When Lightning Strikes

"Then I will." Mose said.

Killian noticed immediately the change in Mose's tone of voice. It was belligerent, questioning. And for the first time in ages, Mose hadn't called Killian "boss." It was a backdoor challenge to Killian's authority.

He walked toward Mose, taking slow, easy steps. He moved in close, so close that the other man frowned and backed up. Then Killian straightened, used every inch of his tall frame to tower over Mose. His shadow slid across Mose's fleshy face. "Will you, now?"

Anger slitted Mose's eyes, but he gritted his teeth and stayed silent. The only evidence of his fury was the dull red creeping up his rough-shaven throat.

"Jee-sus Christ, boss," Purty whistled into the silence. "You'd think he was talkin' about your ladylove. We just want to know who the hell the whore is and how she knows so damn much."

"He's ballin' her," Arizona said matter-of-factly.

"Oh." Purty's leathery face split into a yellow-toothed grin. "She didn't happen to mention how she knew our names, did she? You know, in between a few 'Oh Gods' and 'Harder, harder.' "

The men laughed.

Killian stepped back from Mose, saying nothing. It was vaguely irritating to hear the boys talking about her that way, and the realization that he cared angered him.

The laughter died away. "Seriously, boss," Purty persisted. "She say how she knew our names?"

"Nope."

Mose didn't crack a smile. "We're gonna ask her a few questions, boss."

They had every right, Killian knew. As their leader, he should know the answers, but since he didn't, he

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sure as hell couldn't stand in their way. The boys deserved to know if she was a threat.

"Yeah, sure," he said evenly. "Question her. But any decision about what to do with her is mine."

Purty looked faintly surprised. A frown pulled at his wrinkled brow and bunched the mustache beneath his hooked nose. "Of course it is, boss."

Killian wished he could take back the revealing sentence. Instead, he straightened and strode to the door. "Let's get this over with."

Chapter Fourteen

f

Viloula let out a weary sigh and eased the spectacles from her nose, setting them down on the open book in front of her.

Lainie thumped her book shut and rubbed her bloodshot eyes. Her head felt full, spiked by a dull throbbing at the base of her neck. With two fingertips, she massaged her temples. Panic was a heartbeat away; she kept it in check by sheer force of will. But it was there, increasing with every second that passed, tearing at her self-control. The more desperate and frightened she became, the angrier she felt.

"I fought dere'd be more . . . guidance," Viloula said, cradling her wrinkled face in her hand.

Lainie gave a short, sharp laugh. "That would be asking too much of religious texts, surely."

Viloula frowned, looked up. "Dat's twice you have been blasphemous."

"Blasphemous?" Lainie shot the word back. "You're joking, right?"

"Of course not. It is God dat rules our universe, shapes our lives. Certainly you believe in Him?"

"No."

Viloula studied her. "Oh, I t'ink you do ... even t'enough you wish you didn't."

"Fascinating as this theological discussion is, I'd like 167