When I looked up from my phone, we were right up on the truck’s rear bumper. Ahead of us, Duck put an arm out the window and waved us on, like he thought we were randomly impatient people who wanted to pass him on the narrow road.
Jack pulled out into the other lane, passed Duck, and then immediately slowed to a stop, so Duck was forced to slam on his brakes behind us. As soon as the other truck squealed to a stop, Jack snapped on his flashers and jumped out. I followed right behind him.
“Stay back. We know she has a gun,” I said, but Jack was running so fast he was a bronze-haired blur. Almost before I could blink, he was at Henrietta’s side of the truck, yanking the door open and pulling her out of the vehicle.
“What? Who are you? Why are you …” She caught sight of me then. “Tess! What is happening?”
“Stop talking,” Jack growled. “The sheriff is on the way.”
Duck, the manager of the Dead End motel, was in his fifties and had always been slow to act. But he climbed out of the truck and came around to where we stood on the side of the road.
“Hey, Tess.” He started to put his hands in his pockets, but Jack snarled at him.
“Show me what’s in your pockets. Slowly and carefully,” Jack demanded.
Duck looked baffled, but obediently pulled the linings out of his jacket pockets, showing us they were empty. “What’s going on? Who are you? Wait! You’re Jack Shepherd! Tess, what in the world is happening?”
I could tell from his confused expression that he had no idea what he’d somehow stepped into the middle of. Henrietta had gathered her composure and put her hands on her hips.
“Tess Callahan. This is no way to treat a visitor to your fair city. Why, I—”
Jack threw back his head and roared.
If you’ve ever heard a tiger roar, you’re familiar with the immediate, visceral reaction it causes. Animals and humans alike recognized, somewhere deep in our ancestral memory, that we were in the presence of an apex predator.
Jack’s roar, even when it came out of his human throat, always had that effect.
Henrietta, her criminal past, present, and possibly future aside, was no match for the sound. She cringed away from Jack, and Duck stumbled back against the hood of his truck.
“Shut up. You threatened Tess with a gun,” Jack growled. “You’ll be lucky if you survive long enough to be arrested.”
Cowed but in no way defeated, Henrietta’s head shot up at the word “arrested.” “What do you mean? Arrested for what? Tess, I thought we were all good on that little misunderstanding with the gun.”
“What?” Poor Duck’s face was a study in shock. “What gun? Henny, what are they talking about?”
Henny?Oh, no.
I took a closer look at his expression. That wasn’t entirely shock on his face. Duck was in love. With Henrietta Quirksley, a self-professed bank robber and stalker.
I closed my eyes and counted to three. Not that it ever helped. Maybe I’d start counting to three thousand when I had time to spare.
“Duck,” I said. “I don’t know ifHennytold you, but she’s a bank robber. And she’s violating her parole, just by being in Florida, for one thing, and for having a gun, for another.”
He nodded, beginning to smile. “Oh, that. That was just a misunderstanding. She didn’t really rob no banks.”
Henrietta sighed. “Well, sweetheart, I may have slightly exaggerated my innocence. But all my crimes were long ago—”
“Monday,” I interjected grimly. “When you threatened me with your gun in my shop.”
“They were all long ago, except for that one little slip,” she blithely continued.
“And when you showed up at my house and warned me to stay away while you stole Susan’s property,” I pointed out.
“Well, that was just …” she trailed off, at a loss.
Duck hurried to chime in, though. “That’s not her fault! She was under the influence of those dangerous magical things!”
Henrietta beamed. “Right! That!”
