Page 80 of Small Town Hunter

And there it ends. He leans against the bars, waiting for his ticket. His sense of timing is good because footsteps kick up from the front, and the jangling of keys.

Your husband has a real bad attitude, you know?” The jailer whines. “He should work on that.”

“I’ll let him know,” says McCall’s woman. “Can’t you do anything forher?” She means Trina.

Did they come here together?

“No, Ma’am. The Whiteleaf girl and her lover are wanted locally. Allyourhusband did was get in an imbroglio with the White Defenders, which has happened to all of us at some point or another.”

“So why did you arrest him? I told you he did nothing wrong!”

“Dee,” Sebastian calls suddenly. “Dee, please get me out of here before you start defending me.”

The jailer stomps over to our cell. “Back on the wall, both of you!” He commands.

I don’t have to move, but McCall backs up obediently. Using an old-time iron key the jailer cranks the lock open. The last time they renovated this jail must have been when Jesse James was still holding up stagecoaches.

The door opens. The jailer flinches back from McCall but the redheaded bastard just walks out and turns the corner without a backward glance. I don’t even bother rushing the door; I’d never get there in time.

With a smirk at me the jailer turns to follow McCall. As soon as the pissant turns out of sight I hear a yelp and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

“SEBASTIAN!”

McCall and his woman start arguing heatedly.

“Trina,” I call.

You imagined it. It wasn’t her.

But then I hear, “Crash!”

Trina sprints round the corner. She’s holding my duffel bag, and, amazingly, the jailer’s keys. She stops dead in front the cell, her face contorting in horror. “Crash! Whathappened?”

“That bad?” I grunt.

“You look terrible. Stand back,” she commands.

Absolutely not; no way can I let her do this.

“Get out of here,” I order her. “Go.”

“No, you’re hurt!” she says, stubbornly rushing forward to the cell door.

McCall’s woman is yelling at the top of her lungs, but the voices fade and continue outside. As Trina fumbles with the keys I hear brakes screeching.You win, McCall.

“Crash, don’t worry. I’m getting you out of there,” my darling promises.

“Ho! Hold it,” roars the jailer, turning the corner, a hand pressed to a large purple knot on his head. The other hand holding his standard-issue pistol.

Trina freezes, the key in the lock. She looks at me and then the fat man advancing towards her. I’m already trying to get myself up, trying with all the strength I have left, so I can keep her from doing what I think she’s about to do.

“No,” I tell her. “Get out of here. Go, babygirl— NO!”

Trina jerks open the lock, throws the duffel in the cell and jumps in after it. She slams the lock shut and lightning-quick wrenches the key back through the bars, scooting out of reach of the jailer.

“Smooth,” says Crocodile.

“Get out of there right now,” the jailer howls at Trina in indignation. “You’re a lady! You’re not supposed to be mixin’ with the menfolk!”

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