Page 61 of Legacy of Danger
Chapter 15
The image of a man pointing a gun at Mariah sucker-punched Vaughn. Escape plan needed. Now.
His ability tingled and sparked to life, and he clamped his teeth together, releasing the control over his gift. The urge to protect himself and Mariah surged, jackhammering his fucking skull.
He scanned the property still visible in the house lights illuminating the darkness. One main building and numerous large garages and barns. He stopped in a snow-dusted dirt and gravel open parking area.
There wasn't much cover.
Not only would he have a slim chance of protecting himself if Wyatt or—he squinted—damn it, Tommy Brand with his scarred eyebrow got a shot off, but no way could Vaughn keep Mariah safe as well. The two men still pointed guns.
Vaughn's vision went red.
Why hadn't he insisted that she stay away?
Because that stubborn woman would've gone with or without his help, all to do her job.
Before Vaughn could tap out a text and hope it would reach home, Tommy rapped on the window with the tip of his gun barrel and hollered, "Hands on the wheel, Taggart. Get out of the truck slowly." Vaughn dropped his phone to the floorboard where the guys couldn't see it.
Wyatt knocked on the passenger side; Mariah yelped. The color drained from her face and neck.
Now Vaughn needed to kill that man for scaring her.
He pounded again on the window, his face steaming up the outside of the glass next to Mariah.
Her hand shook as she scrambled to unlock the door. With a wide-eyed glance over her shoulder at Vaughn, she clambered down into the dirt and snow-covered parking area.
After yet another tap, Vaughn barked at Tommy, "Unwad your panties. I'm coming." He kept his hands where the man could see them, stepped out of the truck, and hurried around the front of the vehicle. Anything to get closer to Mariah.
But it wasn't close enough. He was stopped before reaching the porch.
"What the hell are you doing here, Taggart? Thought this was a goddamned doctor visit, not you taking a tour of our property." Wyatt spat on the ground and stood in his way. "Besides, you're trespassing."
At least the guys had set the guns down against the house. Still too close for comfort.
"I drove the nice doctor down your piss-poor excuse for a road, so she could do your family a favor. If you don't want her to care for your mother, we'll get back in the truck and leave."
"Suits me fine," Wyatt growled.
A third man exited the house. With that sleeveless shirt, the guy had his own bulging guns on display. Dread turned to concrete in Vaughn's stomach, and his blood pressure did a swan dive.
He would recognize those dead, ice-blue eyes anywhere.
"Linc," he gritted out. "What the hell are you doing with these losers?"
The hulking man sneered, "Helping out around the ranch. Aunt Patty's been sick and all."
Fuck. How had he not connected that Linc was related to the Brands?
Wyatt snickered. "Taggart, you must know my cousin, Lincoln McDowell. Linc, meet pansy-assed Vaughn."
The Brands just got better and better.
Linc flexed his arms. "Oh, we know each other. It's been, what, four years? Doesn't matter. We'll finish our discussion later." In the octagon. Of course.
Vaughn curled his hands into fists, eager to start the fight early.
Mariah glanced over at Vaughn with a frown, and he gave a tiny head shake. He needed to get her out of the worsening danger. And loose cannon Linc McDowell personified "worsening danger."
