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?”
The shot had gone wide because he’d plowed into Kyle like a bulldozer. He’d been the flash of blue. Like a freeze frame Bo had a sudden clear image of him in the exact moment he hit Kyle, a lethal human missile with murder in his eyes.
At his question people were looking around, calling out, but no one seemed to be hurt. Then there was a sudden outcry of “Oh my God, he’s been shot!” and her blood turned cold and sluggish again.
“Ohh, shit, you’re breaking my arm,” Kyle moaned.
“Shut up,” Morgan said, gripping Kyle’s hair and giving his head a short, sharp bang against the pavement. Kyle shut up, probably because he was unconscious.
Bo was okay with that. If any questions were asked, she’d swear Morgan hadn’t done anything. What the people crowded around them would say was up in the air, but she didn’t hear any sympathy being expressed toward Kyle.