Page 17 of Peril in Piney Woods

Meg jerked awake.

Raymond and Pepper had alerted. Heads up, bodies tense.

On alert herself now, Meg eased to her feet. Listened intently.

Banging on the front entrance made her flinch.

Since it was Sunday and the shop was closed, it wouldn’t be a customer. More reporters, she figured. Banging on the door was not acceptable. She’d just have to call Deputy Battles.

Muffled shouting and cursing echoed through the wall that separated her position from the lobby.

Maybe not reporters.

“Come on,” Meg murmured to Raymond, ushering him into the open kennel. Pepper followed without prompting. Meg closed the door, careful not to make a sound. If trouble was here, and obviously it was, she didn’t want the two elderly dogs getting caught in the fray.

Her first instinct was to call 911, but a part of her worried that if this was the trouble from her past, she feared that she’d only get someone killed. She didn’t want Deputy Battles’s blood on her hands. If her photo and last night’s holdup at the Gas and Go had somehow hit social media or the internet news...

She shook off the idea. Didn’t want to go there yet. Instead, she eased forward, all the way to the door that stood between this room and the lobby. Dropping into a crouch, she peered through the keyhole in the old-fashioned door. She’d never felt the need for a key to lock up between the kennels and the lobby. Maybe she should have. A little late now.

Glass shattered.

As she watched through that keyhole, a man’s hairy arm reached through the now broken front entrance door and flipped the dead bolt. Her muscles steeled for battle.

Damn. She should have set the security system. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

One man, then another entered the lobby. The larger guy—tall, thickly muscled—was older, fiftyish. The other was a few inches shorter and a good deal thinner and maybe in his midtwenties. Both wore jeans, tees and biker boots.

A memory of the guy who’d bled out on the floor at the Gas and Go flashed in her brain. Jeans, tee and biker boots.

No doubt these were his friends.

Damn. Just when she thought her biggest worry was Griff’s opinion of her.

“Come on out!” the older man shouted. “Don’t make us have to hunt you down.”

Using a bat, or maybe it was a club he carried, the skinnier guy swiped most of the items on the checkout counter off for emphasis. Thankfully, the vintage cash register teetered near the edge without crashing to the floor. Meg didn’t see any firearms, but that didn’t mean one or both wasn’t carrying. The bigger guy had a sheathed knife, the sort a hunter carried, on his belt. The feel of cool leather at the small of her back was reassuring.

“You got to the count of three,” Big Guy warned, “then we’re taking this place apart.”

No need to let things get out of hand, she decided. Besides, now that it was clear the trouble wasn’t what she’d feared, she could handle things. Hopefully without too much fanfare. Just to be sure she didn’t have to take this too far, she sent a text message to 911. Maybe no one would have to die before the police arrived. With that out of the way, she tucked her cell back into her pocket and did what she had to do.

She opened the door and walked into the lobby, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” She looked from the older guy to his friend and then to the mess on the floor. Shattered glass and the items that had been on the counter. Nothing irreplaceable. Just a nuisance.

Big Guy glared at her. “You killed my son.”

So this was Zyair Jones’s father. Regret pricked her. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir. But he didn’t leave me a lot of choice. He had a gun pointed at me.”

“You mean like this?” Skinny Guy tossed his bat/club down and drew a weapon.

Meg glanced at him. Nine millimeter. Damn. She had hoped neither one was carrying. Oh well, just made things more interesting. The fact that he held the weapon sideways told her he didn’t have a freaking clue what he was doing. Just trying to look tough like the thugs in the movies. Did that mean he wouldn’t shoot her and, with sheer luck, hit her? She wasn’t taking the risk.

Before she could respond, Big Guy growled, “Put that away. I told you I’m doing her the same way she did Zy.”

As he spoke, he whipped the knife from its sheath. “Let’s see how you like bleeding out alone on the floor.”

Meg stared directly into his eyes. “Your son robbed the Gas and Go and was in the process of sexually assaulting the girl who worked there. When I interrupted his criminal activity, he aimed a loaded weapon at me and appeared intent on using it. What would you have done?”

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