God, this was torture. She’d never been on the back end of this before. She preferred point man to back up any day. Sitting around, waiting for something to jump out sucked worse than heading in, face first.
Inside, she caught the sound of a muffled voice. Furniture moved; a chair dragged across the floor.
Delilah reached slowly to her back and gripped the gun.
Inside, someone yelled loudly and the back door banged open, ripping free of the top hinge. A figure, slim and wiry and yelling crazily, launched himself off the porch. Delilah jumped back but not in time.
The man hit her shoulder as he landed and she went rolling ass over elbows. She caught a glimpse of him just as he disappeared into the trees. The fourth man from Mack’s. The quiet one. She’d never learned his name but she remembered his face.
She struggled to her knees, intent on getting to her feet and chasing him, but a second figure appeared from the house. Another of Lyle’s men. The one Laurel had recognized. He came at a dead run and even though she threw herself sideways, she knew she wasn’t getting out of the way in time. This one jumped and landed on top of her and she felt the air whoosh from her lungs.
“Stupid bitch!” the guy yelled as he scrambled up. His fist reared back and swung out and Delilah rolled sideways so that he hooked her on the arm instead of the jaw.
She winced and rolled clear, coming up to her knees and then her feet as the guy took off. She caught up to him and tackled him from behind, the gun Jake had given her pressing sharply into her lower back where she’d tucked it as they both went down again. She hooked her ankles and used the momentum of their weight to drive him down and her up. She sat on his torso using her knees to pin his arms and her feet to hold his legs like she’d been taught at the police academy.
“Who made the fliers?” she demanded.
He squirmed and struggled and spit at her.
She narrowed her eyes and yanked him by the collar, slamming the back of his head against the dirt. He howled and she grabbed for the knife in her boot, flicking it open and waving it in front of him so that he could see the gleaming point. Then she stuck it against his chin.
She leaned in, ignoring his garbage-breath. “Who made the fliers?” she repeated. “What were you doing at DOT? Who sent you?”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. She pressed the tip of the knife harder, drawing a drop of blood when the man swallowed hard. Her mouth thinned into a hard line. She didn’t want to hurt him but if it was him or her… “If I tell you, he’ll hurt me a lot worse than you can do, lady,” he said.
She considered that he might be legitimately afraid but the dig against her ability to whoop ass got to her. She raised the knife and shoved the tip against his nose. “Your bull shit stinks. Keep it up and you’ll never smell another thing again,” she said.
“You’re crazy, all right, all right,” he said, turning his face toward the dirt to escape the knife point. “Ray Donovan. He made the fliers. He pays the bills.”
She let him go and stood, backing away as the guy scrambled to his feet. “Thanks. You can go,” she said, waving the knife.
Now that he didn’t have a knife stuck in his jugular, he leered at her. “Fuck you. I go when I want and where I want. In fact, don’t be surprised if I show up at your place later—”
A giant ball of white fur slammed into the guy and Delilah shrieked. She clapped her hand over her own mouth as she realized what—or who—it was.
Jake pinned the guy with massive paws and bent low, roaring into the guy’s face so hard, Delilah felt the ground shake beneath her feet. For a split second, she thought he would kill the man and he must’ve thought it too, because all the colors drained from his cheeks and his bottom lip trembled. But Jake stepped off the guy and stood back, jaw still open, eyes still sharp and intent.
“Go!” Delilah yelled at the man.
He hesitated a split second longer and then scrambled backward until he was clear of the giant polar bear staring him down. A thin line of blood trailed down the man’s throat and stained his collar from where Delilah’s knife had broken the skin. He swiped at his nose, got to his feet, and bolted into the forest.
Delilah watched him until he’d disappeared and then knelt low to tuck her knife back into her boot. By the time she turned back, Jake had already shifted and was coming toward her, concern marring his features. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” Jake put his arms around her and drew her tightly against him, muffling her answer.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say and then her reassurances turned to distraction as she ran her hands over the smooth planes of his back, hugging him and copping a feel on his ass at the same time. “I could get real used to this whole naked-after-shifting-thing,” she said when Jake pulled away and he grinned.
“God, woman, you scared the shit out of me.” He planted a kiss on her temple and drew her toward the open back door of the cabin. “Come on. Xavier’s on his way and I need to find some pants.”