Page 91 of Deadly Attraction
She did, liking the way his bigger body tag-teamed hers, shielding her, protecting her.
Putting him in their enemies’ line of sight wasn’t what she wanted, however, and it sort of pissed her off that she wasn’t going to get to shoot someone.
“If you dare hurt my horses,” she threatened the invisible men, “I will personally shove this shotgun up your ass and blow you away!”
She meant it too. She was tired of placating people, not letting them see how they upset her, provoked her. She was done taking other people’s shit, especially anyone connected to Chris Goodsman.
Yelling at them was cathartic. It seemed to release the valve inside her where she kept everything pushed down and contained. “I’m going to make sure they fry your ass, Goodsman,” she added as Mitch prodded her toward the porch, his back against hers. “If you’re out there having a laugh about this, or planning even more fanatical activities, you should know I’m ready for you.”
Mitch knocked his shoulder into her. “Will you quit already? Get in the house, for fuck’s sake.”
But she wasn’t done. They hit the porch and Emma whirled around, both hands on her shotgun and the anger inside her boiling. “I don’t care what it takes, Chris. I’m going to make sure you go down, one way or— Eeep!”
Before she could finish, Mitch snatched the shotgun from her hand and shoved her inside.
At the same time, a shot rang out, shattering the window next to her.
She fell to the floor, hands landing in glass as a hundred pieces fell around her. More gunshots peppered her front porch, the door, the siding. Curling in a ball, she ignored the stinging cuts in her hands and covered her head, her heart seizing in her chest.
Bang, bang, bang. The gunfire didn’t stop.
She peeked through her fingers. Luckily the dogs were nowhere to be seen. She hoped they were safe upstairs with Will.
All around her, bullets flew through the broken window, embedding themselves in her living room, breaking her lamp, exploding a couch cushion, knocking a picture from the wall. She rolled away from the door.
“Mitch!” she yelled over the noise. She couldn’t see him, didn’t know where he’d gone. He had nowhere to hide in the front of the house since he’d moved his truck. It was just open yard, the steps, and the porch.
Oh God, don’t let him be dead.
She was about to risk shifting back toward the door to peek out when he came hauling in from the kitchen.
“Stay down,” he commanded, crouched as he ran over to the blown out window and put his back against the wall. He had his handgun in one hand, the shotgun in the other. One booted foot reached out and kicked the door closed.
Blood bloomed on his left shirt sleeve. More streamed from a cut near his temple.
“Are you shot?” she asked, digging her elbows into the old wooden floor and pulling herself across the floor toward him. “You’re bleeding.”
He stuck his handgun in his waistband and reached out with his free hand. Grabbing hold of the back of her shirt, he hauled her over to the wall next to him. His gaze landed on her hands and he frowned. “You’re bleeding too. Are you all right?”
Her body shook with the force of a California earthquake. Her hands stung from the glass and she could see small pieces still embedded in her skin. “I’ll live. You didn’t answer my question. Are you hurt?”
Will came thundering down the stairs and pressed himself up against the far wall, rifle in hand. He glanced at Emma, then nodded at Mitch. “You done good out there with the horses.”
The shooting from outside stopped.
Mitch cocked his chin at Emma and said in a low voice, “Why the hell did you let her out of your sight?”
“Stubborn woman wouldn’t listen,” Will said at the same time Emma said, “It’s not his fault.”
Mitch glared between them. His face was covered with soot. His gaze finally came to rest on Emma. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Look who’s talking,” she snapped. “You go running into a burning barn by yourself and it nearly collapses on you. I thought you were dead!”
Her voice had risen and without the gunfire to compete with, it sounded shrill and panicky in the confines of her destroyed living room.
“She thought if she could draw them out, I could shoot them,” Will added sheepishly.
Mitch banged the back of his head into the wall, once, twice, three times, then sagged against it, resignation at their cross-purposes shadowing his features. “You took ten years off my life, Emma.”
