“You want me to lead them outside,” she concluded, briefly shutting her eyes against the panic rising hot and bitter in her throat. Her last experience with these creatures was still fresh on her mind. The thought of being alone with them even for a moment had her shaking her head.

Gideon grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. “You can do this, Claire. You have a gun. Use it if you need to.”

Her hand went to the leather bag against her hip where her gun slumbered, loaded by her own hand.

His green eyes gleamed with determination. “I won’t let them hurt you.” His fingers pressed into her cheeks, injecting her with some of his courage.

Her eyes drank in his face, absorbing his words and letting them fortify her. “All right,” she agreed.

“Good girl.” Before he dropped his hands from her face, he planted a hard kiss on her mouth. She had no doubt in her mind it was just for show, for the benefit of watchful eyes, when he muttered against her lips, “Leave one of them alive for questioning. Give me time to get in position. When they follow you, don’t look back. Talk to them. Distract them until I make my move. You won’t see me, but I’ll be there.”

Then he was gone. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling the lingering scent of him, suppressing the sudden stab of loneliness at not having him at her side.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dogs possess a keen sense of smell.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

Gideon lowered himself behind a stack of crates, muscles stretched tight as he peered between a crack in the wood slats. Pulling the gun from its holster, he screwed on the silencer. Tonight would be different. Tonight they were ready. Prepared. No more surprises. No more ambushes.

He trained all his attention on that door, waiting breathlessly for Claire to emerge. Unfortunately, he was too focused. He didn’t notice he had company until he heard the shoe scrape over loose gravel behind him. He spun, dropping to his belly, leveling the gun on the slight figure at the mouth of the alley.

“Kit!” He rose to a squatting position and lowered his gun.

She stood over him, one of his guns, a ridiculously large .357, in her hands. “Hey, big brother.”

He yanked her down, glancing over his shoulder at the club’s back door. Satisfied that they were alone, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?” He nodded at the too-large gun in her hands. Kit took after their mother. At five feet, she barely reached his shoulder. The gun looked obscene in her slight hands.

Readjusting her fingers around the gun’s bulk, she ignored his question. “Thought you could use some backup.”

“Since when do I include you on my hunts?”