. Going down on her belly, she crawled under the bed while pushing the blanket in front of her. It was a tight fit, the wooden slats of the frame snagging her hair.

Trident was at the head of the bed, huddled against the wall next to one of the bedframe’s legs. She lifted the fleece, holding it as far up and out to the sides as she could, while letting it droop slightly in front of her eyes so she could see.

Arrgggglll! The cat warned in a low, guttural growl of doom.

“Good kitty.” Demi lifted her voice into that chipper chirp she despised.

Errgggowl! Arrggggowl! Stiff bodied and vibrating with rage, the cat shifted closer to the leg of the bedframe. Demi sidled that way, too, the blanket held up and out. She’d gotten to know the animal’s eccentricities and judging from its rigid body and blazing eye; it was about to attack. Sure enough, in a blur of movement, it launched itself at her head.

Demi caught the cat in the blanket. Before he could disengage his claws and escape, she rolled him over and over in the throw, until he resembled a writhing lump of fleece. Once the whirling dervish of claws and teeth was safely wrapped up like a burrito, she took a second to catch her breath. Wow, that had been the easiest capture yet.

“I’ve got him. That cage better be ready. He’s pissed.” The blanket wiggled beneath her hands as the demon she’d captured fought to escape.

“I’m coming out. Put the cage on the floor but keep the door open.”

She carefully crawled backward, the blanket clamped to her chest, while the cat squirmed and wiggled and howled in fury. A paw, claws extended, reached through one of the shredded areas in the blanket and tore a new furrow into her forearm. A burning sting engulfed her arm, followed by wet warmth trickling down her skin.

“Here.” Stick Man thrust the crate toward her head as she squirmed out from beneath the bed. She rolled onto her butt. Horror filled her as the blanket unraveled. A whiskered nose and glittering emerald eye peaked through a loose edge of the fleece.

Shit!

She shoved the cat, blanket and all, into the carrying case. Slamming the door shut, she engaged the locks as the blanket unraveled completely and a bomb detonated inside the cage.

Errgggowl! Arrggggowl! The plastic kennel rocked beneath the cat’s fury. Claws attached themselves to the grated door and rattled the metal.

“You shouldn’t have bothered catching that thing.” Muscle Man’s voice was laconic. “That cage ain’t gonna hold it.”

He was right. At its current level of ferocity, the furry demon was going to dismantle its carrier. Hopefully, a couple miles of duct tape would prevent the crate from disintegrating.

“There’s duct tape in the kitchen.” She shouted to be heard over the screeching and growling. “It’s in the drawer to the left of the sink. Could one of you get it for me?”

Muscle Man looked toward Stick Man, who shrugged. With a roll of his eyes, the pretend priest turned and stalked out of the bedroom.

“Better grab some scissors too,” Demi called after him, doing her best to keep the cage intact while keeping her fingers away from the slats along the side of the crate and the metal bars across the door. “They’re in the same drawer.” She held her breath as the cage rocked violently within her grasp. “Hurry!”

More yowling. More rocking of the crate. The sound of claws skittering against plastic. Demi held her breath and silently urged Muscle Man to hurry.

She caught a shimmy of movement at the bedroom door. That was quick. The dude must have raced to the kitchen and back. Stick Man was bent at the waist, peering into the rocking crate, like he was fascinated by the demon inside. She looked over his stooped shoulders, ready to grab the tape from the fake priest’s hands.

Only it wasn’t Muscle Man sliding into the room.

Chapter eighteen

Day 7

Coronado, California

Demi recognized the blue eyes and brown hair. Brett Taggart. Aiden had taken her to several cookouts where the former SEAL had manned the grill. She’d sensed his lethality back then, just as she’d sensed it in Aiden and the rest of his teammates. Even off-duty and surrounded by people and things familiar to them, Aiden’s friends had been watchful, their eyes constantly sweeping the landscape.

She’d wondered if that level of preparedness ever went away.

Tag’s lethality wasn’t masked now. It showed in each slow, precise step as he eased up behind stick man. It showed in the narrow, stony gaze locked on his target. He reminded her of a predator. All rigid focus and slow deliberation, his muscles fluid as he stalked his prey.

---