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Brandy released Dylan and dug through her purse, extracting several tissues and handing them to him.
“Thanks.” He took them and pressed them to his knuckles, the warmth of his own blood seeping through the tissue. Typical of him to be shedding blood. He did it so well.
Dylan pointed behind them. “Want me to go to the pharmacy and get some bandages?”
“Yes.” Brandy stuck her hand in her purse again and pulled out some money which she handed to Dylan. The boy took off, leaving Reardon and Brandy alone on the grass.
Well, as alone as they could be with a good portion of the town watching them.
Brandy realized they were being watched at the same time. She turned to face them and waved. “We’re okay, folks. Did someone check the driver of the truck?”
Reardon hadn’t worried about the other driver. His mind had been focused only on Brandy and Dylan. On getting to them. On making sure nothing happened to them.
“I called 911, but there’s nobody driving it,” one of the townspeople called back.
“Nobody driving it?” Brandy walked toward the truck impaled in the side of her SUV.
Reardon instinctively followed, not wanting her to get anywhere near the wreck. Sure enough, no one was behind the wheel. A quick look around didn’t reveal that a driver had been thrown from the truck either.
Brandy frowned but turned her attention back to Reardon. “How could there be no driver?”
He was about to reply, but another loud noise cut through the air. A moment later, several vehicles screamed in with flashing lights. Suddenly people in various uniforms exited the vehicles and climbed all over the scene of the accident.
Brandy tugged him by the forearm over to one of the vehicles and got the attention of a uniformed person. “His knuckles need some attention.”
“I’m fin—”
“No, you’re getting checked.” She gave him a stern look—one he’d seen her give Dylan when she was mothering the boy. He almost laughed aloud that she would dare mother him. If she only knew he was a fierce warrior who had lost copious amounts of blood on the battlefield repeatedly and had still survived. If only she knew he was a werewolf who would heal quickly.
Dylan came running over with his purchased bandages, but got sidetracked by one of the uniformed people who he obviously knew.
An efficient woman examined his knuckles, applied something cold and slick to them, then covered them with a soft, white wrapping. “These cuts aren’t too deep. Should heal up quickly.”
Reardon nodded then looked for Brandy in the nearby crowd. He found her talking to a man in a dark uniform. He wore a belt around his waist from which various instruments hung. They looked like modern battle instruments to Reardon so perhaps this man was a warrior of some kind.
When he came to stand near Brandy, she turned to him and gestured to the man. “This is Sheriff Olsen. Sheriff, Reardon…” She raised eyebrows, wanting a last name he figured, but he wasn’t going to give her one. Not yet.
“Sheriff.” Reardon shook the man’s extended hand.
“Nice save I hear.” The sheriff gave him a nod, but Reardon saw the untrusting look in the officer’s eyes.
“Fantastic save,” Brandy said. “If Reardon hadn’t scooped us up, we would have been the cream filling to that vehicle sandwich over there.” She arrowed her thumb over her shoulder, and Reardon picked up on the shiver that rippled through her body. “There’s no driver though.”
The sheriff shook his head. “No, but one of my guys found this. Stuck through the accelerator, pinning it to the floor of the truck.” He held up a wicked-looking blade inside a plastic bag. The handle was silver with intricate knotwork coursing over it.
Celtic knotwork.
Reardon’s stomach pitched. It was a blade fit for gods… or goddesses.
Chapter Eight
Brandy took the bag from Sheriff Olsen and turned the dagger around to inspect it from all sides. She’d never seen anything like it in real life. Sure, she’d seen pictures of blades like this one in the Celtic books she used when naming her wolves, but she’d never actually held one.
“This doesn’t look like anything from around here.” She handed it back to Sheriff Olsen.
“You can get anything on the internet these days.” The sheriff rolled his eyes and passed the dagger to one of his officers.
“Why would someone send a truck into the green like that?” Brandy rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. Though the hot sun still beamed down on her, a chill had seeped under her skin.
