It felt like he was here with me, like we were going through this together, and now I’m alone again.
Like I always feel.
There’s still a raccoon between you and Cookie, you idiot, I remind myself.
I take a deep breath and train the phone’s light on the raccoon. It hisses and then scrabbles away from me, shooting toward Cookie, who is still cautiously approaching.
“Cookie!” I scream as I shove my hands into my pockets, grasping for anything that might stop the disaster from happening.My phone clinks against the pepper spray in one pocket, and my other hand comes into contact with the treats.
I have a split second to decide, but it comes down to this—if I try spraying the raccoon, Cookie could get a faceful too. I also don’t want to hurt the raccoon. It’s out here doing its raccoon business, and it didn’t ask for any of this bullshit.
So I grab a handful of treats from my pocket and hurl them at the raccoon, half blind because my phone is still in my windbreaker pocket, the flashlight filtering through the thin fabric. There’s a full moon tonight, so at least I can see a little, with moonlight filtering through the trees and brush.
A few round pellets ricochet off the animal’s coat like shrapnel. It halts abruptly, and I hurl more of them.
I’m sure it’s going to attack me, or Cookie, but to my amazement, it starts gobbling down the treats.
Then Cookie, who clearly has no self-control, reaches the raccoon, and instead of running the opposite direction, starts devouring the treats beside it. It’s…adorable. Though obviously the raccoon is very dangerous.
Acting on impulse again, I pull out my phone, turn the flash on, and snap two rapid-fire photos.
My tactic does the trick, and the raccoon scurries off, running as if the light has poisoned its soul.
Even though I’m half blinded too, I get down on my knees, pulling the rest of the treats out of my pocket. I hold them out and start calling the little dog’s name, pouring every ounce of syrup I can manage into it. “Please, Cookie,please.”
Tears fill my eyes when she really does run to me, although she immediately goes for the dry, tasteless-looking wafers in my hand, wolfing them down as if they were Girl Scout Cookies.
“Oh, thank God. You gave me a scare.”
Five seconds later, I hear the sound of leaves cracklingnearby. Cookie tries to run from the sound, but I have my hand wrapped around her collar and will not let go for anything.
I crank my head around in disbelief, shining the light from my phone around us in a wide arc, and spot a grizzled older bearded man wearing overalls and night-vision goggles. He’s carrying a floodlight and what looks like a baseball bat, or possibly the dismembered foot of a chair.
This is exactly the kind of thing Cormac was trying to warn me about. He probably knows all about this crazy neighbor. Maybe the raccoon is his pet and he’s out for vengeance, or he just doesn’t approve of the racket I made while running through the neighborhood.
“We don’t want any trouble, sir,” I say, clipping Cookie’s leash onto her and wrapping the loop around my wrist. Once she’s secured, I slip my hand into my pocket and seize the pepper spray.
“Mighty late for a young lady to be out here in the woods,” he comments as his gaze pans the area. He’s probably looking for possible witnesses.
I’ve seen enough horror movies to know exactly where this is heading for Cookie and me.
Nope. I refuse. We’re both going to be final girls if I have anything to say about it.
I get to my feet, my pepper spray-holding hand still concealed in my pocket.
He takes a step toward me, and I unleash a concentrated mist of burning pepper spray in the direction of his face just as he says, “Cormac sent?—”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CORMAC
It’s six forty-five in the morning when I park in the driveway of my house, after having been on the road in the band bus for three and a half hours. The guys will have to get a one-way rental out of Atlanta, but I left Mick one of my credit cards.
I needed to get to Nora right away, and not just because she pepper-sprayed my seventy-two-year-old neighbor in the face. I had to see with my own eyes that she and Cookie are okay. And Nathaniel too, obviously.
If at all possible, I would also like to convince him not to press assault charges.
I barrel toward the front door, pausing only to shut the gate, but hesitate when I reach the stoop. This is my house, obviously, but should I knock? I don’t want to catch Nora by surprise and get a face full of pepper spray.
