“That’s your problem,” Michael answered and reached for the door handle—only to suddenly gasp and then collapse on the ground beside the car.
“What have you done?” Sara screamed as she opened the door and jumped out.
“Don’t worry,” Baylor answered. “It’s just an injection that’ll put him out for a while.” He leveled the gun at her. “Now you go visit the snakes and bring me that manuscript, like a good girl.”
Sara was tempted to get behind the tree and start running. If she zigged and zagged enough she could dodge a bullet and she knew the terrain. The dense mesquite would hinder Baylor, and there were boulders not far away that had multitudes of crevices large enough to hide in. The Comanche had done it numerous times and seemingly disappeared. But she couldn’t leave Michael.
She saw where the earth was soft and reluctantly stooped over and scooped it away. The original manuscript lay encased in a super-size plastic bag. She was surprised that Mr. Smith had agreed to part with it. Maybe, for all of his dramatics, he had a real heart inside him after all.
“Here,” she said as she returned to the car. “It’s the real thing. Please let me tend to Michael.” While she was gone, Baylor had pushed him into the back seat and tied his hands. Did the man carry rope with him everywhere?
“Don’t think so,” Baylor said as he tucked the manuscript under one arm. “Get in and drive us back to the house.”
“Michael needs an ER. Just let us go,” Sara replied. “You’ve got what you wanted.”
“Not quite everything,” Baylor answered with a smile. “You still owe me for all my trouble, remember? And I know just how I want to be repaid.”
****
Thunder rolled in the oppressive air as the lobo padded quietly through the tangle of sage and mesquite, his nose to the ground. Sara had been here recently, and he scented the evil that was Balor, too. Michael’s smell was fainter, which could be because he wore the pendant Lucas had given him, but it could also mean that his life force had been depleted. Lucas growled, thinking the pendant had probably blocked the warlock’s ability to shape-shift.
He held back the urge to throw up his head and howl. If McCain were hurt, Sara was in real danger. And then he smelled smoke. Head up, the wolf began loping towards its source.
****
Sara tugged frantically at the rope that bound her to the post. The bastard had already pulled her hands around the stake and tied them, and then he had wrapped additional rope around her chest and waist and thighs so she was trussed like a turkey and not able to wiggle more than an inch or two. Michael had been dumped out on the ground, but he was still unconscious and, in any case, he was bound, too. At least, Baylor seemed to have forgotten his plan to rape her. She should be grateful for that miracle anyway.Dear Goddess. Am I really going to die?
Baylor was playing with a small pile of twigs and leaves he’d lit, not far from her. She could smell the acrid air. With the storm she could see brewing, a good gust of wind would blow the embers right toward her and ignite the newspaper he’d stuffed among the kindling that surrounded her.
A sudden blaze of lightning, followed by an instant clap of thunder, made her jump. Or at least as far as the rope would let her.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and be struck down,” Baylor said as he fanned a little more smoke her way. “Lightning’s quick. You won’t even know what hit. Burning, on the other hand is slow. And quite painful.”
She suddenly recalled the vision that Brianna had shared with her. It hadn’t been Gwenhwyfar…it had beenher. Somewhere she’d heard that the smoke killed the victims first. She felt hysteria wavering on the edge of her sanity.Please, Goddess, hear me…Brighid…
She thought she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and then suddenly, a hundred and fifty pounds of golden wolf raced by her and lunged at Baylor, knocking him over—andsending the lit stick he’d been holding onto the wood around Sara. The paper began to smolder.
Snarling, the big lobo sank its fangs into the man’s throat, its massive paws mauling him.
And then the gun fired. For a moment, the wolf hovered over Baylor and then it swayed and fell over senseless, blood running from a wound in its side.
Chapter Eleven—True Identity
Baylor staggered to his feet and clutched at his spurting jugular. Within seconds, the flow stopped and the wound began to close. He aimed his gun at the wolf’s head. And then, with a vile curse, he stuck the automatic in his pocket.
“I kill you, damn Templar, and I kill me.” He looked up to see tiny flames seeping from the kindling. “Let’s see how you like your witch when she’s burned to a crisp.” He grabbed the manuscript and went to his own car, gravel flying as he drove away.
Sara tried not to choke as a plume of smoke rose around her. She struggled with the bindings.Dear Goddess, I don’t want to die! Help me! Brighid, I call on you!
She felt the first splatter of a raindrop and then another. She lifted her face as the heavens opened and rain began to fall. Her tears mingled with it as the fire was doused and she could breathe again. “Thank you, Great Mother,” she whispered.
Michael began to stir as the cool water revived him. He shook his head and struggled to sit up. It took another moment before he realized that Sara was tied to a post. He staggered drunkenly toward her.
“My God! What— Where is the devil?”
“Gone,” Sara said. “You’re more accurate than you think. He really is the devil.”
Michael edged around her and, back to back, began fumbling with the ropes on her wrists. Finally he got one end loose. As soon as her hands were free, Sara quickly unwrapped the rest of her bonds and untied Michael’s hands. Then she rushed over to the wolf and dropped down beside it.
