He’d been that close to a bullet in the head.
Sean’s attention moved from the spinning man to the enormous thing barreling down behind him. The eighteen-wheeler roared towards Rune.
Rune had no idea.
The truck’s brakes screamed as Rune stumbled into its path.
Too late.
Through his broken windows, Sean heard the thud. Rune tossed into the air like a rag doll.
Sean slammed on his own brakes. He thrust his head through the shattered driver’s side window to watch Rune’s body as it arced through the air.
He never landed.
Sean blinked, wondering how he’d lost sight of the man.
There was no second thud as the body hit the pavement.
The truck had come to a stop, nearly jackknifed in the middle of the road. The driver jumped down from his cab and ran to where Rune had been standing. The driver spun, arms outstretched on either side of him, mouth gaping, searching for the man he’d struck.
Time to leave.
While Sean had considered throwing the Jag into reverse and running over Rune to ensure the bastard’s need to travel far, far away—the ghoul had never landed. Disappearing mid-air didn’t work within the laws of physics and therefore, couldn’t be good. He might have escaped to another time—slunk off, so someday he could pop up again like a reoccurring case of heartburn.
Sean shifted into gear and hit the gas. He felt confident he was already far enough away the trucker wouldn’t be able to read his plate. That poor man would be lucky if he remembered anything about Sean’s vehicle, considering he’d just struck a man with a vehicle the size of a small train.
Sean gripped the wheel at ten and two.
Could it have been that easy?
Foe arrives, foe is hit by truck. Hopefully Catriona wouldn’t be upset about her father’s second death, though it didn’t seem as though she wanted anything to do with—
A man appeared in the road in front of Sean.
The figure held a gun pointed at him.
Rune.
How—?
A bullet-sized hole appeared in his windshield. Sean didn’t swerve. Rune didn’t move.
Sean pressed the gas to the floor.
Let’s see how you like being run over twice, you son of a—
A second gunshot echoed seconds before he struck the man.
The last thing Sean remembered was a crack in his windshield, right in front of his field of vision.
Not the Jag.
Chapter Eleven
Catriona and Broch gathered their luggage and returned to the front desk to check their bags. Catriona doubted they’d solve all Alain’s problems with Mo before nightfall, but hope sprang eternal.
The Gold wouldn’t let them store their bags with no promise of renting a room, so Catriona produced her studio credit card. She hoped Mo would cooperate. They’d be finished their mission in an hour, and the three of them could head home. She didn’t want to find herself in a hotel room with Kilty for the evening, making a fool out of herself while he strode along his own little moral high ground.
No. She was done trying to pull him off his high-horse. Either he’d come to her or she was done.
Just think about work. Work, work, work.
“We’re going to need to get another taxi to—”
Catriona cut short. She didn’t feel Broch’s presence behind her and the man behind the counter stared at her as if she’d been talking to him.
She turned to find the Highlander gone.
Catriona pushed the two suitcases behind the desk, took her receipt, and scanned the lobby for her missing partner. She spotted Broch near the front door talking to a man making strangely stylized hand gestures.
Magician. Broch had been accosted by a lobby magician.
The roaming entertainer turned his head to pop a blue ball from his mouth. She spotted his white face and grimaced.
Oh god. A mime magician. The worst.
Catriona strode to Broch, thrusting his luggage ticket at him. “Put this in your pocket. It claims your luggage behind the desk there. We have to go.”
“Cat, he made a ball disappear fae yin haind and appear in his gob.”
She nodded. “Yep. He’s a magician. That’s what they do. Gargle balls all day.”
The mime scowled at her and held up an index finger. Not the finger she’d expected after her comment. He was asking them to wait. He pointed to Broch’s jeans pocket.
“Whit? Mah pocket?” Broch slid his fingers inside and pulled out a shiny wad of paper. He unfolded it and gasped.
“Tis a eight of spades. That wis mah card. Ah picked it afore ye—”
Catriona rolled her eyes. “Right. Amazing. Let’s go.”
“But he cam tae shaw me his magic,” protested Broch as she tried to drag him away.
“That’s because he has no friends. That’s why he became a magician in the first place.”
The mime held up his middle finger for her to see.
There it is.
“Nice. Classy mime.” Catriona dragged Broch toward the door.
“Thank ye,” Broch called over his shoulder, holding aloft the folded card. “Thank ye, wizard.”
The mime nodded and waved, shooting Catriona a last angry glare in response to her interrupting his chance at earning a tip.
They walked outside and the dry desert heat quickly warmed their air-conditioned skin.
“Whyfur were ye sae mean tae the painted wizard?”
Catriona sighed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be mean. We just have work to do and mimes freak me out. Anything clown-like. I don’t like people in costumes, but especially clowns.”
“Ah thooght he was a clever jester.” He poked her in the arm. “Ye need tae hae more fun.”
She chuckled. “I keep trying to have fun and you keep shooting me down.”
He stared
