Granger turned slightly, aiming his weapon at the dog flying toward him.
“Arlo! No!” Nikki cried.
But there was no resonating blast from the shotgun.
Instead, the dog knocked Granger to his knees.
The gun went flying.
Long fangs clamped over Granger’s arm.
“Oooww!” Shrieking in pain, he threw himself to and fro, trying to shake the dog off.
But Arlo clung burr-like, his canines exposed, clamped over the attacker’s arm.
“Fuck! Get him off me! Get him off me!” He was screaming in pain, trying to grab Arlo by the throat with his free hand as dog and man wrestled on the dirt.
Nikki vaulted over the tree trunk.
She yanked the axe from where it had been slammed into the stump. Sharp weapon in hand, she dived for the shotgun, snagged it, and sprang to her feet.
“Get him off!” Granger shrieked.
Breathing hard, she carefully set down the axe and leveled the long gun at the wrestling dog and frantic, bearded man. “Arlo, stop!” she ordered.
Still the snarling shepherd wouldn’t let go.
“ARLO, LEAVE IT!”
The dog froze.
“Leave it!” she repeated, and surprisingly, the shepherd obeyed, backing off, eyes still fixed on his target.
Granger, cradling his arm, gazed up at her from the ground, clearly shocked.
Blood had soaked through his sleeve.
“I need an ambulance,” he said angrily. “What the fuck’s the matter with your dog …” He glared at the barely restrained shepherd. “Oh, shit. Arlo? That’s Billy’s dog, isn’t it? Billy Huber’s. That goddamned mutt never did like me.”
“Well, he wasn’t too keen on me being held at gunpoint.”
“I wasn’t gonna shoot you,” Granger grumbled, acting as ifhewere the injured party, and maybe, considering how he was holding his arm, he was. “I just wanted to scare you off. I mean I didn’t even know who you were, couldn’t see your face over that damned flashlight.”
“But you do now?”
“Hell yeah, I do.” He sounded defeated. Miserable. Already regretting what he’d done. “You’re that writer, right? The wife of the cop. I’ve seen your books before. Seen your picture on the cover.” He let out a long-suffering sigh and turned his eyes toward the starlit sky. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” Still clutching his arm, he rolled onto his back. “I’m so screwed. I thought you were one of those kids that keep coming down here either to steal some of Mom’s artifacts or because they’ve taken a dare. They do that. Challenge each other to go down to the witch’s place and steal some kind of magic token. Like they’re gonna find a voodoo doll stuck with a million pins or something.” He let out another disgusted snort. “As if!”
She wasn’t persuaded. She picked up the axe again and now was holding both weapons. “What do you know about Naomi Kittle?”
“Who?What?”
“The missing woman all of Savannah is looking for?” When that didn’t seem to register, she hitched her chin in the direction of the boardwalk stretching over the black water and added, “The woman who’s hanging over the fire pit in your mother’s shack down in the swamp?”
“What?” he demanded. “Are you crazy?” Then he saw that she was dead serious. “Someone’s hanging … down at Mom’s sanctuary?”
“Naomi Kittle, the woman you killed and hung upside down like a deer being dressed—”
“Whoa!” His expression altered from confusion to suspicion. “Whatthe fuck are you talking about?” He was sitting up again, still holding his arm, but staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.