Hunt sighed heavily and frowned. Brady kicked at the grass. Layla chewed her nail more savagely. And Griffin linked his fingersthrough mine, automatically rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of my hand.
I added miserably.
I was still hoping for an influx of unforeseen brilliance when Bobo wriggled out of Layla’s embrace, stiffened, and ran to Clyde’s bumper. He listened for a moment, then barked a sharp warning.
Immediately, we all stood and lined up beside each other.
Bobo kept barking until a convoy of cars crested the horizon, then he stopped, drawing to stand in front of us.
With my stare pinned on the approaching vehicles, I told him, “Good boy, Bobo.”
Layla offered emptily.
But when the cars came closer, they revealed themselves to be a line of black Cadillac Escalades. Almost certainly,Magnum’sblack Escalades.
And we were sitting ducks, without any way to defend ourselves and even less of a way to escape.
Brady said, but then added,
Griffin growled, drawing closer to me.
As one, we closed the gaps between us, as if that would help a damn thing.
Hunt said.
Layla said somberly.
Brady said.
I said, rubbing with my free hand at the ring of five scars on my chest, now barely visible, the only physical sign that Magnum gunned me down.
Griffin said.
But when the Escalades pulled up behind Clyde, Fanny was the first one out—and she pointed a pistol at us without bothering with anI’m your cool, fun auntfake smile or even a singlehello.
12
Why You Been Actin’ So
Messed Up Toward Us?
Palms facing forward, Griffin’s hands shot up while he sidled in front of me, blocking most of my body from Fanny’s line of sight—or rather, the sight line of her revolver.
“Whoa, there, Fanny,” he called to her. “What the hell’s going on? What do you think you’re doing, pointing a gun at us?”
“Yeah, what the hell?” Layla asked, her voice rising in pitch, convincingly conveying befuddled terror. She was either in full actress mode or genuinely panicking, I couldn’t even tell anymore.
While Fanny cocked a hip in her standard floral maxi skirt and Birkenstocks, with socks this time, and so incredibly at odds with the unwavering grip she held on the gun, Griffin spoke urgently into our secret chat.
Brady said, while a mean smile spread across Fanny’s face, erasing my earlier comparisons between her and Judi Dench or Helen Mirren.
She stalked closer, three mercenaries dressed for a showdown shadowing her. Jaggar and Raynar weren’t among them, thoughthat provided no relief, given the resolved, unfeeling look in their eyes. They were killers who didn’t see a bunch of inoffensive young adults, but rathertargets.
Brady had moved immediately beside Griffin. From behind a wall of their muscled backs, I could barely see Fanny. Hunt stood in front of Layla. Even before all this dying and resurrecting, our guys had always been especially protective of us, no matter how many times we insisted we could defend ourselves.
“What are you doing out here?” Fanny demanded of us, ignoring Griffin’s and Layla’s questions.
