They were in the fifth block when he noticed the man about twenty yards ahead of him-young, tall, longish brown hair. It was his height that let Morgan key in on him because he was taller than most of the people around him. What set him apart was that he wasn’t cheering and clapping. Instead he was glaring… toward the float. Something had definitely pissed him off, and pissed-off people could be trouble.
Automatically Morgan picked up his pace, threading through and around groups of people, wanting to get closer to the guy in case something happened.
Then the guy turned and started down the sidewalk toward him. Morgan stepped aside, let him pass. The guy passed within inches of him and never glanced his way. Instead he was still watching the float; he was definitely keyed on that particular float, the one Bo and Tricks were on. And there was nothing good in his expression.
The guy was wearing a jacket. Morgan’s spine began tingling in warning.
He wheeled, began shadowing his target, working closer despite the milling crowd. People were jockeying for position so they stepped in front of him without looking, or he had to sidestep a kid. The good news was the guy in front of him had to deal with the same conditions and obstacles, so Morgan was gaining on him.
Shit. That jacket was all wrong. The weather was too warm for anyone to be wearing a jacket. Everyone else was in summer clothes: short sleeves, shorts, sandals, lightweight stuff. In his world, people wore jackets when they shouldn’t be wearing them in order to hide firearms or bombs.
The tractor pulling the float went past. Now the float itself was beside them, filled with waving teenagers. Toward the back was a built-up platform with two teens on top of it, and Bo was sitting with her back to the platform, out of sight. Through the profusion of colored tissue paper tucked into the holes of chicken-wire forms, he could see Tricks’s pale golden head lifting with each little bark as she woofed from side to side.
The parade stalled again, the float stopped, and behind him the marching band swung into a lively tune. Applause burst out, but Morgan didn’t bother looking for the cause. All of his attention was focused on the man who was still pushing his way through the crowd on the sidewalk.
The guy drew even with the end of the float, where Tricks and the girls were positioned, and he stepped off the sidewalk into the street. His gaze didn’t leave the float as he put his hand inside his jacket.
Their forward progress had stopped again, but that didn’t matter to Tricks. As far as she was concerned, all the applause was for her. Bo had to laugh because Tricks was so into her role. She would occasionally look back to where Bo was seated, reassuring herself that her human mom was still there, but for the most part she was acting like the ham she was.
The bright sun beat down on Bo’s head, making her glad for her sunglasses. This would probably last another half hour at the rate they were going. She was actually kind of enjoying it; one of the kids had passed her down a bottle of cold lemonade, and she had nothing to do but sit there, sip her lemonade, and watch Tricks have a blast.
While they were stopped, one of the girls opened a bottle of water, produced a small bowl from somewhere on the float, and filled the bowl for Tricks to have a drink. The other girl held Tricks’s pink boa out of the way so it wouldn’t get in the water. Bo chuckled and started to take a picture, but Tricks stopped drinking before she could dig her phone out of her bag. She hoped people along the way were taking pictures they could share with her; if she’d thought, she’d have charged Morgan with the job of snapping a few photos. To be on the safe side, when they got to the end she’d take some pictures of Tricks before everyone got off the float.
She settled back against the plywood dais, glad that this was working out so well. The cushion made a surprisingly comfortable seat, and darned if she wasn’t getting a little drowsy. She let her head rest on the dais; because of her sunglasses, if she closed her eyes no one would notice. The idea was tempting.
Kyle Gooding stepped into the middle of the street right behind the float, just a few feet from the back of the trailer. She was so astonished she gaped at him. What was he doing, crossing the street in the middle of a parade? Had he flipped out?
Then he pulled a pistol out from under his jacket. His good-looking face twisted into something ugly, and he pointed the pistol-
– right at Tricks.
Bo’s blood froze into icy shards of horror, and her heart stopped beating. Her vision narrowed to not much more than a pinpoint. With a guttural, inhuman scream she lunged forward, knowing she couldn’t cover those few feet in time to save Tricks, knowing she was going to see that bright little life destroyed, knowing too in that second that she would kill Kyle Gooding with her bare hands unless he shot her before she could manage it. Terrified, savage, she desperately clawed for inches, trying to grab Tricks. The air was molasses, dragging at her hands and feet, slowing her down.
The two girls saw the pistol and screamed, ducking. Bo saw the flicker of Kyle’s eyes as their piercing screams cut the air, the split second of hesitation.
Something blue sliced in front of her vision, just as the deep crack of a shot shattered the joy of the day, the peace of the town, her heart.
Tricks yelped, just once.
Still screaming, unable to stop the animal sounds coming from her throat, Bo reached Tricks.
She threw her arms around her, hoping against hope the wound wasn’t fatal, searching through the golden fur with hands that were shaking so violently she couldn’t control them. Tricks leaned against her and licked her cheek. The awful screams had stopped and Bo heard herself babbling to Tricks, begging her to be okay, just be okay sweetie I’ll take care of you I’ll kill that bastard.
Where was the blood? She couldn’t find any blood.
“I’m so sorry!” one of the girls frantically apologized, kneeling on the float. She was crying. “I stepped on her paw!”
Bo couldn’t get her thoughts ordered. What did stepping on Tricks’s paw matter when she’d been shot? But the girl-was her name Christa?-looked up at Bo with swimming blue eyes and said, “I saw the gun and ducked and that’s when I stepped on her paw and she yelped. She’s okay, isn’t she? I didn’t cripple her?”
Bo was still caught in that damned molasses, unable to grasp any one thought, with time moving in agonizing slow motion. She turned her head to the right and saw Kyle Gooding, the bastard, face down on the street with Morgan kneeling on him and twisting his right arm up and back in an agonizing hold, if Kyle’s screams were anything to go by. “You’re breaking my arm!” Kyle howled. “Stop, you’re breaking my arm.”
Morgan gave the arm a vicious twist and the howl became a scream. He looked up at Bo kneeling with Tricks in her arms, his face set in a savage mask, his eyes blue ice. “Are you okay?”
She wanted to shriek and tear out her hair. How could she be okay when Tricks-but Tricks was sitting there leaning against her and giving her random licks, and Christa seemed to realize what was wrong because she put her arms around Bo. “It’s okay, Chief,” she said gently, with tears running down her face. “Tricks is okay. He didn’t shoot her. Mr. Rees stopped him.”
Bo’s mouth worked as she tried to form words. She managed to get out, “The shot-” before her throat locked. She felt icy cold despite the sun. Her heart was beating again with heavy, sluggish beats.
Morgan’s head swiveled as he looked around at the gathering swell of people, everyone murmuring and asking questions. Bo became aware of shouts and disturbance as others ran toward them, pushing through the milling crowd. She saw Jesse, his expression alert as he ran from the direction of the park. “Is anyone hurt?” Morgan barked. “The shot went wide. Did it hit anyone?”