Page 59 of Reading Between the Lines
As I was about to give in, I spotted what appeared to be a building in the distance. I squinted. It was most definitely a structure of some kind. The log siding had nearly escaped my notice since it was the same color as its surroundings and covered in a tangle of vines on the side facing us.
“In a second,” I said, marching toward it at a faster clip.
In my single-minded focus, I didn’t realize Tallus wasn’t behind me. When I got within twenty yards of the cabin, the cocking of a gun drew me up short.
14
Diem
Aman’s voice sounded from my right. “This here’s private property, and I don’t know you, so I suggest you turn your ass around and head back the way you came before I decide you’re a threat and pull this here trigger.”
My heart went from ninety to nothing, engaging my instinct to fight. I froze, assessing the distance of the man’s voice—too close for comfort—and the chances of him expecting me to attack. Could I spin and disarm him? Take him to the ground? Knock the weapon from his hand? Not without seeing what I was up against first. A blind attack would get me killed.
I realized Tallus wasn’t nearby. I sensed his absence, and the rage pouring into my system in preparation for battle turned to fear. It choked me. I couldn’t breathe. Where was Tallus? How immediate was the danger?
I’d spent my entire life reacting to threats through violence or submission. Years in therapy had taught me to stop and think. Process. Analyze. So as much as I wanted to launch myself atthe perp with the cocked gun behind me, I held my hands aloft, displaying they were empty, and turned slowly.
A weather-beaten face, encased in a fur-lined hood, peered down the sight of a rifle. The man was either a rough fifty or a respectable sixty years old. He might have only had one hand on the gun, balancing it on his shoulder, but something told me, despite the insufficient grip, he wouldn’t miss if he pulled the trigger. His relaxed stance and unwavering focus spoke of experience.
The stranger held his other hand in a stop motion like a crossing guard giving instructions to children. I followed the direction it pointed, and every muscle in my body twitched with the urge to leap into action. The bear in my chest roared and snarled, throwing itself against my ribcage.
A midnight black rottweiler, easily weighing over a hundred pounds, had Tallus pinned to a tree. The skin around its mouth peeled back in a snarl, showing razor-sharp teeth as it dripped saliva. A low rumble rattled in its chest. A warning. A threat. “Don’t fucking move” it said. “Don’t fucking move, or I’ll tear your throat out.”
Tallus obeyed the unspoken command, but if I could smell my boyfriend’s fear from forty feet away, the mutt would be swimming in it.
The dog must have been hyper-aware of its master’s command because it didn’t take its eyes off Tallus for a second. Every part of its muscular body was taut with anticipation, waiting for a simple hand gesture to indicate it could pounce. I feared sneezing or moving too fast and setting it off.
“Who are you?” the man asked, drawing my attention from Tallus and the dog.
“We’re two guys out for a walk. Nothing more.”
“Is that right?” He wore grungy jeans, work boots, a thick flannel under a quilted jacket, and fingerless gloves. A coarsebeard obscured much of his face. “You walked right on over that fence back there without noticing it, did ya?”
Every inhale burned my lungs, and remaining still took willpower and strength. My ears rang. “Call your dog off,” I said through gritted teeth.
“No. He’s just doing his job. Trained tracker and look what he found. Two out-of-towners up to no good, heading places they shouldn’t.”
“If he hurts a single hair on that man’s body, your rifle won’t save you, asshole. I will tear your fucking limbs off.”
The man chuckled. “I doubt that.” But he lowered the rifle and whistled through his teeth. “At ease, Argos. Come.”
The change in the canine was instant. All aggression vanished as it bounded happily to its owner’s side and sat. The man rested a hand on the dog’s head, still not breaking eye contact.
I sensed Tallus’s relief. He didn’t move toward me, and I didn’t hear him retreat from the four-legged threat, but his weak voice hit my ears. “G-guns. Let’s go.”
“Listen to your buddy, hop right back over that fence, and don’t come back. I won’t be so nice next time.”
“Is that your cabin?”
Even with the shadow cast by his fur-lined hood, the creases beside the man’s aged eyes stood out. “Is it yours?”
“Are you the man who pulled the kid from the river? Was it your mutt who found him?”
The stranger glanced toward the Ganaraska before turning back, skepticism in his eyes. “Is that what this creeping is about? The dead boy.”
“He’s not dead.”
“He’s not alive, either, so far as I understand. All hooked up to life support.”
